This journal is basically just for me to rant. It is completely understandable if noone reads this since it's going to be so long and uninteresting.


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I see you sitting there and you make me want to be a better person. I don't know you, but I want to. From the first time I saw you, I knew you were different. It was obvious that you didn't give a fuck about what people were probably saying behind your back. They were probably whispering amongst themselves, asking why the hell a boy would paint his nails sparkling blue and hot pink and is he wearing mascara? Yeah, I guarantee people are talking. But you had me fascinated since the first day of school; I couldn't stop thinking about how I wish I could be so brave and bold and to be content with who I am without caring about whether or not people were talking. Now I look for you everyday in science class, hoping that you're sitting straight in your seat with your perfect nails and bright girls' v-neck and pants tighter than mine. And don't get me wrong, I don't like you that way. I just want you to know that you've inspired me without even trying.

//

I wish I could tell you why I think the way I do, why I do the things I do. I wish I knew. If I knew why a day doesn't go by that I don't think about the little blade I have hidden away, I would tell you. It's not even because I'm sad - it's just a want now. It's a need. I think about it when I'm bored, when I'm angry. There's a thrill in seeing if I can get a little braver each time, just a little longer and a little deeper. It's exciting to see if I can hide it from everyone, to walk around and know that I have my own secrets on my wrists and thighs, and noone but me knows they're there. Not to mention the sick satisfaction that comes with each little cut - the more cuts, the more satisfaction. Just one won't do.

I never believed people when they would say once you start, you can't stop. Now I believe.

//

I'm not scared of pain anymore. This morning, I purposely pulled a scab off my knuckles as slow as I could, and I looked under the skin to see if it would start bleeding. When it didn't, I was kind of dissapointed. I have such a strong urge for red lines right now, I'm eyeballing this pair of scissors on my desk. Maybe someday I'll bring my small friend to school in my pocket for times like this, when it's all I can think about.

I peeled the other scab off. It was alot thicker than the other one, so this one actually bled. Not dripping, more like just the slightest leak. It hurt, but I was somehow calm and in my own world. I was focused on nothing but the slight tug and rip of my knuckle. Nothing else mattered. Afterwards, it was like coming out of a daze.

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Today was the first time I thought about purposely taking too many pain killers. Not enough to overdose - no, I'm not stupid. Just enough to feel something. I'm not sure what.

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I'm sure I could go all day without eating if I really tried. I can last through school without eating and my stomach will barely be growling by the time I get home. I know that's not the right way to go, though. Maybe I'll eventually get off my lazy ass and ask to use my grandma's treadmill. God knows I would be alot happier if I lost some weight.

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This journal scares me. It sounds pretty bad, huh? I really don't know. A part of me wants to go talk to my counselor, see if I can get some type of help. But another part of me doesn't even really want help.

On a happier note, Cloud Cult is amazing. Look that shit up.