Well, it looks like my prediction was right and last sunday;s foray into idiocy and self-pity will leave a scar, well several actually.

A biit symbolic it hink. the first time i cut myself i scarred, on the back of my wrist, it is like the perpendicular mirror of my brother's scar, which has nothing to do with teen angst or depression, rather, with being born premature and having an iv in his tiny wrist.

i cut myself rist, almsot in curiousity, with a blade my father had left int he bathroom, he had been using it to scrape paint from the windows. in an almsot boreed morbid curiousity i began to dig into the flesh in the back of my wrist, back and forth, i did it several times in taht same spot until finally i acheived blood. . . .

so perhaps, what i did sunday will eb the end of it all. i can look back at this diary years from now, and read the entry with a certain pride, that i took control back and i havent done ti since . . . or i can look at the scars on my left arm, and rememebr the past . . and know it is entirely the past.

maybe, with some luck, the makrs on my body will be the alpha and the omega of my years of teen angst.

i msut have been about 13 or 14 when i gave myself the first scar. and now, the second, around the same time of year, a handful of months ebfore i turn 19 . . .

In a month it will be this diary's 3rd birthday. . . a chronicle of my teen years and my angst.