TW: Self-harm

In my dimly lit room, I sat alone, clutching the cold blade in my trembling hand. The sharp edge glinted in the faint light, a cruel reminder of this storm of emotions and despair. With each passing moment, the weight of hopelessness pressed down on me like a heavy burden, suffocating any flicker of optimism that dared to spark within me. As I stared into the void, the blade whispered to me of my perceived inadequacies, my failures, and my deepest fears, shattering any illusion of self-worth or redemption. In that solitary moment, I found myself consumed by the haunting realization that perhaps, despite my yearning for change, the darkness within me was too deep to ever truly light the way to a brighter tomorrow.
And with each deliberate slice to my skin, a flood of unspoken words erupts like a torrent, flooding the silence with emotions too raw and painful to articulate.
The crimson beads that trace a path down my arms carry the weight of secrets and sorrows I bury deep within, staining my sleeves as a visible testament to my inner turmoil. As I carefully wrap each bandage around my wounds, the gentle pressure serves as a silent plea to break the cycle of self-inflicted pain and reach out for the healing touch of spoken words.
Each bandage becomes a symbol of resilience and a reminder that there is strength in vulnerability, urging me to find my voice amidst the deafening silence that surrounds me.