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I've tried so hard to be good. I've tried so hard not to give in, but it was driving me up the wall. I couldn't stand it anymore, and I finally gave in. I caved. I took out the razor and caved. It's not like I wanted to give in, but I couldn't help it.



It's just so exhilerating, the feeling of the blade, the blood as it emerges onto porcelain skin. The feel of the cold steel running through warm flesh... it's indescribable. Seeing what I've done fills me with such loathing and such happiness that it threatens to tear me apart. I no logner care who sees my scars. I don't care about the looks of pity and disgust I'm given. It's my skin, I'll do with it what I please.



So, now after my little cutting session, my arms are flaming red and currently wrapped in so many bandages that it's hard to type. I'm managing though. I'm just not looking forward to gym class. That's gonna raise a few eyebrows to say the least. I guess that's why I simply don't take off the bandages.



Anyway... that's enough of that...

I know that I promised I wouldn't, but I can't help it. All day, they've been calling to me. It's like I'm being taunted and the only way I can stop it is to give in. I don't want to give in and surrender, I really don't, but what choice do I have? He constantly plagues me and the only reprieve that I can get is through my friends and even then, he haunts me.



I so want to just have it all stop; a complete silence in which nothing can get to me. Where nothing can hurt me and I can simply be me. I'm losing it as I fall farther and father away. I'm getting deeper and deeper into this and I can't handle it.



Today, one of my friends told me that she was wondering what others would do if she were dead. That sure as hell struck home. Sometimes, I sit in my room at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering what would happen if one day, I were dead. Inexplicably dead and gone. What would people do? Would those I considered friends mourn or go on as if nothing happened? Would those that I didn't give a second thought mourn me instead?



I don't know. I wish I could, but I will never know. As morbid as it sounds, I wish I could be a fly on the wall at my own funeral to see. I'm sure that that experience would either make or break me.



No way to tell and be able to come back. Only one way to tell though.



"Somewhere just beyond my reach, is someone reaching back for me."

How is it that I can feel so distant from reality that it's like I'm reading a book? Or watching a movie? A horrible piece of fiction that doesn't seem to end, that keeps me within its foul grip as I struggle to say afloat; alive. Everyday, I detach myself from the world that surrounds me, locking myself away within myself until I'm once again safe at home.



I act as though there is nothing wrong when I'm battered and broken. I smile and laugh as if the world is amusing when I just want to hole myself up in my room and lock the door, knowing that I can be safe nowhere else. My face looks unmarred when in reality, underneath the makeup, there are ugly bruises. I dance with fraudulant joy when at night, I cry myself to sleep. Just because of him.



Him... how could I forget him? Never. His image is now engraved into my mind, seared upon my eyelids, and carved into my very psyche. His actions marring my soul and shaking me to my core. Of course I can never forget him. He was the one that made me feel as though I didn't matter; that I was worthless. He convinced me that I was never fit to walk this earth and reminded me of it everyday. Sometimes, he still does... just for kicks.



I felt like I was dying just that much more inside each and every time he reminded me. Each and every time I was shown that I was a piece of filth that needed to be destroyed, and destroy me he did. He did it so well.



Now, I'm trying to rebuild what was once smashed into a million unrecognizable fragments, but not alone. Never alone. At least, not any more.



However, sometimes, I still feel like an undesireable. Like the shit that is scraped off of a shoe and discarded. Sometimes, he returns to remind me of my place before I can fully recover from what he had done to me last time. The last time he reminded me.

Are you still here since I have sent you away with my words? I know not why you remain, but I’m glad you stayed. Had you not, I would’ve sought you out and asked you to come back with me. Back with me to our home within the mountains, that are within the plains, that are within the seas that move on and on. Had you not, I would’ve sought you out and taken you to where we met, where I was bewitched by your charm long ago. There, the morning dove sings happily with the crickets that chirp softly during dawn. Where the dew is so sweet and where one can sit peacefully by the water’s edge and gaze at the sunset and stare at the moon and her sisters, the stars. Where one can lose all sense of time, where one can only live for the next sunrise. There, I have left myself behind with you. There I have always stayed, but only in my dreams can I see it in all it’s splendor. Only in my dreams can I lose myself with you again.

Well, here I am, finally home at last. For the past week, I've been spending time with my father in Alabama, and it was a harrowing experience, and no, I'm not talking about the southerners.



I had to leave Sacramento and fly into Dallas and then into Pensacola (Alabama). On the flight from Sac to Dallas, I was sitting next to this guy that looked as though he had been smoking some serious weed and drinking up a storm. Not 10 minutes into the flight, he fell asleep and started to vomit all over himself. I tried to shake him awake, but he was unresponsive. The flight attendant moved me and when we landed, he had to be taken out on a stretcher. That was the only thing that happened on the flight down, but the flight back was another matter entirely.



The flight from Pensacola to Dallas was rerouted around a massive thunderhead, but we didn't have enough fuel to get around it, so we stopped off in Houston. They overfilled us, and when we finally made it to Dallas, my connecting plane was already gone. So, I got the last remaining seat on the last flight to Sacramento for the night. However, that plane was also delayed for about an hour due to the same weather that I had experienced earlier. We eventually boarded the plane, but had to deplane because of some technical difficulties that resulted in the plane being decommissioned. We waited in the airport for another 30-45 minutes and then got on yet another plane. When we finally made it to Sac, I was about 4 hours late from my origional plans, and school was looming in about 3 hours. However, my mother being the caring person that she is, is letting me stay home. Something about being up for 24 hours on roughly 3 hours of sleep makes her sympathetic.



Well, anyway, I thought that I'd share my harrowing experience with you all and warn you about flying on American airlines through Dallas. It's a pain in the ass.