somewhere my thoughts lay close
2003-06-04 || 6:51 a.m.

I look in the mirror and these blank, empty eyes stare back at me: the eyes of the deadinside.

And it may sound stupid but I suddenly realised I could write anything I want at all in here. There has always been an element of guardedness.

And so here's the plan.

I'm drinking tea. I've made the packed lunches. In a minute I am going to get dressed and walk the dog.

I'm not going to eat.

But before I do any of that I'm going in the bathroom to where my razor sits at the moment. I know, I don't write about it here. Hardly ever. I haven't cut myself for weeks and weeks. I've been trying to stop. This is for two reasons. One because I think I should stop and two because its summer and my arms embarrass me. I'm not proud of it at all. I don't want people to know. I'm ashamed. I don't think its a shameful thing for anyone else to do it, but I think its a shameful thing for me to do it.

And so I don't cut myself for attention of any sort. I cut myself because it is the only thing that feels real. It is like my stress reliever.

But its not that hot today and I think I can keep my cardigan on.

And here's another thing. I crave sex. I think I should qualify that: I crave sex with love. I want to be held and kissed. I want to be desired. I yearn to be desired.

And so I have to cut myself because the pain of knowing it will never happen, crushes me and gives me those blank, empty, soulless eyes.

The ones that stare back at me from the mirror everyday.