One, nothing wrong with me.

I got less than twenty minutes until I need to leave, and I'm dressed, sitting on the bed, just without my trousers, waiting to pluck some courage and hurt the girl who've hurt too many.
I guess I'm getting a bit afraid of my newfound depth.
I want to stop doing it, I want to be able to ignore all of my wrongs.

I'm a little less of a sinner now.
A little less.


Okay, I'm back, so I may start and explain.
Yes, I cut, the previous paragraph was written straight after it and just before I bandaged it.
I found out today that the quick and hard cuts are lousy with this blade, they come out a lot shallower than more slow and dragging ones.

I assume it's because of the sharpness.
When I do quick and hard, the blade cuts so smoothly, that it's basically brushing it a bit.
The slow, gentle, and dragging ones are forming deeper and gaping cuts.
I think I'm going to do more slow ones, they don't frighten me.
The quick ones do scare me, simply because that with my previous razors, quick worked the best.
Now I can enjoy mine to the very fullest.

The biggest issue that I dealt with was managing two thighs at a time, the right one has four smalls, just trying to drip to my bed, and on the left, a deeper and larger one, bleeding more than the four altogether, I succeeded of course, but I wasted a third of a steristrip, the blood didn't allow the steristrip to be applied and used properly.
You can see a bit of the problem in the last image, but oh boy, it was worse.
The blood just tried to drip away, so I had to soak it up with gauzes, it didn't help much, because then I needed to clean around, and I couldn't use the alco-gel wipe, because the alcohol on it would cause it to bleed more [that's why I clean before the act and the day after] so it was really weird.
Anyway, I think I should take out the bandaging now.
I did, and oh, it was weird.
In the left thigh I found that in a certain angle, the tape removal actually works and doesn't get caught in my hair, or sticks too tightly to my skin.
It's alright, but the right thigh, whoa, that was something entirely different, I accidentally put on tape on a wound I thought that was closed.... I was wrong.
It produced some weird yellowish liquid-gel thing...
I just... Oh, it was weird.

So, I'm going to give you everything, on this on, I used two on the base, but the blood was getting slightly through, so I added another on on top of them.
As you can se, on the image without the bandage on it, the gauze that was connected to the wound has some weird bright red thing.

Well, it's six thirty, tomorrow I have to be at a practise [ugh] and then rush straight of to the pre-renovation that's until five pm.
I really enjoy being there, but it brings me a lot of anxiety and sometimes I feel like I'm being a strain and stain for the Cabaria,




Okay, it's eight forty, I feel bad.
I feel like I need to tell someone that I'm in a pretty big mess, but if I'd confess it, I'd be left again, to be unable to be able to do things normally, to properly function.
I also feel like I'm just another "oh, she doesn't belong here" type of a person.
Why?
Because I don't have problems.
No problems at fucking all.
I feel like the one they described in that humorous page that's supposed to written by a psychologist, the people in every closed ward....


My mother stepped in, Keren said I can come on Monday or Tuesday.
My mother also asked me if I think I need one, she thinks it's better not to on holidays.
I said that I don't need them.
My mother also said that we might go and visit the family during the holiday and I joked and said that I suddenly need to see Keren.
I have no use in wasting the time of a mother with a tween child while it's holidays.

There isn't anything to treat in me anyway, nothing is wrong with me.
The cuts? call it my legal duty, keeping a criminal and a sinner tamed.

Fuck it, I'm just on the road of being a functional teenager, isn't it?!
It's some sort of a messed up joke, it has to be!


I just can't sort it out, that's all...
I'm going to just give you the sentence:

"The depressed happy girl, the one that will always try to cut but she's actually really happy and nothing's wrong with her."

The only thing I can do about it is slowly raise my hand in shame.




Oh, my dad decided it's a really good idea to scare me while I was with a glass hand, about to open the refrigerator.
I almost started to cry.
Last time I dropped a glass, barefoot, in this kitchen, I needed stitched, but didn't get them, so I was resting for two weeks until the wound started healing.



Oh, I'm just tired of everything.

Something, listening to Breathe Me of Sia is all I need.

I want to stand up and get help, somebody with the right tools and heart to help me and save me.
But I can't find on.
I just get to places where I'm dismissed as just another emo.
No wonder... I feel like I should lie next time, just to be able to get rid of this labeling.

I feel like I need to cut, and I don't know what stops me, but it's better than bleeding until next morning, during the practise and through the pre-renovation.


I need somebody that's willing to take care of me, accept me as I am.
But I won't find any, and even if I will, I'd probably back off, I don't want to be a burden.

But I am.
I am a burden.
I need to get help, I know it, but I hav no problems.
I just want to sit on my bed, rock back and forth, listen to music, and talk with a friend that knows exactly what I've done.
I need to cut, I know it.
I'm afraid that my parents will come in.
I also want to cut my wrist and watch blood pulsating out.

But I won't.
Do you have an idea how terrifying it can be to find you daughter, in bed, having blood on the sheets, holding a note slightly stained in blood, not responding.
And if not dead, then asleep.
I can't do it.
I won't do it.

But why do I crave it?
Why do I sit here, just longing for painkillers.


I just hate puberty, I can't stand the pain it brings with it.
I'm not capable of going on.
And nothing can really guarantee that it would be later.

I just need to go and tell somebody that I need help, and I need it now.
I would like to cancel the Cabaria and the practise and just get the help, both of these activities bring me great anxiety.


It's midnight.
I'm tired of being alive.
Maybe I'd cut, maybe I won't.


I'm going to watch a movie, I'm publishing it but I might just come back and say I've done something or something happened.


I've cut.
Of course.
The slow? Yeah, it doesn't work.

I fucking hate it.

Tomorrow would be interesting.
I'm considering writing a letter for my mother, telling her that I need to switch a therapist.

Oh, the weird numbness.. It's wonderful.
I barely feel any pain.
I know it hurts, and I feel my nerves screaming for aiding, but that's it.
I took care of it quite well.

I'm calling it a night.