How does it make you feel?

I'm sick of people asking stupid questions.

I think people get a kick out of it, as if inside the questions, a meteoric amount of mind reading has commenced. Give me a break. It's all power play.

How does it make you feel? Oh, honey...? I'm fine, really (?) Why do you do this? Why aren't you doing you're homework? Why don't you try harder, you know you can do better? Why are you sad? Whats wrong with me?

I'm not sure why I'm feeling particulary unpleasant. Sorry. I've had nothing to do, apart from social shit. Silly system of darlings and noos! and go girls! I'm tired of it all, lethargic from all of my thoughts. My salesmen keep wearing me out: Just a Little Cut - Let's Not Eat Tonight - Where are Dad's laxatives? He's not using them anymore, he won't miss them... Ria made me talk, made me feel a little more, just so I could open up. Then she had to go. It's like being at a strip club you weren't aware of. The girl is hot, swaying, strutting her stuff. You're hard, you're wet and you bet she wants you but you reach for you and she's not there! She's off somewhere, with some other poor bastard and her gyrating ass reverberates through your mind: she's left you all hard and ready to go.

Then what? I'm all emotional now. I counted my cuts this morning. 15o, over the last 13 months. One hundred and fifty scars on my body that haven't completely faded as yet. I had made 30 cuts in one night. My body has been cut into ribbons, but my fat means I still have miles left to cover up the whole thing. (You know, I have never assumed self harmers may read this, that I am triggering them.)

There's wine in the fridge, whisky and Baileys ready to be drunk. A new bag of disposable razors, a bottle of cough syrup in my room. No brother, no Dad. All pent-up, soft, and ready to go nuts. Everyone must hate me, surely. I'm sorry for this post.