Self Harm Talk

Ok, so before we get this out of the way, yes I do self harm. Don’t judge me; my worst fear (believe it or not coming from the person with an anxiety disorder) is being judged so please don’t judge me I know of my stability issues.

First of all, am I the only one who thinks that when I self harm, it is completely rational and a plea for help, then I look back after and think what an idiot I was. That happened to me today if y’all didn’t know

Yes, I self harmed over *homework*. I know, but let me explain my outright pettiness

In my school, we have “guidelines” (for me – RULES YOU MUST LIVE BY) of how long our homework is meant to take. For math, it’s 40 minutes, and I stick by that rule strictly.

Well, my homework ended up taking me about an hour.

Cue my mental breakdown and relentless sobbing for another hour while my parents scream at me.

Cue my 10-15 cuts on my arm.

Basically, I’m a very petty person at home, but at school I have the stability of *insert rock-like metaphor here*. I have self harmed 4 times since September, all about really dumb petty stuff. Because I have GOOD mental health.

So obviously my form tutors know about this (I told my best friend lmao) and she told my tutors

And we have tutor review day on Tuesday, where we basically come out of classes and talk to our tutors about our progress.

For me, talking about my *nonexistent* social life and my *nonexistent* mental stability


Anyways gtg


~bloggerofthebloggish 🙂

*PS: my posts will get more positive i just need to vent a little here*

I am depressed lololololol

Well isnt that great

Not to mention my bday is literally in a week

As in this time next week i will be 13

Isnt that great


I had a fight with my dad

He said im the most self centred


Uptight person hes ever met

Not to mention

I have contemplated suicide 100s of times

Whenever im near a train platform

I think about jumping onto the track and killing myself

I think about stabbing myself

So yeah

Im having my pre birthday depression again


I love myself



How fun is it to feel jealous of your best friends two weeks before your birthday?

I know right


Ok, so today 2 of my best friends got big awards (like BIG awards), and one of those two friends has 3 of said award.

2 of my other friends are like me and are getting support in school, like one of them made a ‘calm down box’ with the pshe teacher

And I’m sitting in bed at 9pm bawling my eyes out


Because i never got that big award, and i don’t get support

When i cut (yes i do ok) my parents and teachers say its silly

I consistently achieve high marks but there’s always someone getting better awards than me

I sit here, waiting for someone to acknowledge the fact that I’m partly broken

So I’m just loving my school at the moment. I don’t want to be jealous because they’re my best friends and i’ll make them feel bad for being jealous

Even though i havent cut for like a month (which is good for me) i still sit up at night and cry my eyes out

People say its because im tired

I quit

I’m CoOl

I literally just wanted a random title lmao

This post will be a mess but y’know it’s fine

Sorry for not posting I’ve been writing like every day

Here are some of my stories (I know they’re really bad but its ok)

I was so immersed in my emailing, I barely even flinched when I heard Frank storm in and throw his name card on the table.

‘Give me another kid or I quit!’

I looked up in despair. ‘Please, Frank. Everyone else quit. You’re the only one left, the scariest, the biggest. What did they do to you to make you quit?’

Frank shuddered and backed away. ‘You don’t want her. She’s worse than us’.

I chuckled. ‘That wouldn’t happen’, to which Frank nodded vigorously. ‘If I didn’t quit, I could have handled her. Hachishakusama has nightmares for a month after she quit! She’s the monster, Krampus! She’ll smother you!’

I turned back to my computer, determination drowning me in emotion. ‘I’ll assign myself, anyway’.

Frank shrugged. ‘Fine, but don’t blame me when you scream at two AM’.

That night, I went to the ‘bedtime centre’ – basically the place where we get transported to the beds of the kids we haunt. I stood in my cell, and everyone stared at me and backed away. I looked at them, nodded, and deployed myself.

I arrive in a pitch-black room, lit scarcely by two glowing eyes. They were blood red, and they belonged to a small girl, no older than eight. She had ice-blonde hair and was sitting cross-legged on a perfectly made bed. Her eyes followed me as I moved under the bed. She didn’t move, yet she was watching every movement I made.

Once I got under the bed, I saw her lean down and look at me with her glowing eyes. She didn’t blink, she didn’t flinch, and she didn’t talk. I made my usual scary noises and movements, to which I had no reaction. I heard two muffled voices come from another room.

‘It’s so sad walking past her room’. A woman started bawling, to which a man was comforting her.

‘Mom, it was for the best. She had no quality of life. She didn’t walk, talk, nothing. As far as I know, she didn’t even know what was going on’.

The woman sniffed ‘She’s still my girl. No amount of pain can compare walking past her empty room that housed so much personality’.

The girl scuttled to the wall and started hissing. I looked at the bed. It looked like a little girl’s room; the duvet was adorned with lollipops and candy designs, and the walls were painted a cotton-candy pink. I heard the man’s voice again.

‘Hello? Yeah, she died. Two months ago. She didn’t walk, move unassisted, she didn’t talk and only made a whimper as a ‘hey, something’s wrong’ signal. She had no awareness. She always stared at the ceiling, so it was probably better that she escaped the pain of everything that happened to her. I know, Mom’s bawling her eyes out. Ok. Talk to ya later, bye’

I stood up, and looked at the girl, who was relentlessly hissing at the wall. My mind was tripping over itself; what was I to do? Us monsters aren’t meant to be caring and ask about personal life, but then again, we don’t hide under the beds of dead children.

