Demons
By the Black Goddess
I don't trust myself. I know I'm twisted and evil. I know I have a temper that would take me over if I let it, and would destroy me and all around me.
Sometimes I think of my anger and my hatred as a separate entity, a dark thing always lurking inside me, trying to take over. I feel so full of anger I can't even speak sometimes. The rage inside me cannot be expressed in words.
But I know a way of making all the hurt and pain go away, if not forever then for a little while. I cut myself. I take a knife that I keep under my bed and slice lines into my body. I do not use my arms - I don't want anyone to question me. I don't want to die, I just need something to help me cope. Other people have friends. I have none. Crabbe and Goyle are henchmen, not friends. I have the plans, the ideas, they are just there to agree to them. Everyone else just wants a piece of the Malfoy glory, a share in the fortune, the kudos of being associated with a Malfoy. They don't give a fuck about me as a person. Some people take drugs or drink to help them get through the bad parts. I slice myself. I know it's not perfect. I know it's not a great way of solving my problems, but it'll do for now, until I find a better way of coping. The marks are on my hipbones. Like I said, I don't want to die, and as far as I know, there's nothing major between the hipbones and the skin. It's an area that no one sees, no one will ask how I got the marks. I don't want attention. Cutting myself helps me to deal with my problems. For a little while it makes them go away. I can go out and face the world, the anger gone - for now. I don't feel guilty - why should I? It's my body, my business, and believe me it's better than the alternative.
I am a person of many parts. My public facade is brilliant. Just the right amount of hatred for Potter and gang, just the right amount of disgust for mudbloods. Oh, I know how to make people dance to my tune. I know what they want to hear, when they want to hear it and how they want to hear it. They fall at me feet and I hate them for it. I despise most people, they are idiots, they run in herds. They agree with me because I'm rich, because I express what they think is the popular opinion. They don't spend two seconds thinking about whether or not it's the right view, and if they do they are too afraid to disagree with me. Weak.
I want to be strong, and my own weakness gnaws at my insides. Why do I let my father dictate to me? Even when he cannot see me, I live how I think he wants me too. I'm not sure if that's how I want to be, but until I decide I'll parrot his views. I express these doubts to no one however. My defiance is in my right hand, holding its knife. They can dictate my life to me and I may be forced to live it, but I have this secret which saves me.
I don't feel it at all when I cut. I am angry, so angry I don't have words for it, so scared inside I want to cry, to scream my pain for all to hear, to confess everything, to have someone to save me, to help me, to make things OK.
But there's no one to tell and no one to hear and the knife takes it away. I slice two, three lines into my hip then rest, knife in hand, watching my red blood spill over my pale skin. Eventually I mop up the blood with a tissue. Sometimes they heal then, sometimes they bleed more. I have bandages if they bleed too much. I clean the knife and put it back. The pain still doesn't come, the bubble of anger inside me is gone, and I am happy. Mostly I don't even feel the pain until the nest day. It hurts, but it's OK. I am sane again, my demons released, my control regained and I can go on pretending for a little longer.
Disclaimer
I do not own Draco Malfoy or anything to do with Harry Potter (well, duh!)
I do not recommend self-harm as a method of coping. I know that many people self-harm for many different reasons, and I do not presume to know anything about those reasons. Don't flame me for not presenting self-harm as you see it.
By the Black Goddess
I don't trust myself. I know I'm twisted and evil. I know I have a temper that would take me over if I let it, and would destroy me and all around me.
Sometimes I think of my anger and my hatred as a separate entity, a dark thing always lurking inside me, trying to take over. I feel so full of anger I can't even speak sometimes. The rage inside me cannot be expressed in words.
But I know a way of making all the hurt and pain go away, if not forever then for a little while. I cut myself. I take a knife that I keep under my bed and slice lines into my body. I do not use my arms - I don't want anyone to question me. I don't want to die, I just need something to help me cope. Other people have friends. I have none. Crabbe and Goyle are henchmen, not friends. I have the plans, the ideas, they are just there to agree to them. Everyone else just wants a piece of the Malfoy glory, a share in the fortune, the kudos of being associated with a Malfoy. They don't give a fuck about me as a person. Some people take drugs or drink to help them get through the bad parts. I slice myself. I know it's not perfect. I know it's not a great way of solving my problems, but it'll do for now, until I find a better way of coping. The marks are on my hipbones. Like I said, I don't want to die, and as far as I know, there's nothing major between the hipbones and the skin. It's an area that no one sees, no one will ask how I got the marks. I don't want attention. Cutting myself helps me to deal with my problems. For a little while it makes them go away. I can go out and face the world, the anger gone - for now. I don't feel guilty - why should I? It's my body, my business, and believe me it's better than the alternative.
I am a person of many parts. My public facade is brilliant. Just the right amount of hatred for Potter and gang, just the right amount of disgust for mudbloods. Oh, I know how to make people dance to my tune. I know what they want to hear, when they want to hear it and how they want to hear it. They fall at me feet and I hate them for it. I despise most people, they are idiots, they run in herds. They agree with me because I'm rich, because I express what they think is the popular opinion. They don't spend two seconds thinking about whether or not it's the right view, and if they do they are too afraid to disagree with me. Weak.
I want to be strong, and my own weakness gnaws at my insides. Why do I let my father dictate to me? Even when he cannot see me, I live how I think he wants me too. I'm not sure if that's how I want to be, but until I decide I'll parrot his views. I express these doubts to no one however. My defiance is in my right hand, holding its knife. They can dictate my life to me and I may be forced to live it, but I have this secret which saves me.
I don't feel it at all when I cut. I am angry, so angry I don't have words for it, so scared inside I want to cry, to scream my pain for all to hear, to confess everything, to have someone to save me, to help me, to make things OK.
But there's no one to tell and no one to hear and the knife takes it away. I slice two, three lines into my hip then rest, knife in hand, watching my red blood spill over my pale skin. Eventually I mop up the blood with a tissue. Sometimes they heal then, sometimes they bleed more. I have bandages if they bleed too much. I clean the knife and put it back. The pain still doesn't come, the bubble of anger inside me is gone, and I am happy. Mostly I don't even feel the pain until the nest day. It hurts, but it's OK. I am sane again, my demons released, my control regained and I can go on pretending for a little longer.
Disclaimer
I do not own Draco Malfoy or anything to do with Harry Potter (well, duh!)
I do not recommend self-harm as a method of coping. I know that many people self-harm for many different reasons, and I do not presume to know anything about those reasons. Don't flame me for not presenting self-harm as you see it.