Have You Ever Been Blue?

the following is taken straight from my sketchbook diary.

monday november 19, 2007

I watched girl, interrupted today and I was reminded why it is my favorite movie. I think the reason I love it so much is because I relate to it very well. Some of the monologues seem to make direct reference to me. Sometimes mine and Winona [Ryder]'s faces are interchangeable. She isn't sure what her sickness is about and neither do I.
When she is in Dr. Wick's office and brings up "ambivalence" I feel like they are talking about me.

"Do I stay or do I go?" "Am I sane or am I crazy?"

This has been a rough week. Not for any specific reason, but I actually told myself out loud that I don't want help. I don't want to get better. After weeks of not cutting, I cut. After months of not purging, I purged. Unlike in the past, I didn't hate it. I didn't regret it. I didn't hate myself. I didn't get caught.

This morning, I wasn't even depressed. I cut because I could. I did it because I couldn't think of a reason not to. I did it for the hell of it. I can still feel it burning and I like it. I was looking forward to lunch all day just so I could purge. I can't remember the last time I was excited to eat.

I think abot suicide all the time but don't think I could act on it because of all the people I would let down.

sometimes I feel like I care too much about other people's feelings. I decide on actions after carefully debating whether someone will get hurt or not.

they say suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness. but what if you have never been selfish in your life? I don't even know what that feels like.

sometimes I feel like a hypocrite for being a strong advocate for organizations like "To Write Love On Her Arms."

I would rather help everyone else in the entire world than help myself.

I donate money and spread the word of this anti-self injury organization, when I don't even feel like using them to help me. Kinda like competing in the Tour De France with no bicycle.

I can see my therapist for the rest of my life and never get one step closer to recovering. I have been given the tools, taught to use them but it will only work if I pick them up and use them.

I am at a point where I have been struggling to even pick them up and I am tired of trying so hard. Living in the midst of this habit is just so much easier than fighting it.

It has become a part of me. I don't know where my sickness ends and the real me begins anymore.

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