This isn’t right, you know, what I’m doing to myself. Not with the amount of drugs I’m on.

There are some who believe I stopped cutting, after the incident this summer that caused me to end a rather crucial friendship of mine. I didn’t. I just stopped talking about it. It’s actually worse than ever.

I used to have someone I could talk to when I was feeling suicidal and would tell me “not now”. But at least I had that one person I felt I could go to.  What she did to me, her betrayal of my trust, has caused my introvert to come out seriously. I don’t trust anyone anymore. Which has lead to my burst of honesty. No one can betray me if I have no secrets, right?

I hate my life and I want to die. Every good thing in it seems to go sour as soon as I touch it. I want to die.

I can’t even escape to sleep to hide away from it. Fucking insomnia. Fucking life. Fuck me.