Choose Life

I am physically incapable of revising. I won the 25th annual College poetry competition - £15 of book vouchers. My dad is having whisky for dinner and I'm wondering why I'm not as much of an alcoholic as I could be. I haven't cut for about four weeks. I think. When I'm not disciplining myself (self-harming) the period between when I rise above it and when I just...give up are not so far apart but I want it so much that the time in between stretches until I cannot recognise dates or times and suddenly its tonight and I know it. Well, not neccessarily. But I'm not sure. I mean, if I just get on with it, then I know I would feel better, and I would sleep more and I wouldn't be on the brink of tears all of the time. Surely thats much better than anything else?

I hanged with Rich and Alex today. We amassed food, of which I hardly had any and we talked about this new radio project we're doing together. Should be fun, really. After Alex rushed off to his English lesson we hanged out for a little while I had the last of the orange juice (I've been eating/drinking apples and oranges whenever I can. And apart from my cereal addiction, I'm eating very little. It was much easier to get out dinner than usual, so I'm treating myself with hot chocolate, and some rum.

As I say, I'm feeling pretty depressed at the moment, and I wish it would change. I try to tell myself its not true that disciplining will make myself better when I cannot rise out of bed, when I cannot chat idly, when my memory is slipping as well as my grades (I'm getting the C's for the first time in months!) and my mind just gets darker and dummer, how can I go on further? And yet when I expect myself to cut, when I start to imagine all of my misery lifting off me, along with the fat and the ugliness - oh god, the ugliness, and I can move, I can chat like a true Gemini. It's all easier. Why can't I have it easier, with a little bit of pain. Why is cutting so bad? What the hell is everyone's problem? I don't think I can function without it. I'm too fargone, just too damn pathetic.

I think I'm enjoying it, all of this hatred. I couldn't articulate it - you know, a sleeping frog in your throat. I was talking with Richard, talking about the EU, and somehow we got onto the Samaritans. I'm not sure whether we said this purposely, but we started talking about whethere there's a fee to use it cos he had used his mobile, and I told them that I asked them once when I called and so on. It kind of makes you realise that Samaritans help everyone.

I think I've finally deduced that his mother died a few years ago. He never talks about it. I want to hug him so bad, for so many other things he's done thats been so helpful to me. I just felt at ease to tell him about my craziness when I was 12, I'm not so sure why - maybe because he told me first that he went crazy when he was 12 - it felt nice to be trusted like that. You tend to find that when you're calling or texting one of your best friends cos you just can't stand it anymore and you're gonna slit your throat if you don't talk soon. You expect some kind of life-altering speech to come out of you, and your friend will respond with something perfect and you can just deliberate over it for ages. But just admitting that you feel crap, and having your friend saying that they're there that they're around and that they won't go anywhere because god forbid, you're loved. Well, that's better than any therapist. That's why I gave 'em up...I just gulped down a big glass of whisky...hangover tomorrow and no Spongebob Squarepants to bring me back to reality. I guess thats enough. Sorry.