who cares.

i've been having really long dreams lately. like long stories. it's crazy.

i have no idea what to write here lately. i have trouble talking too. i might switch back to my red hunting hat for a while. my mom wants me to publish my journal. she's never read it. i say horrible things about her in there. when i was really angry. i say horrible things about a lot of people. i'm really a terrible person. some of it i can't read. when i was really depressed. my hands like.. forgot how to write. it's interesting i guess. now. back then it was scary. funny how that works.

in eighth grade. way before a box cutter or scissors were my weapons of choice. i use to scratch myself. one day i got a little cut on my hand. and i tore it open. and then i tore that open. i used my nails to harm my skin. they looked like burns. i would scratch and scratch until i bled. the scars are gone though. but looking back. god. it was so.. barbaric. i don't think i've ever told anyone that before. but i've been thinking about it a lot. here i feel like i'm allowed to talk about that stuff. lately i'm afraid. i guess it's like. i don't know. forget it.

i miss my therapist.

i miss my box cutter.

haleigh asked me why i was depressed. such a fucked up question. if it was one thing. if it was my dog ran away or something. i would get over it and move on. but my fucking head got so beaten down from eight hundred things happening to it everyday that now when i just fucking forget my lunch at home i break down and cry my eyes out. it's my fucking fault. how's that to answer the question "what did i miss the past year?"
she's so fucking happy now. it's disgusting. she said her outlook on life is amazing now. it's like.. she never needed me. actually i probably brought her down. it makes it look like that at least. and that i needed her and without her i turned into this mess.
that's not the problem at all. but it sure looks like it. ughhh.

i'm just wasting fucking time.
i get so angry at myself at the end of these sometimes.
fuck.