My life is about as interesting as the next person's. |
current mood: dejected current music: The things we'll never say - Taking Back Sunday Pain. Ah, the pain. The cuts on my arm look cool and feel so damn cool. The freshly engraved cuts, mind you. You're saying, "Why Hilary, what has brought about this wave of self-injury?" Hmm...Well, I'm not all that sure. Yes, I talked to Jacob. He was great. ...But, like I said, there's something missing. Rather - someone. And it's killing me. Or eventually will. I stupidly opened Matt's box, while listening (at full volume) to our song. <sigh> I knew this guy, Houston, for 5 days. It took me over two years to get over him. How long will Matt take? I was in love with him. Fine, I'll admit it. It's not like it's a secret anyway. It may take decades. It's been 7 months and I still feel like I'm in the same position I was, now denying [ever loving him]. I feel like the stages are mixed up. You know denial, acceptance, stuff like that. (I used to know them, but whatever) Denial is usually the first one, isn't it? But, I've been denying things a lot lately. Anyway, I remember when I first started cutting myself, I would be crying out to God to make me stop. But, I never could. I just kept at it. And now, I feel so unaddicted. I wish I were, then maybe I'd eventually go too far and end up killing myself. I hadn't done it in a month. And now, I am just so unappreciative of my lovely scars and fresh cuts. I just seem to have no reason to cut myself and sometimes I want a reason. Sometimes I want to cry, but I never have a reason. And I want one. I want a fucking reason to slit my wrists. Otherwise, I can't revel in it. I'm feeling rather dejected this evening...I guess you could say. |