Diary2

.Razor.Thin.

.Diary.Of.A.Girl.In.Pain.

Entry Date: September 8th, 2004

.I'm.So.Screwed.

He's going to kill me this time; I know he will. His last words still echo in my head, "I'm very disappointed in you. That was it. No, "we'll find help for you" or "I still love you, sweetheart. We can work through this". Nothing, nothing but silence.

   Look at this! I'm so screwed! What am I going to do? What am I going to do? He'll check - he always does - my wrists; my flesh. I hate him checking my body. Sometimes, I hate him. He'll see my cuts and give me that disappointed look again - send me to therepy, treatment; maybe even a mental hospital. How long will it be this time? He thinks I can be 'cured'. Well, I can't be - this is me. This what I do, that will never change; not after everything I've done.

   I've wished myself dead before. Death is better than him sometimes. But I could never go through with it. I'm too scared - I've even tried to overdose, but I eventually wake up - but it's like I won't die. I've even attempted to do it with sleeping pills, but it my fear my throat would close up and; well, you can figure out the rest. Death by injection - not matter what kind of drug it is - is out of the question. I'm terrified of needles.

   Oh shit. He's going to weight me too. He'll see my cuts, and then he'll weigh me. One hundred seventeen as of September first, seven days ago. Now the bathroom scale says one hundred eleven. Six pounds in seven days. I'm so dead. He's going to put me in treatment again, I know it. The girls in there are all thinner than me.

I only started cutting on my wrist because I thought daddy was going to pick me up on the seventeeth - not this weekend. No, it's too soon. I thought I'd at least have some time to heal, or to maybe cut in another place; you know?
Well, maybe you don't know. But, you always smile and nod and just listen, an I guess that's all I need - not somebody to judge my ways or go tell the school tharapist I'm crazy - I have enough people who do that. I just want somebody to trust, somebody who will listen; is that too much to ask for?

Entry Date: September 20th, 2004

.Fifth.Entry.

Going to my daddy's this weekend - haven't cut all week - nor will I. The scale says I've dropped three pounds, but it doesn't really matter. I'll never be skinny enough.

   In case you haven't guessed; I'm anorexic. But I might have to start a new diary soon because people know about this one, and I don't like that. No, not at all. This should be my place where I can pour out my thoughts - and not have anybody know what I hide behind my mask.

   School sucks, as always. I hate the sorry looks and constantly being asked if I'm okay. Yeah, I'm fine... I hate being asked what's wrong? all the time. How can I answer that when nothing is right?

   This place - these people - it's all so...dull...Sometimes I close my eyes and drift; someplace peacful and alone. Yes. Alone...

You don't need me. You don't need this. So I'm gonna keep quiet And wish I didn't exist.

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