"and there's no mystical design
no cosmic lover preassigned
theres nothing you can find
that cannot be found"

--Wicked Little Town, Tommy Gnosis, 'Hedwig and the Angry Inch'

It has been a very very long time . . . i thought I wasnt going to do it again . . .

People have relapses, they fall of and on bandwagons and they have flashbacks . . I am no exception i suppose. What I have done will forever be something I do . . . even if i have gone a year without it.

there is always that temptation, that need. I have those moments, jsut like an addict, where it hink if i can jsut do it once everything will be ok, if just do it alittle then i will feel better and i will never do it again.

they say you cant cure alcoholism, its a disease. they will always be alcoholics and will never be able to drink like a normal person without reverting back to the old habits.

then why do they call them recovering alcoholics?

my mother saw my arm afterward, after an hour or so of me conveniently having it bent in such a way taht it would be unseen. I told her i scraped it on the fence . . .

she has to wonder i suppose, she is an intelligent woman, she sitn falling for anything involving afence, she knws better . . . but would the truth ever occur to her?

holdmy may arms around me, crying like i havent in months and months . . . i start thinking about the old habit. start scratching the udnerside of my arms with my naisl reminding myself how it felt . . . . and after a few mintues of crying and scratching and telling myself now, i clamber to the door and shut it, sit down on the ground with my backa gains the door, my scissors are found quickly and with all the percision of emotion i slash away, at least four slashes, in quick angry succession. i stop to breathe and look at the blood stillc rying and angry and fuming, then with the andrenaline of rage and fear and sadness and pain sitll running through me i make 3 more.

after that i drop the scissors and cry some more . . without the same zeala s before, i lose the wind, the momentum and feel my rage and sadness turn into a puddle rather than a tidal wave . . . . if only my foot werent stuck in that puddle.

i should stop promising myself that there iwll be no more self abuse . . i should jsut try

my promises to myself dont mean shit