A
Ampersand713
Member
- Jul 8, 2023
- 5
I've been cutting myself for years now, I'm practically a chopping board.
My mother never allowed me to hurt anyone. Whenever someone would hurt me and I try to fight back, my mother would beat me up. She also didn't like seeing me cry, so whenever she sees me cry, she would beat me up some more, until I stop crying or pass out from the pain. I never understood why it had to be this way, so I just let it happen. But there will be times when all the anger I try to bottle up gets released and I sometimes yell or hurt someone. My mother would just beat me up some more.
So one day I just decided to take all my anger out on myself. I grabbed a kitchen knife and made a small cut on my wrist. It hurt, but it also felt refreshing. The blood looked beautiful to me. When my mom found out, she just beat me up again, but I didn't care anymore. I loved the cuts and bruises, I got too addicted to the pain. I felt free, free to express my anger without hurting anyone. Nobody cared anyways, they all said I did it for attention.
But now I ran out of space, both my arms are full of bruises, so I decided to stop. I've had multiple attempts as well all of them are failures just like me.
Maybe they're right, maybe I'm actually a freak and a psychopath. Maybe this world is better off without people like me around.
My mother never allowed me to hurt anyone. Whenever someone would hurt me and I try to fight back, my mother would beat me up. She also didn't like seeing me cry, so whenever she sees me cry, she would beat me up some more, until I stop crying or pass out from the pain. I never understood why it had to be this way, so I just let it happen. But there will be times when all the anger I try to bottle up gets released and I sometimes yell or hurt someone. My mother would just beat me up some more.
So one day I just decided to take all my anger out on myself. I grabbed a kitchen knife and made a small cut on my wrist. It hurt, but it also felt refreshing. The blood looked beautiful to me. When my mom found out, she just beat me up again, but I didn't care anymore. I loved the cuts and bruises, I got too addicted to the pain. I felt free, free to express my anger without hurting anyone. Nobody cared anyways, they all said I did it for attention.
But now I ran out of space, both my arms are full of bruises, so I decided to stop. I've had multiple attempts as well all of them are failures just like me.
Maybe they're right, maybe I'm actually a freak and a psychopath. Maybe this world is better off without people like me around.