At first, Taehyung didn’t realize what he was doing.  It happened so fast.  The overwhelming sadness, the feeling of loneliness, the burdens on his shoulders-- it was too much.  An escape shone through the darkness, just waiting to be discovered.  The feeling of control over his pain, he liked that.  He wanted to know he could decide how he felt.  When the sharp metal cut through his skin, it took away his sadness.  It was the cure he had been looking for, or so he thought.   

Three months later, things had gotten out of control.  Every moment was filled with the overwhelming need to harm himself.  It was a comfort of some kind, a sense of sick happiness.  He felt complete during those moments, those times when his skin would scream out in agony while the metal scratched through its cells.  Why did he feel this way?  He didn’t know.