And just when I thought it would never end, I look into the eyes of my childhood soul mates and realize the battle is over. I won. Now my new mission is to allow myself to claim the prize: my sanity and self love
I hate missing people, they never miss me back. I guess I’m at the point where my emotions plummet from not being on the Seroquel. Yea, I’m off that shit. I loved this dude so goddamn much, but he obviously doesn’t give a fuck. I wish I could fall asleep, but Seroquel withdrawal symptoms won’t allow me to do so. So, guess I’ll just watch some bad movie on Netflix for now.
“On the girl’s brown legs there were many small white scars. I was thinking, Do those scars cover the whole of you, like the stars and the moons on your dress? I thought that would be pretty too, and I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
-Chris Cleave, Little Bee
I hate the fact that I no longer have something to help me cope when I begin to feel shitty. Cutting doesn’t help me escape anymore. I never thought this could happen; I guess this is a good thing. But it feels more bad than good. I don’t know what to do with myself now. Knowing I no longer have a coping mechanism is frightening. There is not a moment that passes by without me thinking about how good it feels to know that my little razor friend is there for me. I feel myself wanting to move on, but I don’t now how to. I, just like everybody else, hate change. Even if it’s for the best. I want to accept the fact that I have grown out of it and yes, it was just a phase. Cutting is not my life…anymore. But what now? How do I continue the growth? Getting over cutting is one thing, but how do I transition to a life where I no longer THINK about the relief it granted .
Family is the label that society gives a whole bunch of fuckers the right to make kids feel like shit. What do they call it? Tough love, more like tough bullshit. Love doesn’t come in varieties, especially in “tough”. How dare you threaten to kick me out because of the way I dress. Are you kidding me? Cut up jeans with tights, really, Fam? I don’t have a family. I don’t have anyone to defend me. Not even my mom, she is too scared of my father to defend me, mind you she lives in a different country. Now that they ran out of shit to bitch at, they decide to bitch at the way I dress, AFTER they say ” you look like “a gay”. What? This is major bullshit, just like your “love” for me.