Hate

Hate hate hate hate hate life.
Hate hate hate hate hate me.
Hate hate hate hate hate food.
Hate hate hate hate hate everything.

Want to fucking die.

I need my razor. I need to cut.

Self injury is the only thing that will make me feel better...apart from if I was thin...but I'm not so...
I cut, I pull my hair, I scratch myself, I try to bruise my thighs but it never seems to work...don't know why...I hit hard. I hit my head with my hands...ok, that sounds a bit nuts but oh well, maybe I am nuts.

I desperately want to cut right now but it can be hard to hide from my family.

Why do my anti-depressants have to stop working when my periods are due? It is the worst possible time because my mood plummets at that time of the month. I can be almost suicidal and very uncaring towards my health and safety (like seeing what would happen if I take many more pain killers than I am supposed too). Not a good time for me.

All day today I've just felt like crying. I want to curl up in a ball and stay there until I am thin and I feel better. I want to attempt to starve myself to death. I want to break things including myself.

Why do my doctors tell me off for taking 2 of my anti-depressants instead of 1? Can't they see I need more? Especially now. But no, my doctor doesn't think the tablets are the problem (they've been wearing off in the afternoons but she says its not them).

I must have looked like a total nut case yesterday afternoon. I can't actually remember what set me off but I know it had something to do with my father (always is). I was angry about something, possibly just my Father's general existence, not sure, but I really wanted to break something, but obviously I couldn't because then I would have to pay for it...ah...no money. Anyway so I was pacing around the backyard, jerking my arms around (when I get really angry my muscles tense and go a bit weird) and hitting my head with my hands in an attempt to not kick all the palings off the balcony. If anyone saw me I shudder to think what they were thinking.

Then later that night my father slaps me on the ass. He knows I hate it when he does that. He then goes and plays loud music late into the night while I am trying to sleep and so is the rest of the street. Christmas eve mind you. But does he care? No. Not when he has alcohol.

I want a knife. A nice big shiny one where the blade is shaped all fancy. A Bowie Knife methinks.

Ok, I am nuts. I'll stop corupting minds now with my ridiculous thoughts.