Help, I’m Drowning

Not literally, but figuratively in depression. Sometimes I wonder if my parents ever notice these moodswings. This morning I was pretty happy and now I’ve hit rock bottom. About half an hour ago I mutilated my leg again. I don’t bother to clean the razor blades anymore and you can see how the blood’s congealed into this brown, sticky substance. There’s blood on them from months ago which no one will ever see, nor care. Cut, cut, cut. It’s all I have going for me.

I’m a freak, an outcast with no place in any society.

Time To Redefine The Day I Hurt Myself

In my conversation with Caitlin, I realised I don’t even remember when I started my self-injury. I think it was in New Brunswick. Was it the attempted hanging of myself? Or was it the week I kept reopening my scratch I got from my cat with a blunt safetypin and painted things in my own blood? Which came first? Or was it that time in kindergarten when I stabbed my thumb with an extremely sharp safetypin? I bled all over the place I remember.

Was it my morbidity that led me to this? I’ve always loved the way the light played upon the blades of knives. Asphyxiation is nice, too. I can’t remember the asphyxiation too well because I’ve tried to block those memories from back then out.

I do miss cutting. I’ve had moments where that mental itch would be so bad that I’ve used elastics to try to alleviate it. But elastics don’t give the same kind of pain as razorblades. Elastics only give ephemeral pain that passes within a few minutes. Razorblade cuts leave a pain that lasts a week or 2. They also bleed a fair amount. I love the sight of my own blood so much. It’s very much unhealthy.

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Now playing: The Used – Hospital
via FoxyTunes

All The Colors Upon Leaving, All Will Turn To Grey

Colors seem faded. Especially the colors of synthetic things. Lot’s of things look grey. No, I’m not on drugs, it just sounds like it. Drugs are supposed to make you feel all light, floaty, and happy or so I heard. This is the total opposite.

Food is nasty, food is gross, food makes me sick, I wanna vomit. Every time I consume something, I’ll always feel nauseous.

This weather is only for the crows. Is someone gonna die in that house? The crow caws upon it.

(EDIT)

The Only Thing I’ll Ever Miss As Much As My Kitties…

…is carpentry. I have a razor here. And I’m cutting. (EDIT) It’s my desk. It carves so well. I think I’ve ruined this razor. It wasn’t very good anyway, so flimsy, so bent. But still sharp enough to cut and scrape.

The only thing I’m good at is destroying stuff. Like my desk. Like my relationships. Like myself.

(EDIT)

Of Late Nights and Cutting Fetishes

Why am I always up so late? Why am I the only night owl in this family? Why is it that it can be 2:30am and I’ll be ready to dance around on my futon listening to my iPod Shuffle and everyone will be sleeping? Call me a vampiress. Minus the bloodsucking.

And cutting. Not right now, of course, but thoughts float around in this brain of mine. I can’t believe I actually thought the following: Hmm, The Art of Drowning or a set of razorblades; I can’t decide which. How fucked up is that? Very is your response.