A Confession

Last night wasn't good.

I cut myself nine times in a row. And it made me feel, so, so much better.

I'm not sure whether I should be ashamed of this or not yet. But for week in week out I've been holding all this emotion inside of me and it's been killing me inside. All the loneliness; all the stress. Finally I had a chance to let it out, watch the negative energy pour out through those crimson cracks that mark the way in which my resolve has broken.  I felt my whole body relax. Running has only been a short term solution. Things like making videos, writing and drawing don't help in the way they need to. So I cut.

I don't know what hope there is for me in the future. I don't know what I want to do.

I don't think I can bear leaving college and starting all over again. I think it'll kill me. And at uni, I'll be away from home. Far away. I won't know anyone. And I need to give myself some time out. I don't even want to go to uni that much. All it is is an amalgamation of parties crossed with blurry-eyed essays composed through half-intoxicated clouds of thought. I don't even like my college friends - what's to say I'll like the ones I make at university? They'll all be conventional and boring and naiive just like college people are. Just like most of the people I've met in my life have been.

I'm not saying I'm just 'one of those kids who doesn't think anyone understands her' but I've had very few people to talk to in my life about all of this. For example, yesterday, the only person I could tell was GuyImetatparty, and he understood. he told me it was okay that I cut. said that he even did sometimes. told me i should do what i loved when i was older - but how can i? when i don't even know what it is that i love anymor.e

this is making me feel worese. i'm going. can't even type properly