My name’s Alexander. People call me Alex. I’m 24 years old and have a decent enough job. I’m relatively smart, popular, fairly confident, extremely funny, good with girls, good with guys, and have lots of tattoos.
I also self-harm.
Until that sentence, only four people knew I self-harm: my mother, my best friend (who found out by accident), my brother (who also found out by accident), and my doctor. I know there’s a stereotype of those who self-harm, but I don’t fit it. If you knew me, you wouldn’t for a second think that I do it.
I’m the type of guy who always needs to be doing something: movies, parties, nights out with friends, or just kicking it with some beers and some video games. However, I’m tired. So, so, tired. It’s no one’s…
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