Don't Always Wanna Be Like This

There's something missing from the pews; I think it's you.

I want to remember this when I'm done with it. Some days I really feel like it'll never get better, no one will ever love me proper. Maybe I think no one can love me proper because, maybe that line's right: "We accept the love we think we deserve." Maybe that's why I'm chasing after Zach, who probably might quite possibly give a shit about me, when there's people who actually care so much for me, and something in me makes me turn against them. Why am I doing that, so naturally? I am usually one to follow my instincts, but now they are leading me down bad paths. I want to look back one day when I'm happy (that elusive word) and see what I've been through. I want to fight this, I want to be a fighter. It's like this inevitable cloud that comes down at just the most unexpected times.

Just a few days ago, I was having such a good day. I mean, it was a day when the cloud came back after 2 days of it being gone, so that disappointed me. I woke up way too late, there it was, and I knew it was going to be a hard day. I went to Barnes and Noble with my parents and we picked up some workbooks to help with the depression and anxiety. I was too embarrassed to go up and buy them myself, so my dad did it. It was hilarious, because the cashier asked him all these questions if he was okay, and looked at it him funny. I was laughing so hard when he told me. My dad even told me he hadn't hear me laugh so hard in a while. When I got back home, I started working on the workbooks, which was fun. For some reason, I was really craving a drink right then, so I went downstairs and got a bottle of sherry. At first, I just wanted to drink enough to be sleepy, but then I kept drinking and drinking until I drank a third of the whole bottle. By then I was out, and who know why, I went into my room and got out my razor. I don't even remember what prompted me to cut. I thought, I've been having a pretty good day, why am I doing this? I guess the alcohol made me not care, not think. I don't even remember most of it. I was just sawing away at my wrist, not using any caution like I usually do. I usually keep mid-wrist off limits to avoid hitting an artery, but I was just going everywhere. It's like I was trying to brutally murder that skin, as if something I hated within me was just beneath it. I remember I finally realized what was happening when I looked down and saw all the blood pricking up in little bubbly, cute drops on my wrist. I thought to myself, "Wow there's so much blood... Cool... It's so beautiful." I got a kleenex and used it up completely, like all the blood soaked through. Then I got another and the same happened. It was still bleeding, so I called Ryan and I e-mailed Robin. Once the bleeding stopped a bit, I kept doing it. I kept going, more cuts, not caring. I have about 30 new scars on my wrist from that night. I'm lucky I didn't hit an artery, because I was so numbed by alcohol that I couldn't feel any pain. I felt no pain at all, just kept hacking away. Then I told Ryan there was a lot of blood and he told me to go get a towel and hold it down. Robin called me but couldn't stay on for very long because she was running out of money, so we got on Skype and I showed her the towel and she told me it was a lot of blood and she was going to call the paramedics if I didn't tell my parents. The next morning, I got the towel, the blood was dried and brown, and I smelled it. I think I lost something, some innocence, a bit of hope, when I smelled my own tinny blood covering that towel. I didn't know it would be like that. I went to the bathroom and tried cleaning it out, running cold water over it and squeezing it out. The sink was filled with the red/brown liquid from the towel, and I lost something there, too. Seeing my own blood go down a drain. It covered my wrist and my hands from the night before. I could smell the tinniness, seeping into the air around me, and it made me sick. Not many smells make me sick, but the smell of my old blood did.

I don't know if I'm going to do it again or if I'm going to stop. I really can't tell. Before that night, I didn't think I would do it again, but I did.

I just want to remember. I'm a fucking fighter, and it sucks a lot of the time to have to fight so hard to get what other people have naturally. Don't know why I was made this way, but it's real and I guess something beautiful is going to come of it. It doesn't feel like that now a lot of the time, right now I just want to be past this, if I ever can be, but I have to fight through it. As much as that sucks. Oh, well. I guess I learned the phrase, "Life's not fair" very well. So who can love me proper, with my scars and problems and complexes and crazy, unusual thoughts? With my lack of social grace, my awkwardness, my ability to say the right thing at the wrong time, or vice versa? With my anxiety and desire to be so wonderful for him? I wish it was you, Zach, but maybe it won't be. I don't know if you're strong enough for me. I am for you, but I'm scared, just like how you once were. How'd it get like this? I don't think you care. I'll find out soon. So scared, love.