been reading much jane austen. it soothes me. reading about mr. darcy and willoughby and all those familiar characters. i lose myself in them. much better than the cardboard romantic leads in books in the “romance” section. when i was in the hospital the only books they had were romance novels… most definitely not of the good kind. i would read them in the bath prior to cutting. relaxed me.
i burned my leg. not quite sure how badly. the skin is a black and grayish white. i zoned out a little before but it brought me nicely back to myself. i feel like a coward. it took some will to actually press the hot metal against the skin. it’s not the brief pain of cutting. it’s something a little more basic, a lot more torturous of the nerves. it did help me feel a little better. i was able to make it through the rest of the week without incident.
i’ve taken to biting my hand. it’s much like how i used to pinch myself when i first started self-injuring. a soothing sort of snap back to reality. nothing deep or causing of any damage. that would not be wise.
i thought i had flunked a test. i actually got an a. it made me feel better. not that it was a very high a but it was better than the c or d i had expected to see.
blush like an idiot whenever he is around. i don’t get why. i don’t fancy him anymore. it’s more that i berate the me of old for being attracted to him and thus feel uncomfortable.
father is doing worse. a lot of screaming and some attacking of myself and others. he told me that cutting is “stupid.” then he expects me to talk to him and come to him for advice. i really can’t believe he’d be so blind. he puts down the cutting but expects me to come to him with my problems… heh.
I bite my hands, too.
Take care,
mercy