21.5.2000

SI means self-injury, spoilered means that I'm going to talk about it. Now, go away and stop asking dumb questions. If you want more info, it is here.

Star bright,

star bright

may you

disappear

forever

from my

fucking sight.

(Spoiler space over)

I thought I wouldn't be able to stop. It felt like out of control. I just wanted to cut and cut and cut and dig deeper and deeper. And I lost control over it for a second or two. Just the cotrol over the amount of new cuts, not over the depth. The depth is okay. That I can control. Right now. Nothing else though.

I kept squeezing the razor. Had to keep it down. I don't want any catastrophes. I don't want anything too painful. I have to keep control over it. Some kind of control. No winter '98-'99's again.
I kept squeezing the razor and it looked so wonderful. And I couldn't feel any pain. I think I could've cut so deep without even feeling it. But I have to think of tomorrow too. That's what I thought, how I'd feel tomorrow. I guess it was a wise thing to do. So I got over the depth-problem. Nothing serious. Nothing painful. Nothing... deep.

I didn't want to stop. God, how I didn't want to. Just felt like I had to keep going on. Cutcutcutcutcut... endlessly. Nothing else but cuts. Didn't want anything else, didn't need anything else.

Had to stop though, I was starting to lose the control. The control that made me stop in between the cuts and wonder if I should continue. I felt that slipping away. I don't want that kind of damage.

Couldn't stop shaking, afterwards. Still can't stop shaking. The headache is here again.

I don't know why today. The past few days... they've been intolerable, in some ways. I've been picking my skin like a maniac. (I don't even think of that as self-harm anymore. It doesn't feel that real.) I wish I could cry. I want to cry. Crying would make me feel better. Crying would help me get rid of the tension. I did cut, it did help, but it didn't help enough. Well. I don't know. I should eat chocolate. It'd make me feel better. However, there's no chocolate.
I haven't been this shaky for a long time. Perhaps it's 'cos I haven't cut in a long time. But I haven't wanted to cut this much for a long while either. And I haven't had the urge to cut so deep. I just wanted to push the blade so deep into my stomach that I'd be able to... well, bleed dry, I suppose. Bleed to death. I didn't think of death, though. I had to get myself... empty. It's always about that, I need to get something out of myself. I cut because of the scars, I need manifestation of that I can do something (I think). I cut because I want to feel the blood getting out of myself, get it out of myself. It feels like I'd get something toxic out of myself.

Did you know people are recommended to donate blood because it's good for the heart or something. I've been wondering if I should try to donate blood. Some say it's a good substitute for cutting. I doubt they'd let me do it though. I'm too skinny and I eat too much painkillers (I can't do a month without painkillers for various reasons you don't want to hear about).

It's better, now. I mean I'm better. Less shaky. And I've stopped feeling like I'd explode.
The next thing... the reasons. The reasons need to be sorted out. Not now though. Not now.

(It hurts, now. Dammit. I don't like the pain.)

Index.