"You worthless bitch!" an intimidating man said swinging his arm, shoving the defenseless girl against a wall. The girl hit the wall hard, shaking the entire surface. She winced in pain, if this didn't leave marks she'd be lucky. This was just the beginning her father wasn't through with her just yet. His huge hands crushed the trembling girl's shoulders pinning her against the wall.

"Don't fucking talk back to me! Do you understand?" the burly man growled his grip tightening.

"Yes! I'm sorry" screamed the terrified teenage girl. Almost immediately her father let go and stalked away in anger.

"Bastard" Allison muttered at her father's retreating figure. She was still trembling from the attack as she limped into her room. Her room was her only safe haven from her parents, from him. Out of the two of her parents she only ever feared her father. He was a violent man at least twice her size and it didn't take much to set off his temper. This time it had been over her skirt being so short (it went past her knees so I wasn't short at all) and she had accidentally called him a 'moron.' That had enraged her father and she'd suffered for it, like she always did. She took a deep breath to hold her tears in check, if she cried while he could still hear her she'd be in for a worse beating then the one she'd just received.

With a sigh of relief she went into her room and silently shut the door and quickly snapped the lock into place. The lock was a piece of shit, it wouldn't take much force to break it and Lisa had no doubts that her father wouldn't hesitate to do just that.

"Fucker," she mumbled rubbing her shoulders, already knowing that the bruises would be visible the next day. She always had bruises, so many in fact that her friends no longer seemed to be concerned to see a particularly painful looking one somewhere on her body. She leaned against the door, shaking violently and silently crying. She lost control of her breathing, either breathing too much or too little. Her cell phone began to vibrate on the shelf it'd been thrown on. Probably her best friend calling to make sure she was all right. Allison ignored it. Instead she began to dig through the top drawer of her dresser. After rummaging for a moment or two she found a rusty screw.

She wiped at her eyes, trying to stop the crying. The shaking was worse than before, she could barely keep hold of the screw. She took a deep breath and rolled her pants down just enough to expose her hips. Expertly she lined the tip of the screw on top of an old scar. She closed her eyes and began to scrape at the skin. She needed the buzz. It hurt at first but then it faded. She could feel the physical changes. Her tears stopped. Her breath evened out. The shaking had stopped. She was calm. She put the screw away in its hiding place and fixed her pants. She gently pressed a hand against the spot forcing a jolt of pain/pleasure to course through her. Her phone went off again. This time she picked it up.

"Hey. You alright?" Jacki asked sounding worried. Allison didn't answer.

"Something happen?"


"You ok?"


"Wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"How bad?"

"Maybe pushing three inches long."



"With what?"


"Just now?"


"You'll be ok. I promise." Jacki tried to sound reassuring.

"No, I won't. Not as long as I stay here."


No, I am not saying self injury (SI) is a good coping mechancism. I am saying that it's a real problem and sometimes the "victim" doesn't see any other alternative to deal with thier emotional pain.