I can't believe I sent out that ListBot message. I can't even tell my best friends that I hurt myself and I just told a whole group of strangers.
But maybe it's a good thing. I keep getting e-mails where people say they've been through the same thing or have thought about it. I can't believe it. We're all normal teenage girls but we've all got the same pain.
It's amazing. I felt depressed and elated all at the same time.
But, but, but I still cut myself today.
I did it in the shower. It's really hard to shave my legs now. I want to use the razor for something else and I have to remind myself not to. Well, I ended up doing it. I heard a couple of insults mentally and I did it.
Then, I kept hearing that voice say 'cut, cut, cut. cut 'Lia, cut. what are you scared of? suck my d---, suck my d--- . . ." I'd taken a box of bandages from downstairs so I could hide the blood better and I took my razor and slashed three new cuts into my ankle. God, it's so ugly. I look like I'm in street fight or something.
These cuts weren't as deep as yesterday's. Remember the prank call? After it, I cut deep. Ugh. I felt so much better though.
---August 9, 2000
That cut from Monday is still there. It still bleeds. I'm sick of myself.
There's a quote somewhere, "I'm in hell and the hell is me," or something to that extent. Yeah, that sums it up.
I got up really late today. I'd fallen asleep on the couch. My mom thought I'd been awake the entire night again. I didn't want to get up because then I knew I'd cut myself.
I did. A little deeper this time. I don't know why. I don't even know when I do it. It just happens.
Some stupid idea keeps running around my brain for a fiction story--non-BSB--and I don't know why, but I might as well write it.
I've kept 'Iris' on repeat for a few days now. Check out these lyrics:
And you can't fight the tears that ain't comin'
They speak for themself. Too perfect. It's so weird, because one second I'm my usual happy, perky self that everyone online used to know my as, the person my friends and parents know me as, and the next I'm adding another mark to my ankle. It makes no sense to me at all.
At least I've given up crying. Whenever I see the blood I feel alive again.
Someone pointed out that SI-ing is a form of attention, and that self injurers cut themselves in visible places, like we enjoy the attention.
Hmmm. That may be true. It is an outcry for help. But then, why do I cut myself where no one can see?
I don't know. I'm off to do something or other . . .
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And I don't want the world to see me
'Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive
¤ chickchat