And I'll use my emotions as my weapon of choice.
*Sigh* Oh great day after the next... I sometimes wish I could dissapear and mute the world... I don't think I could take being deaf for a very long time, but just for a little. Just until the world blows over... My hands are numb, and I think the laxative I took is having a very upsetting reaction to me. Oh well. It serves me right for trying to make myself better, only to have it fade away of course...
So, I was initially going to college to be a clinical psychologist. Psychology, well abnormal psychology to be exact, interests me to no end point. It's amazing... However, my lovely mother decided to tell me that I wouldn't make it through college for it, not in so many words, and that I should try for another of my loves: English. Well, today I decided something. I'm going to college, but not for English. For psychology to work at an ED clinic like Remuda Ranch or Renfrew or somewhere along those lines. *Sighs* I wish my mother wasn't such a sarcastic bitch, but I guess it comes with the territory and her daughter is just the same...
I've also decided that I love to play dress up and use make-up as my form of art. Other people sing or dance or draw or write or use metal or play an instrument. Why should I not be allowed to express my innermost thoughts on such a wonderful canvas as that of my own body? It was the same with cutting and burning... It was my innermost psyche unleashing itself in raw, unadulterated passion on my skin. It would bleed and scar out my worst fears, my desires, my hopes, my pain, my sadness, my happiness. Sometimes, I really miss it. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have someone like David who understands me so greatly. He reads my eyes like a book of emotions. I can't hide anything from him. Sometimes, I just want to be that skinny, boney girl with the unwashed hair and the dirty uncared for nails with the vacant eyes and the bloody marks on her arms again. Sometimes I just want to cower in the darkened corner of my room and listen to the voices tell me I am worthless and lost. I miss it. Sometimes. And it only hurts to think of it. Sometimes.
So, I was initially going to college to be a clinical psychologist. Psychology, well abnormal psychology to be exact, interests me to no end point. It's amazing... However, my lovely mother decided to tell me that I wouldn't make it through college for it, not in so many words, and that I should try for another of my loves: English. Well, today I decided something. I'm going to college, but not for English. For psychology to work at an ED clinic like Remuda Ranch or Renfrew or somewhere along those lines. *Sighs* I wish my mother wasn't such a sarcastic bitch, but I guess it comes with the territory and her daughter is just the same...
I've also decided that I love to play dress up and use make-up as my form of art. Other people sing or dance or draw or write or use metal or play an instrument. Why should I not be allowed to express my innermost thoughts on such a wonderful canvas as that of my own body? It was the same with cutting and burning... It was my innermost psyche unleashing itself in raw, unadulterated passion on my skin. It would bleed and scar out my worst fears, my desires, my hopes, my pain, my sadness, my happiness. Sometimes, I really miss it. Sometimes, I wish I didn't have someone like David who understands me so greatly. He reads my eyes like a book of emotions. I can't hide anything from him. Sometimes, I just want to be that skinny, boney girl with the unwashed hair and the dirty uncared for nails with the vacant eyes and the bloody marks on her arms again. Sometimes I just want to cower in the darkened corner of my room and listen to the voices tell me I am worthless and lost. I miss it. Sometimes. And it only hurts to think of it. Sometimes.