Quotes About Pain

I open a paperclip and scratch it across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then what is this. A whimper, a peep? I draw little window cracks of blood, etching line after line until it stops hurting.

They tied me back together, but they didn't use double knots. My insides are draining out of the fault lines in my skin, I can feel it, but every time I check the bandages, they're dry.

I pushed my ragged mouth against the mirror. A thousand crushed bleeding lips pushed back at me...

Can't escape pain, kiddo. Battle through it and you get stronger.

I stuff my mouth with old fabric and scream until there are no sounds left under my skin.

I just want to sleep. The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away. It won't. I'll need brain surgery to cut it out of my head.

The bruises are vivid, but they will fade.

I was in a race to see if I would die from the outside in or the inside out.

There is a beast in my gut, I can hear it scraping away at the inside of my ribs. Even if I dump the memory, it will stay with me, staining me. My closest is a good thing, a quiet place that helps me hold these thoughts inside my head where no one can hear them.

If that was life, then it was twisted.

untreated pain is a cancer of the soul that can kill you

I open up a paper clip and scratch it across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then what is this? A whimper, a peep? I draw little windowcracks of blood, etching line after line until it stops hurting. It looks like I arm-wrestled a rosebush.

I can't let me hear this, but it's too late. The facts sneak in and stab me.

thoughts hidden there? If she can, what will she do? Call the cops? Send me to the nuthouse? Do I want her to? I just want to sleep. The whole point of not talking about it, of silencing the memory, is to make it go away. It won't. I'll need brain surgery to cut it out of my head. Maybe I should wait until David Petrakis is a doctor, let him do it.

Rape wounds deeply, splits open your core with shrapnel. The stench of the injury attracts maggots which hatch into clouds of doubt and self-loathing the dirt you feel inside you nourishes anxiety, depression, and shame poisoning your blood, festering in your brain until you will do anything to stop feeling the darkness rising within anything to stop feeling– untreated pain is a cancer of the soul that can kill you

It had become easier to lie about most things because it didn't hurt as much when he ignored me.

I'm fighting the shock of having a guest in my room. I almost kick her out because it's going to hurt too much when my room is empty again.

Pain won't be contained by bars or marks your scars deserve attention, too.

Did he rape my head, too?

I looked in the mirror and realized that I was already dead. I let you kill me one piece at a time, starting when I was, what? Eight years old? Nine? You killed yourself and then you came after us.

I wake up breathing dirt. I cough and spit out the pebbles in my mouth, but when I inhale again, wet clots of clay fill my lungs.

It is easier to floss with barbed wire than admit you like someone in middle school.

Home was still hellish, afire with the painful realization that no matter how much I loved my parents my love could not fix them

I didn't speak up when that boy raped me, instead I scalded myself in the shower and turned me into the ghost of the girl I once was, my biggest fear being that my father, no stranger to gaming with the devil, would kill that boy and it would be my fault.