I don't know.

I feel like I'm failing everyone near me.
I destroy lives, sometimes I barely notice, sometimes it's all I can possibly think about.
And history is about to repeat itself.
I have these really awesome and funny friends, and I won't do it for them.
I won't do it for my brother and sister.
I won't do it for dad.
Only the thought of hurting my dad brings me to tears.

I guess I'd have to pull through.
I won't do it for them.

And like it's not enough, what about my grandmothers? Aunts and uncles? My cousins?

I just feel like I'm one day going to break, it won't be very hard, deep one on the wrist and I may leave.
I know, I know, the success chances are low, and I can't really explain what-the-fuck-was-I-thinking, I'd just end up having tons of blood on my sheet, or a nice bed in the emergency room.

Fuck, what if my uncle would be there?
He's a doctor, working mostly there, and... Wow.

I would probably never do so.
Just the fear of "What if..." is paralysing.

Yet, I still have the urge to do so.

I don't know what to do.
I'm great at telling others to do better, to support them, but I can't do it for myself.
I don't think I even want to do so... If I'd do this to myself, I'd lose my friends, and when I'd feel fake and disgusted by my "do better" and "I got your back" bullshit, I'd be alone.


I chat now with a dude, we can name him Kapara, okay?
He talks about that he gets psychiatric meds, and it just makes him get worse.
I envy him.
He knows what's wrong with him, he has something that is actually fucked up.
I don't have this luxury, nothing is wrong with me.
Everything is perfectly right with me.
I'm simply perfect.

It drives me crazy.
Nothing is wrong with me, but still I feel this way.
It's insane.

I feel like I'm suffocated by it, like I'm lost, and I'm drowning.

I have nothing that's wrong with me, and yet I do the things I do.
I get teary when I disappoint people.
I sometimes don't want to eat, at all.
I want to die at times
I have no idea who I am anymore.
I want to puke sometimes, and I hate puking, I just need to be cleaned from the inside.
I don't let go of the things that have embarrassed me before, whether it was ten years ago or ten days ago.
I wish to get help, but I can't allow myself to just suffer from it again.
I envy people with problems because they know what's wrong with them.



This "okay" labeling I got drives me crazy.


Wait, you know what's crazy?
Each time I feel something, if my breath is quickened because I'm getting anxious, or do something, I yell at myself that I'm acting-out and nothing is wrong with me and that I better stop being fake and stupid and get a fucking life.



It's one pm, I feel like cutting.
I don't know if I should wait or not.
From one side, the bathroom is cleaner, and it's more private.
From the other side, my room has more medical tools, but it's not private.

Oh, it passed a bit, maybe I'd be alright today.



You know, sometimes I think that my self harm has another purpose.
To make people stay away from me.
You know.... Weird scars on the thighs aren't very appealing.
Usually, damaged things aren't very attractive, so the scars that will form would be like a warning colouration.

You know what's actually good-ish about it?
Since my skin is dark, my scars are lighter, and it's easier to darken things than lighten.
A friend of mine has light skin and his scars are dark.
I feel like I'm alright, nobody notices the lighter ones anyway, or it's just that they never ask.
I still got the three light lines on my left thighs, nobody cares or notices, so I'm okay.
But if I'd have more mangled scars because of the new depth, and my mother might notice...  That would cause problems, because they surely weren't there before.



Okay, it's seven thirty three.
I haven't cut yet, I haven't showered yet, tomorrow I'm going to the bazaar.
I don't know how much sleep I'm going to get.
Last night I got about four to five hours, falling asleep at four am.

I'm passing time now, I have nothing else to do.
Maybe I'd dye something later.
I really like the acrylic paint I got from the twenty nis store.
59 millilitres, one white, one black.
It's really cool, I repainted my wallet.

I'll probably make a huge "Look what I got!" type of a post tomorrow, involving my new things from the twenty dollar store.

I want to cut my wrist.
Exactly at the part where you can see the blood vessels.
About here.
I know it's stupid, and I won't be able to hide it.
But it's so... Intriguing.
I better not.
Let's just stick to thighs and being less stupid.
My last time, yesterday, when shit was bad, I did it quite low.
It's stupid, I know.
I don't know if I want to use my corn-plane-blades.
Sure, they are sharp as a scalpel, exactly like the veterinary teacher said, but it's a lot different.
When I cut over a cut, it doesn't cut over it, it just hurts weirdly.
It bleeds quite a lot, in one cut, which is different from the small razors, because when I cut over a cut, it was a bitch to go through.
Which had something to it.

I was triggered, by some fifteen year old bitch.
I hate the religious tards that make the nice and mitzvah-loving Jews.
I thought I was going to easily go through this night, no cuts, just peace.

I'm getting a bit tired, and it's eight thirty.
Maybe I'd cut and fall asleep.
I really want to not bandage it.
I just want blood all over the place.
"Look what I've done. I need help. Please."
But I won't, this "help" would harm me.




I don't know what to do guys, I feel like I should go up and do what I wanted to do, but at the same  time, I want to do nothing, and be good.

I'm on my bed, unsure of what to do.
Oh well, the night is still young!
Let's enjoy it, shall we?

Okay, you know what I really hate?
These "I'm so totally depressed, look at this tacky depressed thing I do!" people annoy me.
Seriously, stop saying "The psychologist of everyone but myself." or anything of this sort!
You don't see me complaining about it, now do you?

Ha, I do complain about going there even though that all it does is to worsen my behaviour.
I don't know if I should tell or shouldn't.
I'm still afraid that the threat of sending me to all kinds of scary places.
I don't want to stop.
It just worsens it.

I don't know what I'm doing but I kick/firmly-pat my toe knuckles against the wall.
It hurts a bit, but not too much.




It's about midnight.
I just don't know what to do.




I've cut.
One am, and I did it.

That thing,the fact that's it's straight of white, and a bit of blood, that's spooky.
I forgot how freaky it can be, and fuck, my foot is in pain, and cold.
I think that the whiteness is a lot scarier than the simple blood, you aren't supposed to see the white.
Oh well, everything is healing nicely anyway, so it doesn't matter.
I'm going to sleep soon, it hurts.

 It is freaky how sharp the blades are, just one swift motion and this depth.
Amazing.


Okay, in this one, you can see  me pinching the wound, closing it [there was a small gap even when I did it] with my fingers and applying pressure, without infecting the wound, which reminds me, I cleaned everything with the alco-gel wipe.
It's very weird to cut and then take care of it.
I think that the bandaging is a big part of the whole ceremony.
I'm glad it is, I got no time for infections and it's friends.
It's a bit low, but now very low.
Okay, I'm going to explain exactly what I did with bandaging.
I started with putting gauzes and apply pressure, when I understood I better close it, I tried bringing a band aid, which didn't work, so I used a steristrip, cutting it to three unequal shapes, one large on the middle and two smaller ones on each side, then putting the gauzes [4] back on, and taping it with my surgical tape, in this <#> shape, and then for applying a decent amount of pressure, I put on some elastic bandage.
It hurts a bit, and my foot is suffering, but it's okay, I just need to fix the elastic.