This is the first story I've written that actually covers a serious topic so, if that hits a nerve for you, just a warning. I am not glorifying self-harm at all, kind of the opposite- the whole point of this story is the recovery side of things. I'm just writing this based off books and other fanfictions I've read, so I'm not entirely sure if I'm getting it right or not. I have no idea how this is going to turn out, so prompts would be nice? I have a couple of bits and pieces already written, and I'm hoping I can update pretty soon seeing as it's the Christmas holidays. I haven't written Brittana before; it was just a challenge from my Mum to focus on something that's not Kurt, although he will make some regular appearances in later chapters (I haven't planned this at all).

Anyways, I don't own Glee or the song (Hurt, 9 Inch Nails) and all that stuff.

PROLOUGE, SANTANA POV

When I turned seventeen, my life changed forever.

It's not a feeling I can explain, although I'll try my hardest. Just looking in the mirror, on the morning of my seventeenth birthday, it was like a weight fell on my shoulders. It was my reflection staring back at me, but what I felt inside, in my head had changed. Yes, I was still me; I just wasn't the same me I'd been for the past seventeen years.

Everything had seemed as if it were in colour before- now I was looking in black and white. I tried to think of the things I liked, that made me feel happy, but the pleasure had been sucked out of them. Nothing was giving me joy- nothing was giving me anything. I felt no emotion.

Was it the thought of growing up? Leaving behind the life I used to love?

I don't know why, even now.

I carried on the same though.

I'm a rubbish liar- anyone who knows me can see that.

But for months I scraped through, and no one suspected a thing. My grades stayed the same and I looked in perfect health, even if inside I felt like hell. To them, I was the same person I'd always been.

It hurt me.

It hurt me how no-one would notice how my eyes lost their sparkle, how my voice showed no tone, how my facial expressions were forced.

It was as if my brain was asleep, and my body seemed to be on an auto pilot. I couldn't control what I was doing. I was alive, but I wasn't living.

And then my senior year came around.

The night before the first day of the semester I broke down. Was it a good sign, that I was showing some form of emotion?

No, it was bad, because I felt worse than I ever had before. My eyes had opened, and I could see that I was a mess. In that moment, the truth hit me- in less than a year's time, McKinley High would just be another memory. I would be an adult; I'd have to take care of myself. I was going to be at college.

And there was another problem. What college would I apply to, what could I major in? I showed no preference towards any subjects- they were just another lot of facts and figures as far as I was concerned.

I collapsed to the floor in a heap, sobbing. In a way, it felt good to finally show some emotion, to let out what I'd been keeping inside for so long. For nearly an hour I just sat still on the floor, crying silently, allowing the salty tears to roll down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them away. What was the point? My breathing was quiet, but staggered and shaky.

The tears stopped, and so did my feelings, again. I could feel myself floating away again, turning into the robot version of myself.

Yes, I was no longer hysterically weeping. But I was now turning into… nobody. A person with no soul, no heart, no feelings, and I didn't want that again.

When I was crying… I felt horrible. That's an understatement. I felt the worst I'd ever felt in my life, but I'd felt something, and in a way I felt better, because I knew that somewhere inside of me, there were some feelings, some parts of me still there.

I felt something else, in that moment- frustration. I needed to get that spark back, the connection with the world, with my own life, which had been lost in these past few months. I slammed my fist against the wall.

The pain brought tears to my eyes, but that wasn't why I gasped.

Because the spark was there. The pain in my hand sent me tumbling back down again.

Did I have to feel pain, just to feel just slightly like myself?

I didn't want to become one of the self-harming teens you read about in the newspaper- I wasn't really that depressed, in that much of a funk, was I?

Yes I was. Because as I gingerly pressed my fist against the wall, the pain felt nothing but… good.

And my robotic-self took over again, and I was somehow inexplicably standing in the kitchen. And just within my reach was the knife draw.

My brain was whirring and I felt woozy.

Yes, that pain was good. But was it worth it? Surely a therapist could help me, or Miss Pillsbury? No, I didn't want to do this. I wasn't going to ruin myself like that.

I tried to turn away but my body was frozen. I couldn't move.

Yes, I could. Because my hand was reaching towards the draw, towards the blades lying in there…

I wanted to scream. This wasn't going to help at all, but whatever I tried to do had no effect. I had no control over what I was doing.

And then the cold metal was in my hands, running over my skin, the tip of the knife pressing against my arm…

I gasped because I knew what was coming next, and as much as I tried to pull the knife away, some invisible force was fighting back. And this force was so strong…

No.

And the force won, applying just enough pressure to scar the soft skin underneath, crimson blood rushing out of the wound.

I didn't know what to feel now. I waited for the tears to come but my eyes stayed dry. Slotting the knife in the draw again, I slowly walked upstairs again and left the wound, as if nothing had happened.

I hurt myself today,
To see if I still feel,
I focus on the pain,
The only thing that's real,
The needle tears a hole,
The old familiar sting,
Try to kill it all away,
But I remember everything,

What have I become,
My sweetest friend,
Everyone I know goes away,
In the end,
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt,
I will let you down,
I will make you hurt,

If I could start again,
A million miles away,
I would keep myself,
I would find a way.

This was the year that everything would change.

But for the better or worse?