Self harm recovery is hard but here’s a poem of what self harm is to me.

I press my hands against the pain,

searching for a place

where the hurt feels real

and I can feel something

other than this emptiness.

The scars are shadows

etched across my skin,

stories I cannot speak,

confessions I hide

behind quiet eyes.

Each night is a battlefield,

my thoughts like knives,

cutting deeper

than any wound ever could.

I am screaming silently,

drowning in my own mind,

reaching for release

that slips through my fingers

like smoke.

I touch the hurt,

trace its edges,

and for a moment,

the world fades,

and I exist—

even if only in pain.

I hate the darkness

that lives inside me,

and I hate myself

for feeling this way,

but I am trapped

between wanting to vanish

and wanting to survive.

That’s my Poem. Also you are never alone!