Saturday, Jan. 17, 2004/9:36 pm

red

Last night, i was alone, sick, and drowsy. I'd been shaking all day, having heart pains, pins and needles in my hands and feet and headaches. My brother came back from the pub with some of his friends at about 1am, they were all drunk and stoned. They turned music up really loud downstairs, continued swigging alcohol and smoking, shouting and laughing. I shut my eyes tight and tried to switch the sound off with my mind, faze it away, block it out but i couldn't. I started to cry. Not because of what was happening, but because i knew i couldn't ask them to calm it. Too meek, too passive to stand up for myself.

I paced my room for a while, attempted to tie the forces down. Thinking no-no-no, stop-stop-stop, can't-can't-can't. Frustration and inner hatred fiercly swimming through me. The impulse for injury, a sence telling me to sether this pathetic line. I walked into the bathroom, and found what i wanted straight away. My double bladed razor, a source of comfort in my hands, the shiny metal conveying hidden relief.

10 cuts first. Then one more just to be sure. Slices down the left arm.

White tissues turned red, tarnished with my disgusting blood.

I watched it drip, lines curdle into one another, sliding delicately through pale skin. Like a scarlet rose opening from beneath creamy white snow. Representing warmth, the warmth of pain, the warmth of owing.

My reasons were pathetic, yet in that one moment, that first dip of silver into flesh, i knew i needed it. I needed the punishment, for being so weak and so feeble, i had to indure it.

In IP, they addressed the problem i have with expressing my anger, letting others know i'm angry. I bottle it up and sheild it within me, sit tight and smile. Instead i inflict the rage on myself, diverting the source, because i feel i have no right to be angry at anyone else. They should be free to treat me as they choose. I am nothing. I deserve to be underneath their feet. Dirtied by the mud and grass from their shoes.

The last time i self harmed was August, nearly 5 months with not so much as a scratch. I can't let this become habit again. I must forget it, sabotage each urge. It was a one off, never again, please.

I had more to say, but this is enough, i feel dry inside, sucked of life.

I need something else, something besides hurting.

Yet, i could never allow it, never allow myself to find anything better.

I am where i belong.