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Negative effects of body image
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Negative effects of body image
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“Hey, do you have a sharpener I can borrow?”
She looked up from the French sentence she was writing and smiled at him, nodding. “Yeah, hold on.”
Her slender back curving as she bent sideways to dig through her bag, she came back up in just a matter of seconds with a blue pencil sharpener in her hand. “Here ya go.”
He quietly took the contraption from her, nodding in thanks. He lowered his eyes as he twisted the worn-out pencil, picturing the tiny razor and screws inside making it usable once more.
“You shouldn’t do that to yourself.”
Dropping the sharpener, his head snapped up, and he eyed her warily. “Huh?”
That small smile still curved her lips, and her dark eyes seemed softer than usual. “You shouldn’t do that to yourself,” she repeated.
“I don’t-”
Her fingers, still chilled from holding a frozen water bottle, suddenly curled around his forearm - his scarred arm. He winced inwardly at her touch, having completely forgotten that the heat had driven him to reluctantly pull off his blazer.
“It’s not good to hurt yourself. You should be happy.”
“That’s…it’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is,” she said with a shrug. “Just don’t do it. Be happy.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, irritated. “You can’t tell me how to feel or what to do. You barely know me.”
“You’re right, but I can tell you that it’s a horrible thing you’re doing to your skin. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I promise.”
“But I don’t-”
The lunch bell rang, then, cutting him off mid-sentence. She let go of his arm, which he didn’t realize she’d still been holding, and fluidly stood up before gathering her belongings. “I’ll see you later. Keep in mind what I told you.” Giving him one last smile, she exited the classroom.
He hurriedly shrugged on his blaz...
... middle of paper ...
... the cabinet above the sink, but as soon as he started searching for ointment, his eyes landed on something else. He grabbed a pack of spare razor blades.
This is a stupid idea, he thought, even as he pried open the pack. I shouldn’t do this. It’s wrong.
When he pressed the cool razor into his skin for the first time, his heart was pounding and he wanted to stop, but he found that he couldn’t. And when he saw the blood run down his arm, the breath was knocked right out of him. He drew the razor across his skin once more, and inhaled shakily. It was an amazing sensation - painful, but pleasurable. Reckless, but satisfying.
He couldn’t remember what happened after those first two cuts, just that when he woke up in the morning and saw his arm, he felt strangely pleased. Even if he couldn’t control most of the pain in his life, he could control this.
He wanted more.
She gave a quick hug. And then went to liberate Lindy of his choker, that she had lent her.
Oscar’s mother states that she found him bleeding on the bathroom. Oscar states that he did not try to kill himself. Oscar’ mother admits that he had seen a psychiatrist in the past due to his self-mutilating behavior. Upon assessment the nurse notices multiple scars from previous cuttings from his wrist up to the elbows. Oscar has two new lacerations that need repair. Oscar admits that he cut himself. He says that he feels pleasure and relaxation when he does it. Oscar state that he did not want to cut himself so deep. He says that everything is a misunderstanding.
What, with my thin lips and my eyes too close together?""Tally. And my frizzy hair and squashed-down nose? Don't say that, don't say that. " His fingers brushed her cheeks, where the scratches were almost healed, and ran fleetingly across her lips.
He was learning to survive. This man was filled with stress and anxiety. When you’re stressed your body doesn’t react the way it would if you weren’t stressed. He was anxious and his heart was beating fast. His mind was scrambling trying to figure out what was happening.
“Pardon me?” Miss Allen asked, finally putting an end to the creepy ass moment of deadly silence. The perplexed expression on her face grew more confound with each passing second, but the gentleness in her eyes remained the same.
“That’s so sweet. No guy has ever gone through so much trouble for me.” She felt her eyes welling up.
“Even alone I can’t say I loved Tom,” She admitted in a pitiful voice. “It wouldn’t be true.”
I don’t feel like getting my heart ripped out right now.” Taking a seat beside Jorge, Tom studied Booker’s indignant expression. “Sit down, Dennis,” he instructed with a noticeable sigh. Only when he was seated did Booker notice the paleness of Tom’s face, the sallow color of his skin highlighted by the faint bruise adorning the corner of his mouth. “Are you okay?”
She came stumbling across the room toward him. "I want it," she said quietly. "You've not destroyed it?"
With a concerned look on her face, “I’m sorry babe, I wish there was something that I could do to make you feel better.”
"You like it, eh?" Her father bestowed on her his secret smile. In truth it was more of a smirk. Right lip raised slightly to expose an endearing dimple beneath his moustache, his cupid's bow lips pursed so it looked like he was pouting. "I forget you are fierce, like she was."
While she was walking towards the chair, she kept on smiling and shaking her head gently. As soon as she reached to her place,
...s. At home, holding the razor in one hand, he started high at the back end of the ear, and downward so that the lower part of his left ear was chopped off. He then wrapped the ear in a cloth and gave it as a "present" to a prostitute.
He felt his blood racing. He did not feel the pain in his head from the shield or the merciful injuries from the taunting. He was sure he was going to die and at that moment, he felt alive.
“Whatever,” I continued “I’m late for class. Forget about the plans going to be library at lunch” getting out of my car and slamming the door so I could hear the bleep noise to lock.