i don’t know what to say. the past week has not been the best. i won’t say it has been the worst, either. i’m sure that many people have had worst weeks than i have. no need to feel that i’m the only one feeling down.

i had a med change a couple of weeks ago and everything went downhill from there. cutting again, feeling suicidal and all those little quirks i used to have. the ones where i look like a deranged refugee because i’m so on edge and i look like i’m going to snap. i’ve lost weight and that has made me both happy and wary. sometimes i look into the mirror and i think that something’s wrong with me. my face looks too drawn, i look ill. i’m not sure what to think. only three pounds until i am back in the double digits. i’m trying not to go there. i can’t afford to. not anymore. not unless i want to make my weight my entire life again.

i cut last week. pretty serious for me since i have not been cutting in months. it wasn’t horribly deep since i don’t have the right tools. i don’t have those beautiful blades from that craft store. those are the best for scars. all i have is glass. glass from a cup that i deliberately broke a few months back. just in case. i saved the blood this time. smeared it on a paper and wrote a little note in my blood. all my ‘memorable’ cutting moments have that. like a journal of a sort. the following day i was going to cut again but my mother walked into my room in the middle of the night. she didn’t even knock. needless to say i was deprived of my opportunity to cut. perhaps i could have cut deep enough that time. i was reading some stories involving cutting and they never seem to put the immediacy of it into words. i don’t think it can be. adjectives and nouns and verbs can’t begin to describe it. it’s a need and it is beautiful. i don’t know if i want to give it up after having re-discovered it again. it is not as intense as burning but the blood is what makes it so rewarding. seeing it drip down.

i’m supposed to give it up again. i probably will again. i’m supposed to. cutting is bad or so i’m told. i don’t think i believe them but i am in no hurry to be hospitalized again.

i know it’s been months since i last wrote here. a lot has happened since then. my father has come back to live with us. it’s his last chance. if he fucks up this time he’s not going to be allowed back. i’m glad he’s back though because, despite the past, i love him.

i don’t actively have an eating disorder anymore. i just sort of don’t eat, it’s more a passive thing. i have’t lost a lot of weight, though, because i’m not really trying to. it’s too much work and i don’t want to completely destroy what’s left of my stomach lining. i’m at about 103.5, which makes me happy. it’s a lot better than my horrible 117. i tried to talk to the doctor about it but he doesn’t seem to care. i figure if he doesn’t then i shouldn’t. i’m slightly hoping to lose more weight, though. i’m not going to do anything about it but if i do i’ll be happy.

i went to school this semester and had an all right time. i’m still as anti-social as fuck but, eh, that’s life. maybe i’ll join a club or something next semester. i spend most of my time in the library. i liked most of my classes, though. going to school was comforting.

i haven’t been self-injuring much. last ‘serious’ time was about a month or month and a half ago when i burned myself. i’ve cut a few times but they were barely scratches. probably just as well, though.