Ironclad Prologue

Feedback is more than welcome

I sat in the dark listening to my labored breathing, trembling from the sheer willpower it took not to give in to temptation yet again.
Refusing to look in the direction of my knife, I tried, unsuccessfully, to lay down and relax enough to sleep. This was always worse at night, in the dark. Tonight it seemed to be saturated.
Stop thinking about it, I scolded myself.
Ha. Easier said than done. Unconsciously my thumbs gently passed over scars healed over and more recent scabs caused by my addiction.
Look at you, the snide voice always lurking in the back of my head said, You’re pathetic. You’re weak. You’re worse than nothing.
I winced, drawing in an involuntary whoosh of crisp air.
I hate you I mentally shot back, still trembling because I wanted so badly to feel the sweet relief that accompanied the pain, absolutely longing to see the deep red blood flowing from my skin.
Stop! Stop! Half of my brain screamed as, unthinking, my hand reached yet again for the knife.
  You’ll hate yourself for this, the voice said wryly.
I  know I sighed in reply
And then the deed was done. A small gasp escaped my lips. It hurt, but it felt so good. I sighed
I looked down at my arm. Mom is gonna kill me tomorrow. As I continued to look, more unwelcome thoughts bombarded my mind. Pathetic. Weak. Worthless. Want more. So good. So sweet. Nothing. Nobody wants you.
It was going to be a long night yet.

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