In a moment of profound self-loathing and despair, I found myself consumed by an overwhelming urge to destroy the very essence of my being. It was a feeling that had been building within me for months, perhaps even years, and now it had reached a crescendo that could no longer be ignored. And so, with a sense of grim determination, I began to eat myself, bite by bite. It was a slow, methodical process, as though I was savoring each morsel of my own flesh, relishing in the pain and suffering that it brought.
At first, it was a small bite here and there, nothing too noticeable or extreme. But as I continued, I became more and more consumed by the urge to destroy myself, until it felt like there was nothing left of me but a hollow shell, waiting to be devoured.
The tears came easily, wave after cowardly wave, as I bit into my own flesh, relishing in the pain and the release that it brought. It was a grotesque act, a perversion of everything that I had once held dear, but in that moment, it felt like the only thing that made any sense.
As I consumed myself, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a pit of despair, unable to see a way out of the darkness that had enveloped me. But even as the tears washed over me, and the waves of sorrow threatened to pull me under, I knew that I could not stop. To do so would be to give up, to admit defeat in the face of the darkness that threatened to consume me.
And so I continued to eat myself, bite by painful bite, until there was nothing left but a shell of the person that I had once been. It was a dark and twisted act, one that I knew could never be undone, but in that moment, it felt like the only way to find some measure of peace in a world that had become so consumed by darkness.
theartofmadeline
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