well, it's more of me. i want to cut. feel like crying. my arm won't stop hurting. i know i shouldn't cut, but hell, will it matter now? i feel so scared and alone.
there's a cut healing on my leg. on the calf. a nice, large one. i want to cut again. but i don't want to at the same time. so i sit and feel the slightly rough texture of the scab and remind myself i haven't cut since friday. that's six days. whoopie for me. i want to. i really wanted to last night. but instead i called my friend and talked for a while. i know it's not fair to my fiancee for this to happen. is that one of the reason's i've always avoided relationships? maybe. i don't hate the scars, you know. the other day i was thinking about it and realized they are, in a perverse way, indicitive of all i've survived. they are my war wounds, my badges of honor. i talked to that psych fellow yesterday about cutting. i don't think he understands. some of them do and some of them don't, you know? sometimes the things i so aptly told myself, years ago, such as that the razor is my only friend, still seem very true. 7/13/00
i sit here and i try to understand why it is i do this, why it is i cut. i know, realistically, it's for a whole lot of reasons, and for none of those reasons at all. some of it is perhaps because i am used to pain. i have come to expect it, to like and and perhaps, for some of us, to love it. pain is something i know: at times i hold it close, like an old and dear friend. maybe i need to change that. and yet, is it any easier to make new friends? for to me it seems they often prove so fickle and this one is always here with me, always only a razor's edge away. . . 7/1/00
i cut again. whoop de friggin do. it had been six days, i guess my count must have been off. how can i keep track of this when all i want to do afterwards is forget i've done it? i want to kill myself, really, but i'm not going to, or at least not right now. it hurts, though. i want to. also want to cut more. but what good would that do? i don't know if i want to stop. i don't know if there is anything else that can take the pain away like the si does. i mean, i know that it's not that way for other people. but we've already established that i'm all fucked up, haven't we? 6/26/00
well, some good news i guess. as of today i haven't cut in, um, three days. i know, doesn't sound like a helluva lot, does it? it is to me. believe me, it sure as hell is to me. there's been a lot going on in my life. i want to cut a lot. a lot of the time. so this is a kind of triumph for me i guess. i have new razors sitting in my box and wanting them. . . sometimes it's so much easier with new tools. i don't know what to say. i guess this is enough for now. 6/23/00
feeling vague and odd and strange. i want to bleed to hurt to cut to be. . . done with it now. but i can't and i won't, i suppose. or at least i'll try not to, that's enough for me anyway. it should be enough for anyone and yet it somehow ends up not being so. why? why do they care what i do to my own flesh, as long as i survivor. it's not as if i haven't got worse scars, from other times, and no one cared then. such a strange emptiness inside. sometimes the blood fills it, you see, like it fills the gaping ragged edges of a wound. i suppose that doesn't make sense to you. that's alright. i can explain more as we go along this journey together. i have all the time in world, after all. 5/19/00
sitting here. watching the blood running down my arm. i cut earlier. it's almost four thirty in the morning and i'm sitting here bleeding and listening to strange music. thinking of cutting again. why? becaue it helps. it helps me anyway. sometimes. not all the time but it does sometimes and that's enough for me at least for now. 5/17/00