An Entry from my diary written somewhere around one in the morning:
I'm lying here tonight, pondering the things that brought me here: my life. I'm examining the scars on my wrists and thinking of the state of mind I was in when I put them there... that immense emptiness, that need for control. In a story by Charles DiAmbrosio, he wrote in dialogue, "The doctor says I do it to put the pain where I can see it." If those aren't the exact words, sue me. Those words stuck out to me 'cuz I think thats why I did it but not so I can see it but for everyone else to see it. I wanted Cortney to see it that day. I wanted someone to ask so that I could lie about it... again. I never suspected it would be my last time doing it. 8 months now? It the longest I've gone since I started. And I don't want to. That look on her face, that acknowledgement as she confronted me on it... it was all I needed. Such immense relief... Cortney said once, "As soon as you ask for help, you immediately shut down." Again, if those aren't the exact words, sue me. That girl's too damn smart if you ask me. Gonna have to start feeding her paint chips just so I can keep up with her.
I started to get help with the molestation (God, I hate that f**king word) and as soon as it started to get real, I took off. I told myself it wasn't working, told myself it wasn't worth the money. Truth was, I got scared.
Truth is, I wanna embrace my faith, but I'm scared of that too.
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