[Damnation.]

Just generally fucking triggering.

A friend just linked me to a thread about cutters on another forum, and I had a look. Amidst all the flames, and so called 'facts', were people actually posting seriously about their battles with SI.

It's amazing how one little thing can take you from feeling happy, to right down feeling like bollocks again, isn't it?

All I said in this thread was 'I used to cut; I'm almost three months free and proud of myself'. Lies. Fucking lies.

The only thing that's keeping me from cutting is the fact that my grandparents are visiting on the day I'm three months free. I don't even care about doing this for myself any more, I just want to make them happy. As soon as the day's over, I'll probably cut again.

It's a strain. It's a strain I don't fucking want. I hate seeing the flaming. It makes me want to cut even more. It makes me feel like a useless piece of ass. I am, though. I'm useless. I'm haunted by my past, which I fucking shouldn't be, because I haven't suffered nearly as much as most of the people here. We're in financial shit, and I'm barely contributing. My small incapacity benefit does fuck all, but I don't think I'm mentally ready to get a job. My housemate's out; she had a job interview which went well. What the fuck am I doing? Fuck all. We're gonna get royally screwed over, and I could've done something to help. I could've. But I'm not. Because I don't feel ready. I'm fucking pathetic. I hate myself.

I keep thinking about suicide. I admit it. I want to die. I'm forever thinking about taking an overdose - we don't have enough painkillers to do the job. Damn it. I keep thinking about cutting my shoulders, nice and out of sight.

Ha, painkillers, are they? What the fuck do they do? Nothing! They're called painkillers, but they don't take my fucking pain away. I still hurt.

I keep thinking about when I was 12. I keep thinking about that man, the one who made me go through that sexual trauma. Ha, he only touched me once, and that was only bumping into me with his hand on my arse in class. And here's me calling it sexual trauma. What the fuck am I on? But I keep thinking about it. The way it was handled. The bad way it was handled. Or some retarded turn of events that mean we'd see each other again. He's always the same. Even though it might have been a big misunderstanding IRL, in these daydreams, or whatever, he's always the same. Cruel. Calculating. Like he meant it. Like he was proud of it. Like he was going to come back and do it again. Or worse. I used to have nightmares. I used to have nightmares that he raped me, or involved himself somehow in my family. My worst fear used to be coming back from school one day, and seeing his car parked outside the house.

I was 12, for fuck's sake, and I'm 18 now. He's in Essex. I'm in Lancashire, for Christ's sake! Why the fuck is this still bothering me? He can't come anywhere near me; he wouldn't fucking want to. All he was worried about was his fucking career.

I can't kill myself. I want to, but I can't. My housemate. She's vulnerable. We depend on each other. She's been through a lot, too. She claims I saved her from being hospitalised when her father passed away. Another friend said she was glad I were there for her, for fears that my housemate might do something...stupid. Like what I want to do. I want to fucking die! I look in the mirror, I don't see anything worthwhile. I'm fat. I'm ugly. I can't do anything. I have no future. I feel like if I try and talk to someone professional, like the GP, I'll forget everything I wanted to say, and only remember the smaller, more minor details. I'll look like some whiney little teenage-ANGST kid, with no real problems. It's happened before. It'll probably happen again. I don't remember anything, not really. Unless it's something I'd rather forget.

I want to cut. I want to overdose. I want to sleep, forever. I just want the pain to stop.

I need someone to tell me that they love me, that they care. It's stupid, I know, because my friends care and love me, I know that.

I still feel alone, though.