There is only one effective antidote for mental suffering and that is physical pain.
Sometimes I even cut myself to see how much it bleeds It's like adrenaline, the pain is such a sudden rush for me.
You have so much pain inside yourself that you try & hurt yourself on the outside because you want help.
My scars show pain and suffering, but they also show my will to survive. They're part of my history that'll always be there.
Would you carry a razor, in case, just in case of depression?
A pill to make you numb A pill to make you dumb A pill to make you anybody else But all the drugs in this world Won't save her from herself.
There were times I felt so anxious, almost like I was crawling out of my skin, that if I didn't do something physical to match the way I felt inside, I would explode. I cut myself to take my mind off that. I just didn't care what happened. I had no fear.
got a little red line that tells you, boy where the razor's been.
Some people go shopping - I cut myself.
...occasionally I wished I could walk through a picture window and have the sharp, broken shards slash me to ribbons so I would finally look like I felt.
I wish adults would spend less energy freaking out about the cutting itself and work harder to understand what drives kids to self-harm.
I may not be in control of anything else, but I am in control of my body.
It's just I might get distracted, and I get lost kind of easily, and sometimes I have really bad days...when, you know, I just want to hide or scream or bleed or something, and...all that...
Hush little baby, Dont you cry, Dont cut your arms, Dont say goodbye. Put down that razor, Put down that light, It maybe hard but, You'll win this fight.
Suicide sometimes proceeds from cowardice, but not always; for cowardice sometimes prevents it; since as many live because they are afraid to die, as die because they are afraid to live.
My body is a journal in a way. It's like what sailors used to do, where every tattoo meant something, a specific time in your life when you make a mark on yourself, whether you do it yourself with a knife or with a professional tattoo artist.
I think that's all a form of wanting to let go, of wanting to get out... It's not something easily described or understood.
Yes, there was something special about me, and I knew what it was. I was the kind of girl they found dead in a hall bedroom with an empty bottle of sleeping pills in her hand.
Other times, I look at my scars and see something else: a girl who was trying to cope with something horrible that she should never have had to live through at all. My scars show pain and suffering, but they also show my will to survive. They're part of my history that'll always be there.
When I was younger, I did self-mutilate. I'd be upset, so I'd do it, & it would calm me down. It's a horrible way to feel better. But there are two parts of your brain - one that really wants to destroy the other. & sometimes the idea of self-destruction is very romantic. I got over that.
Self-harm - the world will come at you with knives anyway. You do not need to beat them to it.
Delia's arms were inscribed with a grid of self- inflicted wounds, an intricate text of self-loathing
One night she hid the pink cotton scarf from her raincoat in the pillowcase when the nurse came around to lock up her drawers and closets for the night. In the dark she had made a loop and tried to pull it tight around her throat. But always just as the air stopped coming and she felt the rushing grow louder in her ears, her hands would slacken and let go, and she would lie there panting for breath, cursing the dumb instinct in her body that fought to go on living
They'll just cut our wrists like Cheap coupons and say that death Was on sale today.
She felt so much emotionally, she would say, that a physical outlet - physical pain - was the only way to make her internal pain go away. It was the only way she could control it.
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