• I spend almost as much time thinking about cutting as I do thinking about jay, possibly more. lately though it’s been haunting me like never before. I think about the urges, the feeling of the blade slicing through. that nowdays, I can’t bring myself to press just a little bit harder to make them deep. about whether or not I should get a new first aid kit, just incase I start again. I gave most of my blades away, but now should I go get more. I cannot stop thinking about it. every time I get an urge I make the descision to not cut, no matter how hard I’m craving it I try and ride it out, dictract myself. but I fucking miss it, and I know, one day sooner or later I will cave. ill start again and I want to so fucking much. but I don’t want to. I don’t even know. I have depended on it so much. I think things start to get better but then i’ll get yet another urge. these urges, I have so many triggers, so much makes me want to cut. any small amount of anger sadness and disappointment and I can feel a ghostly blade slashing at my wrists. I feel it all the time, I know the signs; my heart sinks and then my wrists start to ache. pleading for the blood to be released. did you know, that when you make those little silly shallow cuts, they have a name? their called hesitiation wounds or something. it’s sick I know that, sick that I know the positioning of every major artery in the body. I feel sick sometimes when I someone else’s scars because I want them so badly. I use my own scars like a stress ball, stroking them to relieve the tension. I want to cut. I need to cut. I want to, I have to. so why don’t i? what the fuck is stopping me? home is horrible. dad’s actually not so bad. I know that they’re having a hard time accepting it. but he seems to be trying, unlike her. he seems to paving the way for me abit.a nd though I doubt I’ll ever tell him I’m thankful. I’m also cynical, maybe it’s just because its for art that I can see her. I don’t know. I was so fuckign wrong back then when I thought that they would accept it. I should have known I guess, but I had so much hope. dad was asking her tonight if jay can come up to help me, because I’d asked and she hadn’t answered. she always does that. she said not while I’m at home. that doesn’t work. she’s always at home. always. it’s my fucking art. it’s not like I’m going to be kissing her there or anything. because oh no mother fucking dearest I try so fucking hard to not scar you with any details of our relationship. I need to talk to you mother dearest I need to fucking have it out with you. I should ring ross. I need another appointment. I wonder, could we do a thing, me, ross, jay and the parents. maybe? I’ am so sick of it. i’m so down. Friday night was amazing but I have cried so much in the past few days. I’m physically and emotionally exhausted, stressed and losing it. winter is always bad for me. I love the cold and the rain and everything. but it makes me sad. this is when is start cutting again. I just want to be able to see her, to not live in fear that my mother will rage at two girls kissing, a gay pride site or a text from jay. I am not myself with my family. I am a shadow, a ghost. I try to be who they want to be, to some extent. I ahte it. they don’t even fucking know who I am. and when the internet is cut off. then what? I can write, but you won’t be able to read it. it’s been awhile since I said this, but I’m craving some oblivion right now. I managed to ride out the night, to cry and talk to her, finally achieving numbness. I don’t like it. she’s been putting on a mask to. she can’t cope either. mm. it just occurred to me that this may not make any sense at all whatsoever, its seven in the morning and I’ve had about four hours sleep, but that’s more than what she had. her eloquence is amazing, all these things I’ve felt for years she manages to describe it perfectly: “and I just feel like fucking crap, I’ve been putting this mask to everyone, that I’m fine, that I’m perfectly in control of myself and it’s driving me insane. but I’m keeping at it. I can’t afford to fuck up as much as I want. to just fuck it all and run away some place with you. I can’t, it’s not a real option and I just have to fight through my mind. it’s a constant battle with it to stay in control for myself and everyone around me.” “I won’t keep up a mask for you, but I will be strong for you, even if it’s just for you. because as long as we’re fine, I’m fine and as long as you’re okay I am too. the thing is I am genuinely happy when I’m with you. all the bad things I’m feeling go away. then they all come flooding back and all too quickly and it’s dreadfully overwhelming. but I’m okay I can control it, it isn’t that bad. kit certainly isn’t nearly as bad as it used to be. I love you and that’s all that fucking matters. and I’d do whatever it takes to keep you from going over the edge… and if you go, I go with you. it’s just the way it is. so together we rode out the night, crying, hurting. alone. separated by fifteen minutes of distance. it could be another fucking state it seems that far. this morning, four hours later, somehow awake and moving my mother starts blabbering at me, telling me okay, Jacinta can come up tonight. I’ll pick you guys up from art, dad will take you home afterwards. I hate her. honestly, how does she think that she can just do that. you’ve got guitar ensemble after school, so that wouldn’t work anyway. and my ideas are changing, I want to plan them a bit more. you can’t just do that. I cried for hours last night, for you to turn around and pretend it never happened. I’m sorry. I just can’t do that. I give up.

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