I finally did it. 1:30 in the morning. Everyone downstairs. Me all alone. So curious to cut. Wondering how to do it, wondering how much pain was included. Pain. I can't take pain. Too much is unhealthy for me. I begin to suffer. My thoughts start to eat their way out of my body. Only creating more pain. Cut. It's so unnoticeable. It looks like a scratch on my wrist. Unnoticed. No one will even know it's there. They won't be worried because they can't see it. I was all alone. In the bathroom. Glanced down at the sink and saw the weapon. A shiny needle. Questioning if I should try. Just this once. What harm will one cut be? So I grabbed the deadly weapon and slowly walked in my room. Locking the door, my heart began to race. Finally I calmed. My breathing slowed down to a steady pace. Normal. I moved toward my bed, sitting down, glancing at my wrist, glancing at my leg. Questioning. Leg or wrist? No, not my precious legs. So the wrist. I took the needle and scraped it against my skin leaving behind nothing. I pushed a little harder. Once. Twice. Third time. Finally a line appeared. Not a red one this time. I kept tracing over the line until I saw red. Pushed a little harder. Scraped a little faster. Until finally it looked like it was going to bleed. Just a speck. I stopped. Squeezed the cut between my fingers. Waiting. Waiting for blood to seep out of the cut. I don't see why people cut. It didn't help me any. I guess I need pain first for the cut to be worth it. Now I want to make anothe cut like this one. Not because it helps ease the pain, but because I did one now I need another to match it. If I give in and cut again I'll be addicted. I don't want to be addicted to something so harmful. I finally did it. A true cut. Nothing to be proud of. But I am. Maybe I'll stop. Maybe I'll go on cutting. Hopefully I'll choose the first one. Hopefully. True cut. :-(

--Finished: -2/2/03- @ 1:50am--