Still Missing

I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I could really use a friend. I thought about rushing a sorority but changed my mind. That pressure is the last I need. Besides and more seriously, who would want me as a member. Remember the comment by Grouch Marx: He didn’t care to be part of a club that would have him as a member.

I feel very unhappy. The anxiety is better. I need to tell my shrink why. I left her message that I was stopping a medication but I altered another one and I need to tell her. It seems to be working.

I finished writing my three word photos. One is about cutting since we seem to be caught up in that right now, we wrote about the dog we had to put down, and we wrote about what looks like a marriage piece but the twist on the end is that we are actually walking down the aisle to get our degree. my peer-reviewers loved it. We only had time to share one piece, even though we wrote three. That leaves me with a dilemna: which piece to I read? Do I go for the shock of what I wrote of how sickening it is it love to cut yourself, do I read about the pain of losing an animal (I love you Hummer), or do I read the piece of getting my degree even though the piece is set up like a marriage ceremony. There’s humor in that piece so most of me wants to share that, but then again I want to see the reaction on their face about the cutting. I don’t want to submit that type of piece and then wonder all weekend what these people are thinking of me.

I think there was a fight with Randy, the current and last therapist, last night. Anytime he throws out phrases such as “paint me into a corner” or says the word “hospital” I know there will be a showdown. All of it stemmed because we cut over the weekend. I find it amusing. We’ve done far more self-destructive acts than that and cutting is all he cares about. We’ve got our medication stock-piled again. What can he do about that? Nothing. No one is suicidal so he better watch his step.

I’ve decided I’m dead already. I may start blogging with my BlackBerry. That is why I got it. It’s easy to send an e-mail and if we do a short little blurb on what is going on it will be the same as blogging, just not as in death. But I can send it with random, unidentifiable pictures. Privacy is important to me.

I have so much reading to do and I’m still looking out for The Woman with the Words/Music Maiden. I think her name is Victoria? I found it odd that someone named Cathy came out at our last session yet with have a little named Catherine. I’m wondering what connection there is there, if we were to really have D.I.D.

I feel very alone and unhappy. I did alot of excercise today and I think that’s why I was sick tonight. I did an intense hour of regular cardio and then fourty minutes of spinning. I got sick to my stomach on the way home. And the scales stilll aren’t moving. I weigh myself (probably too much) but they aren’t reflecting any weight loss. Does that not call for desperate measures?

D. and I are fighting. It’s so stupid to say why. Let’s just get over it and move over it, but it really pissed me off and I’m tired of asshole men not taking my anger seriously.

the thought is in my head. i’m writing. we’ve exercised. what else is there to do. let me try to think for a moment why i want to. i love the dark. i love the skeletons. i love what is black and morbid and what hurts. i’ve never done drugs or smoked a cigarette. those are dark things. i don’t dress like i’m asking for it. the only dark thing I have to identitfy myself and how I express myself is to cut. it’s like wearing pink hair, tattoos everywhere, and piercing all over, which I’m about to get another one. Cutting is just a style, a form of expression. I crave it. It’s my attire.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I believed everything I just wrote? I do believe some of it. It is dark and I love what is dark, gothic, and black. I’m home with being outrageous. Up till now, no one would let me have pink hair; so I’ve improvised.

I wish I had better to write. I despise me. I hate me to the core. Make me go away.

Damn spellcheck won’t work. ARRRGGGHHH!!!!!

Talk to me!

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