‘Hey, are you OK?’ I asked, a hint of nervousness embedded into my voice. The girl whipped her head towards me and a smirk took over her face. ‘Why are you nervous, Krampus?’ I was immediately taken aback. For someone who apparently had no awareness, she certainly was cultured in her monsterology. And her sense of finding fear. That was, um, unique. I looked at her and cocked my head to the side. ‘Why are you hissing?’ I immediately condemned myself for asking such a commonplace, caring question. Anger drenched the girl’s face in emotion ‘They didn’t know’, she muttered. ‘They didn’t know what happened. And now they shall burn’. Sadisity crept over her mouth. I was compelled to ask her what happened, yet I knew she was truly the monster. Nevertheless, I asked her what happened. She lurched towards me and spoke in the most haunting of whispers which made my whole body become immersed in goosebumps.

‘I was put in a coma for 2 years. I was aware in those two years. I was always aware. I could walk and talk. They just never taught me. They thought I was a vegetable. Now they shall be convinced of my capacity’. She bolted out of the room and came back with a box of matches. She looked at the wall with an evil grin plastered over her face, moving the match slowly towards the wall. Impulsively, I asked her

‘Hey, instead of burning your house down, why don’t you become a monster and have the ability to haunt your family, even people you’ve never met before. You’ll earn a reputation and capacity’.

The girl’s face lit up. ‘I’m already a monster, but I guess I can’t pass up an opportunity to use these talents’.

She’s now known as your brain.

The brain hungry for capacity and sadisity.

The brain that makes you stay under your covers at night, even though there’s no monsters.

None except you.

You filthy little bastard.


“You have always been a strange person. I knew you since birth. You have always been peculiar. I took pity on you, and decided I should be the one to, maybe I shouldn’t go into detail about that. You were always a very awkward person, shying away from conversations and keeping your friends close-knit. You were defying every academic odd. You won every competition you took part in, regardless of what it was, sport, spelling etc. Everyone always considered you a freak. I remember you crying excessively one day, and I was trying to calm you. Of course, you don’t listen to me. You wouldn’t listen to what I have to say. You only want me when you need me. You manipulator.

Moving on to that day. That one day. We were standing outside your house. The one where you were abused and molested. You held a carton of gasoline in one hand, and a lighter in the other. You stood grimly facing the house.

“Let’s do this”

I didn’t say anything. You lit the lighter and continued to dose the house in gas, while I floated calmly and watched. You had the most sadistic, maniacal laugh in your voice. Until the house started burning. You fell silent and sat mesmerized at the building engulfing itself in flames. You laughed. You rambled on about power. I didn’t listen; I was too busy wondering if your organs were working.

When the house was finally burnt, you walked over to two skeletons lying aimlessly on the floor, and you proceeded to tear the bones off, one by one, and fling them into the mental institution nearby while yelling ‘And stay out!’, all while possessing an evil grin no human could ever have.”


“Damn…did I really do that?”


“I am your conscience. I was there, dumbass”


I sat on the cold chair, paralysed with fear. The room was shrouded in white. Nothing there. Just a void of colourless mass. Or colourful, if we’re turning into physicians. He was standing before me, his gaze penetrating my soul, cutting deeper as the seconds trundled by. I looked at him, my eyes intently following his slow paces as my fears continued to consume me. I felt every emotion lunge at me, screaming in desperation for me to let them out. But I didn’t. I continued to remain in the cold, hard chair, whilst my emotions decided to plot against me. Oblivious to my internal rebellion, he stopped his pacing and approached me, his firm stare stabbing me with panic. I gulped and prayed to every god I could think of, while he started to speak.

‘You have no idea who I am, do you?’

His voice dripped with seething rage, and I tried to compose my thoughts to the point where I could utter a sentence that was recognisable. I sweated and shook my head in terror. He gave a sly smirk and chuckled to himself, but I could tell that chuckle was more than a simple expression of pleasantness. That chuckle was the kind of chuckle that could break a country in a second, the chuckle that could rid the world of everything. That was power etched over a sly mask. I trembled as he turned away, facing the white void. The cogs in his malicious brain were turning, as he pondered the unthinkable. My brain started to implode from the pressure, and I did everything in my power to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks in panic. Eventually, after a self-imposed eternity, he looked back at me with a sly grin plastered over his vindictive face.

‘Do you want me to tell you?’

The speech was so articulately pronounced, its sharpness could kill a man. It was cold, bland, yet it dripped with expression. If expression means the intent on destroying the planet, then his voice was filled with expression. Wounding, yes, but still expression. I nodded vigorously, and he chuckled again, every sound particle burning my skin with terror and rebelliousness. He walked away, to the wall, and pondered again. I felt mounds of detest build up in me; yet I knew that if I did anything outside of his boundaries, I would be smothered to pieces. When he turned back to me, I had a sudden realisation, epiphany, whatever. I knew him. Who is he? Every muscle in my body tensed as he opened his mouth.

‘I am your brain; I am spiteful, hostile, intolerable. I inflict fear, I know you did not want to do this. I am overpowering, and I will always get my way’

As soon as he said that, I saw his eyes fill with hate and I saw insanity and power drench him to the point where he was worthless. He looked at me, vengeful. His eyes were filled with hatred and paralysed me, yet again.

‘I will do this until you’re dead, Mr Manson. Now go, off to your jail cell. Just remember, the body may be incarcerated, but the mind will always be free’.

I felt my body become overwhelmed with rage, and I trundled out of the void.

I opened my eyes, to see the blood of my cellmates smothered over the walls.

I banged my body against the door until it snapped and shattered to pieces.

Armed with a knife, I bolted around the prison, not being content until every human in this building was slaughtered.

Because that’s what Mr Brain told me to do.

And by slaughtering every human in this building, I must start with the person reading this tattered scripture standing in my blood-filled cell.

Say bye-bye.


Yes, I know those stories are terrible but when you’re listening to fast-hyped music you literally don’t care.

Also, we had 2 snow days in a row (this one is the second)

That’s unheard of because I NEVER had a snow day so it feels really weird

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading my cringy stories


~bloggerofthebloggish 🙂