(an excerpt from my journal)
September 30, 2005
Life isn't as much about living any more
But trying DESPERATELY to get by. -Kristina Cassell

It's almost futile isn't it? This quest for happiness. It's like as soon as you realize "Hey this made me complete," It's gone. This leaves you more alone and bitter than ever before. So what do we do? We find ways to combat this almost constant anxiety of not showing we care about something so it is not ruthlessly ripped away. Some peoples ways get them called crazy and mentally disturbed. Mine is one of these and has been for many years. I cut myself. It proves to me that I am really alive, and helps to relieve the tension and pressure constantly building up in my body fighting for release. Honestly though it has been a couple of months since I have done it, and strangely I feel crazier than ever before. I can't even write correctly I am so tense. F it I am breaking down if only to save what is left of my sanity.

Its strange how four little lines from a box cutter can help put life back into perspective. Things seem so much more clear. It helps me deal with these truths that I know to be "self evident" that normally I cant deal with, and can't believe could happen to me. Some people use drugs. I use a box cutter. I mean yeah I think about death almost constantly, but truth be told I am too scared to do it. So this is not a cry for help as most people would like to believe. On the contrary it helps me to find my inner stability.

Im not crazy Im just hopelessly confused.

Nothing makes sense anymore. Everything just spins around and I can't keep it in focus. The pain helps me to focus! Some people obsess over calories, but I obsess over cuts. Who's to say who's right and who's wrong? For all anyone truly knows I am completely sane and the rest of the world is out of their minds. How could something that helps me this much be bad? And why and I worrying about it so much? There is probably some inner guilt on my part about it. The fact that I know to cut yourself is not the expected norm, and we know how DESPERATELY society wants us to fit in.

Ive noticed that over time my views on things are getting slightly more warped by the year. But hell its all I can do to DESPERATELY survive. Why kill myself when life is just a form of animated death anyways.

The moment of clarity is gone and my mind has gone back to these senseless jumbles. I don't profess to know up from down anymore, but I do know...what? That life doesnt get better, it changes, but never for the better? That maybe someday... I don't even dare dream anymore. if I stick to the nightmares things have to at least look better, right? WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG

It doesnt get better, you just find ways to cope. One blood line turns to two and suddenly you are curled up on the floor of your bathroom lying in your own blood with more lines on your leg then a piece of college ruled paper. My question now becomes, "Where do I go from here."

The obvious answer is pick yourself up, clean yourself off, and check yourself into a nice mental hospital. My actual answer: Get up, Clean up, and hope that your leg heals before you fall into the darkness again. I cope therefore I survive...Barely.

These are the ramblings of a mad woman and no I am not of sound mind. I really think I am finally losing it. Having a mental breakdown. I read back over what seconds before I had just written, and while in a delirium made sense, no longer does. It doesn't sound as insightful as I had hoped it would be.

And so it is the darkness again.