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Inspired by another member...

I sit there alone and wonder to myself; will this be the last time, the last line?

Not too deep my subconcious screams at me from where I have buried it some place deep within. I try to shut it all out, the compass held steady, poised waiting. I try not to cry and scream in my head but the pain that I can still feel is too raw. My emotions too real as I look at the world as I perpercieve it around me. why me? I think for the thousandth time. what did I do?

My hand shakes and I press down harder and harder as I stare at the abandoned park. Shivering I make one line after another, until I feel nothing. My arm has gone numb now, like my mind as sit and feel nothing. Closing my eyes I feel the overwhelming pain and doubts flee with the fresh flow of blood that leaves each wound.

After a time, I don't know how long, my mind begins again, looking down I look at my handiwork and shudder as revulsion flows through me until I'm almost sick. But I've hit the master switch, the reset, I'm ready! I think as I stand, tuggin down my sleeve, I press the black fabric to my arm until it sticks. I'll sort it out later.

Mum stares as I walk slowly through the front room, she knows, my mind whispers as I shrink in on myself. No, noone realises. I reassure myself as I make for my room. If they did they could not love me still. They'd judge and make comments. Ultimately they'd never understand.

My hoodie pulls and the lines itch, as they have already begun to heal. I hate the pulling and the sharp pain as I reopen the small cuts one at a time, so that I can dress them properly in white, making sure I keep the bandage where it won't show under my sleeves. All I can do now is keep them hidden. No one but me can know.

Comments

Powerfully written. While it was inspired by another member, it takes a certain familiarity to be able to write with such clarity. I don't wish that ability on anyone. Hats off to, for your skills as a writer and communicator.
 
Just trying to make some sense of it all.
HB,
it is a strange coincidence that I found myself thinking before I went to bed this morning. " I'm now in my mid-sixties. What WAS the point of it all? WHY? I feel as though my whole life has just been one cruel sick joke and the joke was on me. An act of spite by some powerful being not of this world.

Not wishing to hi-jack your blog HB but just as you were moved by someone to write so strongly and vividly of such intense feelings, I was moved by you to post this response. i wish you luck and here's hoping that time will ease what you're experiencing right now.

dither...
 
Yes, this is a viewpoint I could never write, at least for now. And, never when young. I only contemplated someone else's death then. Now I know mine is coming, over the next years, and would want some control over it. That is entirely different than someone with life in front of them. My 12 year old granddaughter is gay, and the bullies emerged after Trump's election. They've been incentivized. Gay children commit suicide at an alarming rate. My last mission in life is to fortify her to strike back, not at herself. Hope she has my "take the offensive" gene. Worrisome.
 
My son knew a half dozen cutters in high school...mm...some in Middle school. I think they were all girls. Mostly.

It was pills in my day. Girls used to take pills; go to the e.r.
What was this...compulsion?
Mm...mystery. Like addiction. Or other painful, self-destructive... behaviors.

H. Brown, you wrote it well.
 
"a half dozen"???? Unbelievable number. What, indeed!

Males usually take their self-loathing and insecurities out on others....
 
Kevin;bt10782 said:
My son knew a half dozen cutters in high school...mm...some in Middle school. I think they were all girls. Mostly.

It was pills in my day. Girls used to take pills; go to the e.r.
What was this...compulsion?
Mm...mystery. Like addiction. Or other painful, self-destructive... behaviors.

H. Brown, you wrote it well.

Oh dear,
I didn't realise. I'm sorry.
 
sas;bt10786 said:
"a half dozen"???? Unbelievable number. What, indeed!

Males usually take their self-loathing and insecurities out on others....

Boys cut too, sas, not only girls. It should not be a taboo, cutting should be something to talk about openly. There are many people, not only very young, who cut.

And thanks Hannah, for starting this.
 
H Brown, I've warned that I'm stern, strict, funny, and rarely gracious.

"Will this be the last time, the last line?" To What? I don't hold a clue on what raised such tumultuous emotions inside the character expressed in the following paragraphs.

Get the readers involved in what's happening and why it's happening right now. Or the readers will quit by the second paragraph. A holding back at the beginning of "what's happening" and "why it's happening" puzzles readers to give up. The holding back at the start doesn't build drama. But it sure confuses.

Overall, the fiction account exorbitantly way too writerly. - the terrible Jew, Kyle "X" (My parents knew I was poison at the start.)
 
H Brown, you're not the first I've attacked. Now the teaching.

Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite until clarity appears, until you untangle the catastrophic clashing of words, until a writing moves the readers to feel and understand the character's pain, until you get out of your own work and see how the reading appears to the readers complete strangers to you, until you think you're satisfied with your own work and then return and realize "What a bunch of junk I wrote."

My work has appeared many, many times in large publications. Later, I'll look over the writings and scold myself (you guessed): "What a bunch of junk I wrote."

I'll then rewrite for my own benefit to an improved presentation and perhaps a more fitting tone, and get rid of needless words that I thought so wonderful at the time of my last writing to publication.

That's how I learn and improve. And I never quit seeking impossible perfection. I'm never satisfied. My future holds, my own scolding will continue to the casket.
 
Not to be disagreeable with you Kyle, as you make many good points in your argument. Part of what makes this such a powerful work, was that she did not hit you over the head with the topic nor treat you like a child when it came to what she was saying. I seldom agree with anything Hanna says, so I am not just blowing hot air for a friend. That being said good writing that has powerful meaning should be recognized, the people that actually need this message or are touched by it will need little explanation.

There is an art to subliminal suggestion, it will never be understood by all...and that's ok.
 
this was writing for me that makes me enjoy how the use of words can effect you much more than normal....
 
So this was a moment in my own life from when I was eleven or twelve, but even though I may have grown past the physical act, this moment still haunts me. I have always wanted to tell about this time in my life but never had the courage until now. Thank you Sas.

I would like ro thank you for all your words on the extract above and Dither I judge the Non-fiction challenge each month but maybe I will add an entry. :)

For me words can be both weapons or balms and if mine effect the reader in any way then I see that I have conveyed something: an emotion, a thought for you to respond to. Yes Kyle it could probably do with a reedit but then that is what telling stories is. You rework a piece until you are happy with what you see. That is the journey of any writer.

Thanks Plasticweld for defending the above writing, yes itis true that we don't often see eye to eye but I am glad to see we agree on the fact that emotion has been conveyed.

Thanks for your words Esc.

Mental health has been braught into the light so to speak now, but it is still deen as a taboo in the many different forms it comes in are still mocked or frowned at. Sadly. HoweverI think that by speaking of time (U hope) will help others that are struggling, even if it is to know that they are not alone. As for myself you can imagune from above how alone I felt during this time. I was terrified of someone finding out for years until I was 16 I hid myself. One day I hope that no one is left to face this alone.
 

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