How to stitch wounds

1. Pain

Disclaimer: mentions of rape, abuse, depression(including self harm), mentions of suicide, mental health issues, and alcohol abuse.
Please do not read if any apply to you. It was my responsibility to add a disclaimer, if any apply and you continued read, that is on you.

Thank you for reading otherwise
Sending love to all who need it ❤️❤️❤️

Michael POV

Just another day, living in a nightmare I can't escape. I could end it now if I wanted to.

I thought to myself as I stared at the blade in my hand, the same one my mother used when she would make those big family dinners, or the one my father would use to cut the zip ties on the toys I got for holidays and birthdays as gifts- when he was sober that is.
Am I brave enough? I thought to myself.

Could I end it all right now if I tried?
Could I ease my suffering, my pain, my anger? It would be nice to feel like I was somewhat at peace. Is that what death would feel like? I want to know. Pain is the only way I've ever been able to control my life, but could I have enough strength to die? This time would be different then every other time I've cut myself, I know that this time, I am trying to die-going to die. I want to. I feel so empty. Will I feel whole once it's done? I need to feel something, but I don't want to die no matter how many times I say I do. I already feel dead, but I'm afraid of the dark, to be left alone by myself, with no way out. That's why I need to feel something. Pain, sadness, anger,anything.

I stare at all the scars and even the fresh wounds on my wrists and up my arms. I look back at the knife I'm clutching in my hand as if i need it to breathe. I do need it to breathe.

Without a second thought, the blade glides against my skin, cutting deep into my flesh and causing blood to seep up through my fresh cut.

I couldn't feel it!

I felt tears in my eyes as I continued to rip into my arms until finally, a small whimper came from my mouth. I could feel my arm starting to sting. My arm was covered in blood, so was the knife and my other hand. Tears were flooding from my eyes, not from the pain, but from how much damage I had to cause to feel that small twinge of pain that I was longing for. That one feeling that reminded me, I still had a sliver of control in my life,as small as it may be. That I wasn't completely numb to the world.

Blood was starting to drip onto the bathroom floor where I had locked myself in. Most of the cuts had stopped bleeding but one in particular was still gushing and I was starting to get light-headed. I got on my knees and leaned over the bathtub, turning on the faucet and sticking my arm underneath. It didn't hurt anymore, cleaning the wounds. I only felt the pain for seconds after the damage was inflicted, then it quickly went away. I would usually just let the blood drip until it stopped before cleaning it up.

After I had washed my arm I realized the same cut was still bleeding but not as bad, so I grabbed a roll of gauze and wrapped myself up. As I cleaned up the mess on the floor and rinsed off the knife, I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. I was pale, an unhealthy,sickly pale. I had dark under eyes because of my lack of sleep and my face was kind of sunken in, almost as if I was dead.
I lifted up my shirt to examine my malnourished body. You could see every bone in my body, and not in a good way. I didn't even look like myself anymore. There were bruises across my chest as well. I couldn't help but stare at my poor condition.
"Who am I anymore?" I asked aloud, knowing that no one , including myself, could answer that question.