I have numbed myself out.
That night after last post... I tried to sleep for a few hours, but something was nawing at me. I knew what it was, but I resisted it. No, I couldn't cut again. I had done so well. There was hate, sure. Pain of lonliness should be enough, shouldn't it? Why did I have to hurt more? I had already burned myself (accidentally, though I kept it a secret and it hasn't been treated), why did I need the blade.
As soon as five neat, red threads were carved on my arm, I finally slept. It was a relief - and I welcomed it.
Today, I binged then went out and ate stomach-fulls of junk. I spent time smiling with friends, putting on my pristine mask of painlessness and carelessness and perfection and success and happiness. I was "real" with them. I left a little trail that, by the end of the night, warned them that I couldn't take the fat jokes or the jesting about my lack of intelligence.
I came home to drunken parents talking about religion and, essentially, how I am going through a "phase". They want me to be something I am not. My mom wouldn't let me go on a diet with her post-Holidays, but now that I look like I've gained 50ilbs (even though I haven't gained anything on the scale) she is all for it.
I want to stop caring. That's what I did last year, I think. I just stopped caring about the risks, about what other people would think, about how difficult it would be, about how stupid and selfish it would be - I just did it. I stopped everything. I stopped caring and I got happy and I got thin.
I wish I could come here and tell you all that my day was generally good and that I did indeed have a really amazing time with my friends at the lights show tonight. But this is the only place in the whole world where I can tell myself - yes, you had fun. Lying.
It is the only place I can take off the mask.
To my new readers, welcome. Sorry I don't write anything interesting.
