I feel I should use this diary to record the more light hearted, whimsical ramblings of my mind. I should use it to rant about my WoW characters and the stories they're in, the random thoughts that come from my head, the fact that twice today I have misread various words as 'scrotum' (the first time it was actually 'scratch' and the second time 'scum'). These are all the things I should record.
There have been interesting dreams lately. A few about time travel. One where I drowned - trapped in a room slowly filling with water, sinking to the bottom, held in my mother's arms and thinking how when they found me dead at least we would look peaceful. It was peaceful - breathing in the water and having it fill my lungs.
The dream of being orally raped was less peaceful. But still interesting, still worth recording - still something I'd like to look back on at some stage in my life. But is this a diary to look back on? My last bloop was for rants I could put nowhere else and I lost it all because I never bothered to copy. I'll never look back on those entries. This is pretty much it.
Tonight, I have two possible paths in front of me. Two activities - no, I tell a lie, three, that I might do before I go to bed. Activity one - self harm. Activity two - read. Activity three - masturbate. Two could go hand in hand with one or three. Hell with it, I could just do all of them.
It strikes me as really perverse that the same mindset that's seeking release through self-harm is also leaning towards sexual release. That I can even consider doing both while in the same mood breaks my mind a little. Would I cut before or after? Or during? How about a world of no. One or the other, Lentil, we aren't that crazy yet.
(Says the girl who cut her face.)
The other day one of my housemates came knocking on my door. I barely know her - not even a hundred percent sure of her name. She was in tears and asked to come in. She told me how she was feeling so depressed, and so lost, and no one understood, but she was scared to ask for help and she didn't know what to do. She told me that she'd come to me because it's known that I am taking a year out for being unwell, and she thought maybe I'd understand.
So I hugged this stranger, and listened to her, and gave her best advice I knew - go to the doctors, seek help, this is what to expect. This is what they'll ask you, this is how long it takes. No they won't section you. But to be all that she needs? To walk her to the doctors, to hold her hand, to be that person? I'm not sure I have that in me for a stranger right now. I felt compassion for her but also a sense of shutting down and isolating.
She went out with some others tonight - looked a little better. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Weird, this whole mental illness thing. You see someone and they look so normal.
A good friend once told me if someone has to ask why you cut, they will never understand it.
So, feeling tired and pretentious clearly. Several paths are dancing in front of me, trying to get my attention. Read, rub, or rip. That's so bad it's not even close to funny, yet I'm grinning like a loon.
Night all. |
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