Addictive
>>2003-01-18<< >>7:24 p.m.<<

My little sister's friend is here. Her name is Carissa. I like that name. It's pretty. She's shy and quiet, like I am. But I doubt she is suicidal.

I think I am... I don't know. I used my Swiss Army pocketknife to cut my wrists earlier. Not enough to bleed of course, but enough to leave marks for a couple of days.

I think I am sick in the head. I was looking at my wrist a second ago and the first thought that popped into my head was that the cuts on my wrist are beautiful. They are so... pain filled. It's nice to take out pent up anger on yourself. That way you aren't hurting anyone but yourself.

I know all this diary is gonna do is terrify Kat, so it would probably be to her benefit to stop reading it. But I'm not gonna stop her if she wants to.

I'm so scared that my parents are going to notice my wrist. That they are going to ask what's been going on. That they are going to keep me from talking to Tanner. I'm just so scared of what they would do if/when they find out that I am a 'cutter'. I just found out that that is what people call folks who cut themselves for the pain. I don't like the title, but I can't help it. It's become sort of an addiction. And I've only been doing it since Tuesday. I'm pitiful.

..::Now the Moon::..---..::Has clouded Over::..