Dear Diary . . . ha-ha! Dear Diary. Isn’t that what your supposed to write in these things? Deeeeaaar Diary. Hi there. I’m so screwed up. LOL! Actually it’s not a joke. I’m really messed in the head. I want to cover all the mirrors in my house because I get sick just looking at my reflection. Honestly, I think of ending it some days, slipping away into a place where I don’t have to be myself anymore. How would I do it? I’m back to thinking about that again. Lots of options, but I’m not going to do any bridge jumping (sorry Madison). I think I’ll go with pills. Pills work for me. But I don’t have any, so today I tried cutting myself. Just a test, just to see how it felt, and you know something, strangely enough it kinda worked. Obviously I didn’t kill myself, but the pain was sooooo super intense it took the focus off, well, my pain. When I cut, I didn’t feel anxious anymore. I felt alive, I guess. I felt like me again. For the first time in a long time the pain wasn’t something I was creating in my head. It was a living, pulsating thing right there on my arm. It had a shape and texture. The blood followed the path of my knife and it felt so good to finally be in control of something. I got to determine how much pain I felt, how much I bled. Nobody else but me. Guess I’m a cutter. Looks like I’ll be wearing a lot of long sleeve shirts from now on.
Pumped! I got a text from Tasha today. Wasn’t hard to find her. I just had to tell my therapist that I thought it would help me if I could speak with her. I had to confront my past yadayadayada. Guess what happened? Tasha texted me about three seconds after I texted her. Actually, it wasn’t total BS what I said to my shrink. I did feel better hearing from her. She was a good part of a bad experience. If I never spoke to Tasha again, I’d be left with only the bad parts.
So Tasha and I met up. Sophia (she’s got her license) drove us to the Gallery at Harbor Place in Baltimore. Back to Baltimore, my old stomping grounds. Sophia had to skip school, but I didn’t. I dropped out and I’ll probably have to repeat 10th grade or maybe I’ll just get my GED. It’s hard to imagine I can ever go back to my school again. What happened to me isn’t going to be forgotten by everyone over the summer.
The plan was to meet at Starbucks. I got there first and I was crazy nervous waiting for Tasha to show up. Sophia got us each a Caramel Macchiato, which is like four billion calories but it’s sooooo unbelievably delicious. We chatted about things. About how bitchy Hannah, Madison, and Brianna were being. About how my dad has been sort of cool to me lately. Cool as in nice, as in acting somewhat interested in me. I slept over at his place the other day and he tucked me in, kissed my forehead like I was a kid again, and he even told me that he loved me. He said he was sorry for everything I’d been through and I believed him. Even my mom is trying to turn things around. She’s going to AA now. If she saw my arms she’d send me to CA for sure (that’s cutters anonymous, and no Sophia hasn’t seen the scars because I keep wearing long sleeve shirts). When Tasha showed up, Sophia didn’t know what to do or say. I could tell she was really nervous. Tasha wasn’t a girl like us. She was a woman. She smoked and did drugs and got paid for sex. Instead of being embarrassed or mad, I just laughed and grabbed Sophia’s arm because I knew what she was thinking. We’re besties after all. I told her not to be nervous around Tasha.
I told her I did everything she did.