I’m rocking out of my mind right now and i feel like i could scream. the world is making fun of me and i want to cut them off. my leg shakes. god, how it shakes. the dogs stare at tm wondering what the fuck is the matter with this crazy laty, although they’ve seen it all before. the fat, lazy, worthless, piece of shit trying to attempt school work, tryinjg to analyze Frankenstein, trying to recall memories so she can write about them only to have them exploited in her writing class. it’s all bull shit to me and i want to scream, fucking scream so loud.

i’m home alone. that idiot doctor doesn’t screen my meds anymore. hands them over to me. i was hospitalized briefly at the beginning of the summer for planning on using the patches. and what does this asshole do? gives them to me ahead of time, no supervision. fine with me, dickhead.

i can’t stand this anxiety. i feel like a filled balloon let go and I’m spinning, flying, jumping all over the room. dammit, it has me, it has me. and i’m more than upset because there’s no new music. where is the Music Maiden/The Woman with the Words. She knows I’m talking about her because there went the switch. why are you hiding, woman? why can’t you keep me safe with your words and music. i’m not safe.

i cut. balls of red rise under the skin. fuck it. who cares. the body is so badly scarred. I get stares everywhere i go. the red is dripping. oozing down my arm. i hold it carefully so it doesn’t get on the keyboard. it’s pretty. it makes me want to do more. it kills the anxiety. more. fucking wait.i can breathe the demons are leaving. i cut straight across the vein. i can see them better. it got on my jeans but no one can tell. i saved the razor for just a case like this. i didn’t expect to cut but the idea came in and i couldn’t not do it. it feels beautiful. now the whole area of my arm is hot and stings. that feels even better because I will walk around later with a secret under my shirt and no one will no how I cut myself and made myself feel better. i need a bigger bandage. fuck.

it’s over. i have nothing left to say. i have so much school work to do and i just can’t do it. and if anyone knew how lazy and incompetent this makes me feel that would put me out of my misery. i didn’t intend on cutting when i got on here. i just did it. D. isn’t home. he should be here in the next thirty minutes. we’re supposed to go for dinner. more anxiety. at least it’s a salad joint. a few pieces of celerey and some chicken broth and i’ll be safe.

i think later I will be upset that I cut but right now it feels good. I’ve had too many tranqs today because I was anxious from the get go but it all bubbled up from where I don’t know. I want The Woman with the Words back. Where did you go? We have so much writing to do, so much reading to do and I can’t keep it together. i’m falling apart.

i just paused and looked at somebody’s blog and they were throwing the “r” word and “m” word around like it didn’t bother them. i don’t know how people do it. i cringe at the words. The “r” word is the worst. While it’s just a word (Woman with the Words whipspered that to me! Yeah!) it’s a painful word and I want nothing to do with it. Those words bring the past closer to me and I don’t want the past in my present although it’s written and cut all over me. Shouldn’t I want to know why I cut? Shouldn’t I know the source of this anxiety? I know I can breathe again after cutting. I’m settling down. I want to want to be free with those words. But right now, I don’t want to have antyhing to do with them and that bothers me. It just dawned on me, I thought I was cutting where no one could see, but if I wear a t-shirt when I work out you can see the cuts on my arms. Shit. D. and I work out frequently. Damn. I’ll have to be careful now.

D. is home. Just in time.