So, I did it.

I couldn't take it anymore, I withstood as much as I could of wanting badly to cut but finding other things to do instead.

I had a really, really bad night Saturday. I live half a mile from Lake Michigan, and although it was dark and I was safely in my apartment, all that kept running through my mind was an image of me standing at the water's edge, looking out into the vastness, and how incredibly alone I felt. I still do, kind of. I know I have friends, but I just lost a bunch recently and it's still bugging me. I just got to feeling swallowed up in the dark void, empty, and I wanted to FEEL something, you know? Something besides the empty black hole that lives in me.

I have to go to therapy Tuesday and confess to my therapist, who has put his heart and soul into getting me not to cut. I couldn't care less about myself, but I feel horrible for letting him down. I kind of let myself down too, I guess -- this is the first time in months, maybe a year, I've lost track, that I've done this. I knew that it would never be over, that I would always consider it as a first resort instead of a last, but up until this weekend I've been able to find healthier coping methods. Actually, Saturday the first thing I thought of was journaling, but decided not to bother and just give in to what I've been wanting to do for months now.

I feel like a totally lame, weak, nothing.

Candy

<i>There used to be a real me, but I had it surgically removed. -- Peter Sellers</i>