A brief reference to a fear of self-harm when doing drugs.
“Tell me about acid,” she said because she’d never done it. She really wanted to but feared the things she’d do, slice her arm open or just stare into the mirror and into herself, going permanently insane.
Then, as the final bell rang, as the other children sprang up, elated, Brian stayed in his chair, staring blankly at the wooden desktop, and, as Evelyn watched, he inhaled and stiffened upright— although she would remember perceiving the motion oppositely, as if he were coiling into a ball— and he flung his head, his entire torso, down. A sick thump sounded across the room, not loudly, but chilling somehow, causing his classmates to stop their delirious exodus and turn to Brian as he rose back up, exhibiting not a hint of pain or shock or mania, absolutely expressionless, as a gash on his skin bloomed apart and blood ran down his face.
She went over to the mirror. She looked at herself deeply. But she was no longer anything.
Then—then all of a sudden she slapped herself brutally on the left side of her face. To wake herself up. She stood still looking at herself. And, as if that weren’t enough, she slapped her face twice more. To find herself.
And it really happened.
In the mirror she finally saw a human face, sad, delicate. She was Aurélia Nascimento. She had just been born. Nas-ci-men-to.
A short story about a drug dealer who gets caught and ends up having to go to a support group.
"She held the little cutting machine in her fist and struck the front of her head with it."
"She looked around for something to hurt herself with, and when she couldn’t find anything, she let her legs go out beneath her and landed on the rail, hard, on her tailbone."
"Through all of that, Jane Tell said nothing—either she hadn’t seen what I was doing or she’d chosen to ignore it—and she continued saying nothing till I struck my nose with the back of my fist, and she yelled at me to stop. “Just stop!” she yelled.
About a family that falls apart as their father attempts to make his Body-Action Doll after watching a documentary on anorexia.
"Timmy wears all black all the time and, with hot irons and scalpels stolen from Dad’s lab, he mutilates his thighs and lower abdomen to absolve his guilt about Brian’s ear, which Brian keeps milking, the guilt."
"Timmy raises his fork over his head and jams it into the soft side of his own elbow. Misses the arteries."
This story focuses on Joe, a young man who is being ousted from his family. Due to the stress of his situation he self-injures by picking scabs and warts. Digging down to the nerve endings generates calm in him.
A short story in which the parents of a teenager are cataloguing their daughter’s cuts. Their helplessness in the face of the daughter’s self-injury is familiar, as is the removal of sharp objects in the family home.
There were no consequences. There was just her husband’s notepad of wounds that they gave to the therapist, who didn’t seem do to anything except bill for $115 an hour, and nothing was getting better.
About a clinically depressed screenwriter who ends up in a psychiatric ward after mentioning suicide to his doctors. He meets a ballerina who burns herself and forms a strange relationship with her. An interesting viewpoint and after all the protagonist’s romanticizing of self-injury gets more realistic.
“Where exactly do you put your hands on somebody who hurts everywhere?”
Welcome to self-injury.net. We are a support community for self-harmers and also provide information on self-harm, creative works, media lists, lists of resources (helplines, textlines, mental health apps, therapists, etc.), etc. We focus on self-injury but a number of other mental health issues are included.