i tried laying in bed to take a nap and when i shift my legs around it felt like a pair of scissors was scraping across my leg, at first i thought a sewing needle or pin had been left on my bed, no. it was just the cut
i have been going nuts because it hasnt healed yet, anoher from teh same time is down to a rough pink line but it is stil a dark long scab. I dont know why it hadnt occured to me before, but i think that it is infected. i can see by the way it is feeling that it will scar. not the soft pink long bump scars i have from this summer either, this is going to be a nasty one.
No matter how much I sleep now I am still tired all day. I am still pretending to be ok with everything, i am not. i heard you talking and gushing about him in that giddy girlish joy, and i literally wanted to vomit and i felt tears welling up.
I very well may be the most revolting human alive
I havent been able to get myself to cry when i finally find a good time to do it. when i am alone I cant, but it is the most epic battle in public not to burst into ridiculous tears.
i feel this constant disgust. i dont know what to do with myself.
I keep making upt his fairytale ideas in my head . . . they arent even what i want . . . they would just negate the past week.
I am skipping class too much and not doing as well and sleeping at all the wrong times, i fear i may crash and burn.
I am supposed to be grown up and mature and stable and together. I am supposed to be well-adjusted.
pretending i am is just making me worse
. . .
there they are, a few tears.If only they werent alone so that the well could run dry and i could be better for a few weeks.
the horrible thing about sadness is that it feels like it has always been there and will go on forever. my upward mood swings have been short and fevered. two nights ago i was running and screaming around Taylor theatre while the three of us were on Laundry duty, as happy as could be.
I need to hide it from myself. but that wont quite work, how can i make myself forget?
ask me again when we are sober, so i can tell you i have been ripping myself to shreds. ask me again so i can talk about the pouring blood. ask me again so i can speak outloud, instead of all the whispered thoughts.
i cannot stand myself.
what happened to this town being the cure-all? what happened to everything being better when i wasnt at home.
scars dont leave.
i am not going home next month.