you could have helped if you had wanted to.

... I think I'm just getting lazy.

Sunday, November 2, 2008

10:53 pm
That can't be smart. I can't say it bothers me, though. It's the marks, the visual, the way I wish I had the guts to do. But I can't restart, because I didn't do anything. I guess red pen is harder to get off than I would've thought. I'm not triggered, really. I just kinda felt like it. But that's a stupid reason to ruin my count. Not like there's ever a good reason to cut. But some reasons make more sense than others.
My head is still killing me. I don't know what to do. It's been constant for a week and a half. I'm gonna say that if the mood swings started Monday, I told people a week later, the headaches started probably Tuesday. So almost a week. Wos, it felt so much longer. I'm sure if I look back I could find the day, but I'm too lazy tonight. I don't wanna get up. I'm comfy. I'm going to sleep.


Monday, November 3, 2008

10:50 am, period 2
So I probably just failed that physics test. Oh well, I don't mind. My head hurts. I'm not thinking straight.
It bothers me the way my journal has been. Well, no, last night was pretty normal, I guess. I've just been so busy I have barely any time for thoughts, especially no time to write them down. I can't analyze things, so there's nothing for me to overanalyze. That's where my real thoughts and my good journal entries come from - overanalyzing everything. Sort of like what I'm doing now.
I have the friggen Christmas Lullabye stuck in my head. I'm getting sick of Ave Maria, Ave Maria, hear the soft lullabye the angel hosts sing. Ave Maria, Ave Maria, maiden and mother of Jesus our king.
My handwriting sucks today. And Nicole's hair is on my desk. Covering my book. Hitting my head. Please move your head, Nicole. I don't enjoy having your hair in my face. Thanks.
Or, y'know, don't move. That's cool, too.

1:04 pm, period 5
I scanned my doodle! :



There's meaning behind it.
I just refuse to tell anyone what it is.


Saturday, November 8, 2008

12:46 am
Looking back through my journal is always interesting. Especially my surprisingly calm rant about Obama (which would probably get me in deep shit once he's president, if I were to post it online). So, Tuesday my count restarted. Well, Wednesday morning, because I refuse to associate it with Kayla's birthday. I can't even really say I restarted, though, cause I'm not even gonna bother counting anymore. I'll jsut remember the date. I doubt I'll make it very far anyway. As Obama was giving his acceptance speech, I punched my bedroom wall. So my Ace bandage (and four bandaids) worked rather well for hiding my many cuts.
I suddenly feel triggered.
... my razors are still in the bottom of my bedroom garbage...
I have no reason. Thinking of it just makes me want to. I very well might.
Frig. Mommy and Daddy are both home tomorrow. Eh, that's okay. I'll just make sure I get out of the house one way or another.
God, I'm so confusing. One day I want to stop, the enxt I don't. I need to get help. I'm telling Mommy about my depression. I've got proof that saying "it's just a phase" is often wrong, and a huge mistake. I found a website on it. I figure telling her about my cutting is only a desperate last resort. My first defense will be something like, maybe you're right, but there's only two ways to find out - wait until we find out you're wrong and it's too late, or get someone to tell us who's right.

I think I'm going to. I think I need to. I want to. I will.

Now where are my scissors?