Pizza

Dear Blog,

A whole three days without more than a bowl of Raisin Bran, and then there was pizza. Oh. Bad M. I can make up for it over the weekend. Easy.

By a fellow blogger, I was asked why I cut myself. While my episode of House loads (I got an hour to kill.), I think I want to address it. Most people see cutting as a way to get attention, and in some cases people do that. I used to have a girl in my high school who cut her legs and then wore booty shorts to school. Now while she needs help, it's a different story. I'm not so sure if I want people to notice, or if I want to keep it to myself. I find keeping it to myself to be easier. I don't want attention for how I feel, as much as I want to control what I feel, or even numb it.

I started cutting when I was 14. I was pretty good at hiding it too. It lasted well over 4 months or so until by a fluke, my dad saw. That was a fun little discussion. I went to Therapy, was diagnosed as Depressed, ADD, and a cutter. Fun times, really. By the time I was 15, that therapist was moved to another city. I tried another one, but her and I didn't click so well. I decided I was okay dealing with things on my own. I unfortunately have this terrible habit of being funny. (Not that you can tell from this blog.) I know how to exploit it too. I know what kind of joke to make to turn the conversation around and away from things I don't want to talk about. I had two other therapists later on in life, around my senior year in highschool, and I genuinely wanted help. Unfortunately, I'm just awkward when it comes to talking about anything emotional. My last therapist and I talked about cutting my first session, and my last. We joked around about celebrities, and stupid shit my friends and I did, instead of actual talking. I kept cutting all through my time with her.

There's a brief history, but why? Hell if I know. Cutting releases endorphins, which genuinely make you feel good. It's amazing how that works. Where I cut, is where I know it can be hidden. On the shoulders (I don't wear tank tops), on my hips, on my sides. You can even get away with some on your hands or fingers if you have cats. (I have too many.) I'm assuming it's control. I'm not always as openly emotional as I am in this blog in real life. That's why you have to love the internet. My theory, if I cut. I don't have to feel it. Often enough, it's a quick little pick me up. It's almost the same as smoking in theory. Nicotine gives the smoker a feeling of calm or even a little buzz. ( I used to smoke. Had to quit though.) You know it's bad. You know it's not good for you, but you do it anyway. See how that works? Now I am 18 years old, and I started cutting when I was 14. I've been doing it on and off for about 5 years now.

In my head I justify it. I figure it's better than a drug addiction, or smoking again. (Cancer and it's pricey.) I have yet to have more than 1 truly serious conversation about it. This I guess is the second? I don't know, honestly, if I want to get help though. This is how I deal with what ails me. Everyone has their vices, right?

yuck

Dear Blog,

I'm sick of myself. I want to disappear.

Much Love,
M.

Really

Dear Blog,

I'm starting to realize my friends aren't the most observant people. That, or they don't care. Oh, I hate being a hole in the wall.

Much Love,
M.

...

Dear Blog,

There are some days where I just don't care.


Those are dangerous times.

Much Love,
M.