Early morning. Moping around. Lying to anyone who will listen. Oh how I hate myself. But what can I do? I suppose I should go to therapy, I suppose that I should undo everything that I've done.. I should I should I should. But something inside just wont let me. I cut for no reaosn now. And it scares me. As Brant said to me last night and I fought it so hard. I'm a 'troubled' person. And I fought with everything within me!! I am not troubled! I go to school everyday, I'm normal.. I write, I sing, I dance, I do my homework, I yell at my mother, I try and make everything perfect! I must be a normal person! But then I thought for a moment.. when he told me that cutting my wrist's did consider me troubled. Then I stopped.. Normal people don't cut themselves. Normal people get angry. Normal people don't punish themselves for angry thoughts. Normal people don't have a huge negative ego where they think that everything that goes wrong is there fault. I sat back and I could have cried. I am troubled guys, Indeed I am. And I know what to do but I'm afraid to do it. My mom does not know that I cut. Suspicions.. sure. But she does not know. If I were to ask her to take me to a therapist.. it would tear her down to shreds. Shes already deterorating.. I don't want to contribute to anymore of her unhappiness. I figure if I can't ge tover this by myself and with the help of others she can live in her world where atleast her daughter Courtney isn't falling apart, in very much sane, a good example of everything she couldn't be, and someone who loves her very much. I want to keep that reality for her, but I don't know if I will be able to. It's complicated. I don't want to trouble people with my 'troubled' behavior. If that makes any sense in the least. Poetry used to be like cutting for me. I could throw every emotion into my poetry and move people.. and be satisfied with everything. I was fine that way. Then everything just got to be too much. Poetry seemed not to be enough..and I started to cut. And like Brant said when he went through this as well... he couldn't pour emotions into poerty because everything had been poured out into every slice of skin that he made. It's happening to me to. I can't write poetry anymore.. I dont know why. The slits, cuts, scratches, gashes.. whatever you fancy on my wrist are from lack of expression of anger and unhappiness. I was so unhappy inside for so long, and I wanted to pretend that I was happy.. that the unhappiness consumed everything fake. It took me by completely surprise.. indeed it did. I rarely express anger. I hate it so much. Emotion and Anger for me are two different things. I dont see anger as an emotion. I'm afraid of it. Deathly afraid of it.. I was scared that if I started displaying anger that I wouldn't know how to control it. Thus cutting. Cutting is silent anger. No one hears it. No one usually sees it.. unless I'm careless like today.. ( I just didnt wear my bracelets. ) And they think everything is fine. At first its a wonderful feeling of being able to control anger that way. Silently so you're not making a scene.. but violently enough that it satisfies your craving for something that have never allowed yourself to ever have before. Odd, yes, I know it. But what can I say?? Now its engulfed me completely and I'm even more scared then I was before. I dont reconginize myself in the mirror. The girl with a sad vacant expression when she sees hereself.. the girl who hides her arms behind her figure, in her pockets, or lines them with bracelets galore... The girl who wants more then anything ot be happy, if she could be granted back anything in the world. Yes I have my happy moments. But when they end its back to the darkness that I pushed away for too long. My 4 reality theory: I live in 4 realities. My Family reality. My Friend reality. My Internet reality. and My Cutting reality. One is gone and one is trying to take over the others. It's hard. I jump through every reality atleast once a day. I'm trying to control one from the other and give a balance until finally I wont need my cutting reality. But I dont want to be alone. More then anything in this world I just dont want to be alone if that counts for anything. Enough of my 2 period rambles. I'm off.
Courtney