forthebook's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- again. I emailed my razor blades to The Boyfriend in October - an act of good faith concerning my feelings for him in a particuarly rough time. This week I found unopened packages of them in my house. Left over packages for the boxcutters from our move in November. No, that's not completely true. I knew they were there. I saw them. I saw them one day and I picked them up and I got so scared that I threw them under a pile of junk mail and tried to forget they were there; hoping, desperately hoping that someone would put them away or dispose of them before I searched them out again. No one did. I took them this week. There are ten. Five per box. All wrapped in little strips of cardboard and shining smoothly. So I started again. And starting only made stopping harder. And I guess it really does lower my self esteem because now everything is worse. And everytime The Boyfriend would rather go to a club or do anything with his friends than talk to me, when he's barely spoken to me since he left, I cry uncontrollably. I cry myself to sleep and I cry whenever I wake up to find he hasn't called. I cry and I cut because he said he wanted to take the place of the cutting but he won't even make time for me in his life anymore. So I went back to the only thing that's ever been there for me. The only comfort that ever soothed me. The only peace of mind that ever lasted for more than an hour at a time. And when he says he loves me or misses me or that I am his world, I cry. I cry because it feels so fake because he doesn't even want to make the time when he knows I'm dying for want of it. And he'll be angry. And he'll blame himself. So I won't tell him. And when he comes home, he will be tenfold more of both because I have "lied" about it when I said I was stopping. But I can't help it. I can't get through the day anymore. I don't eat. I don't sleep more than four or five hours at a time. I can't have another bad semester, I just can't. I need this now. And it's funny. It's funny that The Boyfriend can't tell I'm breaking slowly but a friend I haven't talk to in months can tell instantly that I'm sad in the first few sentences. 8:32 p.m. - 2005-01-29 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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