What could the title to this possibly be?Posted: April 9, 2012
I have nothing to report other than my continued, deepening hatred of myself. Being able to turn your own stomach is impressive.
And I need to write about it. I get self-harming now, I get why people do it. All of the… anger, the hot anger that rolls and twists in your stomach and rises up to form a solid wall of rage from your chest to your throat… It needs to go somewhere. It needs a release.
And so read these words and know that they are silver lines tracking my arms and the tops of my thighs. They are red scratches running down my cheeks and chunks of hair in my sink. I’m not there, but I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to stop hating myself. I can’t get away from myself. I’m here, all the time, going round and round in my own head, and I am SO FUCKING ANNOYING.
I tried not writing, using the same logic that not writing about He Who Shall Not Be Written About makes him less tangible. It’s not the same. I haven’t seen HWSNBWA for months and months now. I’m looking back at me from my own mirror every bastard day.
I want to get out of my head. I don’t know how.
And God, life is tedious at the moment. Work is manic, The Boy is beyond exhausting, I don’t get a minute to myself and then I do, when he goes to his Dad’s, and there is nothing in the world for me to do. I don’t have a place, and I have never, ever felt so lost and irrelevant, so alone. Without my boy, I don’t exist. I’m sitting here in tears and there’s not one person I can ring to come and see me and tell me to stop feeling so fucking sorry for myself. Everyone I know has made their life now, made their family, and I’m starting again and I just don’t know how. I haven’t got a clue.