I don’t want to document this anymore. It reminds me of when I used to keep a diary.
When you have a good day nothing else matter except that good day. So you write pages upon pages of ‘I feel great. I don’t need this. Everything will be fine. That was the last time. I was stupid do start this in the first place. It’s gone! I’m better now!’ Then the next time you feel bad and you do it and you want to write in your little diary you’ll read your happy up-beat page and feel like shit. You’ll think ‘What’s the point? Look how happy I was that day, I was fine. I was so sure I was going to stop, I was never going to do it again and it was all going to be fine. I can’t do it, I can’t do anything.’ and then you feel worse and guess what happens?
I’m so sick of it. I’m sick of the feelings and the thoughts and…everything. I’m sick of the horrible feeling I get when I remember that my mum knows. Whenever she says something overly loving to me or tells me she loves me then I instantly think ‘it’s because she thinks I’m cutting myself’ and I hate that. I can’t even be sad or upset without knowing that she’s thinking about it.
Oh god.. I feel like I’m going to explode. I need to vent… out loud.
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