Jan. 16th, 2014

artisans: (Default)
I've two dw journals already. They are, as far as my memory goes, full of happy, positive thoughts. There maybe one or two negative posts. I am too scared to go back and read them to find out. Who I was then and who I am now are two very different people. What if I can never be that girl again and remained locked in this bubble of self doubt and pain.

For months now, I've drunk alcohol and cut myself to stay alive. Some people may see them as a slow death. They give me a buzz and something to look forward to. Which....after the last weekend I need. Twice I tried to kill myself. This week I've just felt numb. I still don't know how much longer I can last. I am trying to find small things to hold on to like putting up shelves or watching a film with a friend. But so many tasks just seem...impossible and so far out of reach.

Like this journal. It's taken me a week to start and I am supposed to try and put something in it every day? I'd love to say I am going to try but hah it already feels like an impossible, unending task.


artisans: (Default)

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