youranintoluck - you should see my scars
Usually the newbies are shakable. New place and all it's harder to get used to thing, but the Pixie and her tough girl act held up through the interrogation of her character. I guess she figured she didn't have anything left to lose, which might actually be true, but who really knew. Everyone here didn't think they hand things to lose, maybe besides life, and even there half of them didn't think that mattered much anyway.
Anyway, at least I had a vaguely entertaining conversation with her that barely passes as a welcome, but there were smiles involved on both parts and while I can't say so much for her it's the first one I've had in months.
I'd like to hurt whomever came up with this whole Feeling Journal thing or question of the week. Does searching our souls really help heal us in any way. I think not. I mean, everyone who came here wanted to die. It's not like scripting that down actually changes and morphs that into warm fuzzies that comfort you. It's still the same. It's still like this black hole drawing you in.
You still feel horrid. There's just these obnoxious happy people around you trying to make an example of a better life. If I was happy? I wouldn't be anywhere near people like me. I'd be out there and be happy - whatever the fuck that means. I'd just be and that would be fine.
After stopping and starting (procrastinating) the feelings journal one of the nurses doing the rounds knocked on the door and something about dinner. Which, today - actually any day, I'd rather be slitting my wrists than going to. But not going usually meant someone giving you more therapy and assuming you're showing the beginning signs of an eating disorder. All something I'd like to skip today.
It's two months and a week exactly since Lilly's died.
And to think of Lilly just dying herself is this unbelievable. Because Lilly didn't die. She was one of those girls who just lived forever, got under your skin and into your blood stream - and she just stayed. I think that's more or less why I tried to bleed her out of me. I mean, I've known the Kanes since I was like five or six - god knows, an oblivious number - Lilly was just that much more out of reach.
When I came over that night to see Duncan - to see Lilly - and I saw her and her head smashed open with an ashtray, that luckily for anyone who killed her was fingerprintless and drowning in the Kane's pool, I just stopped right along with her. I ceased being anything just like Duncan had just stopped. And I couldn't wipe the image of her helpless; body splayed out against the pavement, scull bleeding out onto the cement. I just had to check that I was still there. That I wasn't absent. So, I broke open a razor and carved her name into my arm until I could feel it. But I never could. So I just kept carving, making the letters bigger and thicker.
And our house cleaner walked in on me just bleeding. And she freaked out. And I ended up here again (the first time out of plain carelessness for life - which was done with an overdose of some of my mother's sedatives and access to the alcohol).
There was another two clinics before this one, the past two leaking out rumors that the famous Aaron Echolls son was fucked. This one I guess he just paid enough for the owner to shut their mouth, essentially paying them to keep watch and keep me there for a monthly donation. Hide me away or whatever the fuck he wants to call it.
His son is on vacation.
Heading down to the cafeteria I get my tray of food and sit at my usual table alone. I stick a plastic fork in it to see if the fork can actually cut through the meat. Mm, meat loaf surprise. Making a face at the meat, I barely noticed the tiny Pixie come by for round two.
Anyway, at least I had a vaguely entertaining conversation with her that barely passes as a welcome, but there were smiles involved on both parts and while I can't say so much for her it's the first one I've had in months.
I'd like to hurt whomever came up with this whole Feeling Journal thing or question of the week. Does searching our souls really help heal us in any way. I think not. I mean, everyone who came here wanted to die. It's not like scripting that down actually changes and morphs that into warm fuzzies that comfort you. It's still the same. It's still like this black hole drawing you in.
You still feel horrid. There's just these obnoxious happy people around you trying to make an example of a better life. If I was happy? I wouldn't be anywhere near people like me. I'd be out there and be happy - whatever the fuck that means. I'd just be and that would be fine.
After stopping and starting (procrastinating) the feelings journal one of the nurses doing the rounds knocked on the door and something about dinner. Which, today - actually any day, I'd rather be slitting my wrists than going to. But not going usually meant someone giving you more therapy and assuming you're showing the beginning signs of an eating disorder. All something I'd like to skip today.
It's two months and a week exactly since Lilly's died.
And to think of Lilly just dying herself is this unbelievable. Because Lilly didn't die. She was one of those girls who just lived forever, got under your skin and into your blood stream - and she just stayed. I think that's more or less why I tried to bleed her out of me. I mean, I've known the Kanes since I was like five or six - god knows, an oblivious number - Lilly was just that much more out of reach.
When I came over that night to see Duncan - to see Lilly - and I saw her and her head smashed open with an ashtray, that luckily for anyone who killed her was fingerprintless and drowning in the Kane's pool, I just stopped right along with her. I ceased being anything just like Duncan had just stopped. And I couldn't wipe the image of her helpless; body splayed out against the pavement, scull bleeding out onto the cement. I just had to check that I was still there. That I wasn't absent. So, I broke open a razor and carved her name into my arm until I could feel it. But I never could. So I just kept carving, making the letters bigger and thicker.
And our house cleaner walked in on me just bleeding. And she freaked out. And I ended up here again (the first time out of plain carelessness for life - which was done with an overdose of some of my mother's sedatives and access to the alcohol).
There was another two clinics before this one, the past two leaking out rumors that the famous Aaron Echolls son was fucked. This one I guess he just paid enough for the owner to shut their mouth, essentially paying them to keep watch and keep me there for a monthly donation. Hide me away or whatever the fuck he wants to call it.
His son is on vacation.
Heading down to the cafeteria I get my tray of food and sit at my usual table alone. I stick a plastic fork in it to see if the fork can actually cut through the meat. Mm, meat loaf surprise. Making a face at the meat, I barely noticed the tiny Pixie come by for round two.