this was written for a contest commemorating Self-Harm Awareness Day. it placed first in the contest and one a Daily Literature Deviation award on deviantART, but i figure you can never stop improving and decided to post it here as well to get some feedback from the YWS community as well as the dA one (:
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You know that saying, the one about the first cut being the deepest? It's not true.
Hate to break it to those of you who want pain and blood loss and death swiftly, but it simply isn't. If anything, it's the shallowest. The first is the tentative one. The 'how-far-can-I-push-myself?' one. The 'will-this-hurt?' one. It's the anticipation; the nervousness a virgin feels with her first lover, the skeptics pondering whether what they really think is politically correct enough to be made public. It's the judge. It's a guess. A step into the unknown. That's the first cut.
It's after that you ought to watch out though, the fury and frenzy of cold steel on skin, the destruction of skin, the liberation of blood cells. You thought that they must have been a bit claustrophobic in there anyway. After the first cut, it's simple joy. I'm not going to lie, tell you ominous preemptions about the pain, and the scars and such. You don't think about that in the process, I know. In the short term, it's great. It's release. It's control. It's the blood. It's whatever it is for you. It's the long term that's the worrying thing.
It's the glancing over your shoulder, wondering if anyone can see them. It's not wanting to stretch too far in case your sleeve pulls up to far to reveal crimson crossroads. It's enjoying yourself, then falling over and reopening them. It's wondering why you did it. It's inviting your friends over. It's them finding the bloody tissue you used to muffle your body's screams the night before. It's the awkwardness.
And then you're alone. Then it's the abyss of midnight, and you are alone with yourself, and that's always the worst part of it. You're screaming, and writhing, and craving the light and nobody else seems to notice. You curl up into yourself to try and escape the reality of it all, but that only seems to make you feel worse. And then you do it again, and again, and again until it's every night, and your arms are ravaged. At the time, you'll either think they're pretty or just cover them up. There'll be one night when you're slipping below slick sheets, in the company of another; someone you think is miles too good for you, when they'll happen across the scars. You'll be ashamed. It'll almost certainly be the end of any love-making you had planned. They'll want to talk it through.
You won't.
It's the bottom of the barrel. It's the hating it and it's the wanting it nonetheless. It's doing it anyway, though it causes you more misery than you started off with. It's addiction.
It's linoleum. It's the jagged smell of ethanol. It's bleach white. It's the steady metronome of a heart monitor somewhere in the distance. It's explaining, though you don't want to. They don't understand. It's talking it through. It's hating every second, but feeling incomprehensibly better for it anyway. It's a steady decline. It's wanting to stop. It's hating yourself every time you succumb to its sweet seduction. It doesn't have the same thrill anymore. It's only blood, gently oozing through layers of skin, peeled back. It used to be a release of energy, and massive explosion of emotions and energy; a huge roiling turmoil of a monster that you loved. Now all you feel is regret.
It's finding someone. It's noticing the gentle incline of their neck, and the way they bat their eyes and pretend to look interested. It's noticing the tiny lines that indicate that this person smiles. A lot. It's noticing the idiosyncratic freckle in their eye. It's meeting their family. It's noticing their eyes rolling over your scars. It's wishing you hadn't made them in the first place.
It's reflection. It's wondering why on earth you did it, and admonishing yourself for it. It's the sluggish tear that cascades over your skin. It's remembering how it felt. It's thinking 'if only I had said something earlier'. It's regret. It's casting your eyes over them once more and being filled with self-hatred.
It's self-harm. The name says it all.
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138,524 Literary Works • 672,150 Reviews
Great descrption. I really enjoy this. You use "you" to much but still a great piece.
Keep writing,
FAF
Hey,
Here to give the requested review of this wild topic.
Congratulations on everything this piece has won. It definitely deserves all of this. You've already had some raving reviews, so I'm going to let them speak for me.
That's all I could find, which isn't that much compared to normal. This is wonderful. I'm more of a description and imagery person anyway, so this was right down my ally.
I will gladly review anything you write. Just ask for it.
Megsug
Okay, you know how much I love this. There's this wonderful, untouchable sense of pain and point-blank awareness about it that makes it different from anything I've ever read. I think this is a perfect example of something that is hard to read, but in the best of ways. There are images in every word that you use, every sensation that you describe.
I think that's probably your best attribute as a writer. You have this knack for choosing the proper word, and never beating around the proverbial bush. Everything you write is written with a purpose -- there's no "fluff," nothing to take the reader's attention away from the point you're making.
That, and the fact that you always do, in fact, have a point, are two things that I admire and envy in all of your work :]
All i can say, or I guess type, is wow. This is amazing. I can definitely see how you got first place. Your piece is awesome in every sense of the word. Thank you for posting it on here, because I loved reading it.
ALright, so, it's a good beginning, albeit simple. You could expand here a bit, I think, give some background. Right now, your premise seems a little bit random. Well written, but random.
You have some strong imagery, which really made the piece work. But you tend to use 'you' too much, and I acknowledge that this is written in second (Props, by the way. Second is difficult.) but it got somewhat repetitive after a while.
If you edit, you should take some of the 'you' out, fill the with details instead.
Well-written. I can see why it won first place
~Wickedwonder