More and more cuts on my wrist. You know they really aren't cuts. I don't make deep cuts. I don't use a knife. I use either a needle or staple. I scrape at the skin. Barely pushing in. I guess you could call it a cut. There is pain involved. Not as much pain if you use a staple than a knife. I might use a knife sometime. But I've already promised people I would stop. I need to stop for myself too. I think the only reason why I'm butting is because I want attention. To be noticed. To be somebody. I am somebody thought. I have no idea why I don't believe I am. I never want to believe anything good happens to me or ever will happen to me. I don't mind having people know. Well of course I don't. And honestly I wouldn't mind if a teacher found out. Only if they wouldn't tell my parents. I know they wouldn't not tell them. I would only mind if my parents found out. They would be so disappointed in me. I would feel like a failure. Like I let them down because I'm causing more pain. I even told my mom I didn't cut and then one week later I started cutting. How do you think she'll think about this? I know she would cry. I just want someone to talk to about my feelings. Not my friends though. I guess a psychiatrist. Sittin g in that small room, feeling awkward for being there. Wondering what that person will ask; what they'll want to talk about with me. I can never tell my parents that I want to see a psychiatrist. They'll ask why. I can't tell them that I cut. You know I have no reason whatsoever to cut. I only do it because I'm bored. Stupid reason, I know. I've come to the conclusion that maybe I only cut is because I want a bad life. So cutting makes it bad. I don't have any emotional pain like those other cutters. I listen about their problems then I take them and turn them into my own. My only problem is that I don't have a problem and that I want a problem. I'm very strange. Help.

(2/27/03)