(no subject)
Was the week from hell.. so many fucking assignments...all-nighters, feeling sick at the same time, having to think about all that distressing shit like "fuck I lost my pills" and "OMFG! I'm gonna be disowned cause some asshole smashed into my dad's fucking car"... So yeah.
I think it was pretty good that I only cut twice this week considering all things... Monday I cut cause I was freaking out so much I needed to calm down because I couldn't find my pills... and then I resisted the urge to cut all week cause of all the stress but caved on Friday when I first: did not complete my painting project (4' x 3'in size)... and then discovered in the morning before class, which I was late for even though I knew I shouldn't be(I was only late cause I freaked out when I...). I discovered that my dad's car(which I drove to school and had parked out on the street, no problem; but it was icy and ppl don't give a fuck so they speed 80kms an hour through a fucking residential area) had been smashed. The driver's side window was shattered, there was a dent in the side near the driver's handle, the mirror was dented, the front bumper was damaged as well.. I was shaking and feeling nauseas all day long. Then I had to call my dad at the end of the day- after class- and the explosion happened.
So I cut because really, I'm so fucking stupid. Why did the car have to get fucking wrecked, it's a sign. I will forever be secluded in a huge ass city where public transportation is easily accessible at all times of the fucking day so I won't ever need to own a car. I refuse to own one. It's just bad karma. It really was a shame that I hadn't been in the car when it got smashed. And it would've been even better if it'd been smashed more and I actually you know, died or something. Then there wouldn't have had to face my dad. He ended up talking to me later saying it wasn't my fault and that he doesn't blame me- which is nice but fine, I still blame my fucking self and I wonder if I wasn't alive if everything would just be better. But then if I died I'd never be thin and the ppl at the morgue would be disgusted to have to look at my disgusting fat body and be all shocked at the scars on my arms, blah blah blah- least being dead I wouldn't have to explain them. I must be really fucked up to think about these things as often as I do. The funny thing is, I'm being serious, I mean I'll laugh about it later, but I do honestly feel this way most of the time. That I should just die already and get it over with...but unfortunately that train of thought just runs in circles and I don't seem to get anywhere with it.
My mom's all mad...she's like "clean up" blah blah blah... Fucking hell. Why'd I have to come home...oh that's right to get my fucking pills... they just end up making me feel like I drank a truckload of coffee. At least my mood doesn't nosedive like it usually does... sometimes I wish it would because it gives me a legitimate reason to cut. Is that not fucked up? I just want to cut. Man. It was weird cause my doctor asked me what I wanted to change...whatever... and I'm just like "I don't want to feel so down" and that's mostly cause I can't accomplish anything I need to while I'm down and bawling. But cutting? I don't want to give that up. I also want to be able to do it without having to worry about ppl accidentally seeing them. I just use my arms... but I workout a lot so I don't think using my legs is a good idea... the other thing is it's a constant battle btw wanting more marks but not wanting them all over the place but concentrated in one area and yet still wanting to do it more and more. I know, it's truly fucked up.