This shit is real and really crazy
Couldn’t find my blades last night. I freaked the fuck out, as if I was not freaking the fuck out already. But there is a certain part of my purse where they are and they were not there. I dumped my whole purse out in a frenzy and it took me too long for my taste to discover that my purse had a hole in it and my little bottle of blades had gotten inside the lining. Not being able to find them was as if I had lost one of my legs. I was in a panic. I was crawling around in the floor rooting through wallets and tampons and bottles of pills and every other fucking thing that was in my purse stopping me from finding them.
Finding them made me feel so much better. I might has well have found a hundred dollar bill. Then I cut. And I cut. And I slid it just barely over my wrist, just to visualize what it would be like. But don’t worry. I am still alive. I am not a ghost living in my computer typing out morbid blogs all day. Nope, I am alive and morbid and blogging.
Got me a damn good high off of it. I am either going to have to wear pants for a few weeks or only be around people that wont make me apologize for being who I am. Yeah, you guessed it, I will be wearing pants. The line to find acceptance is very very very long and if you don’t have a VIP card, you are still shit out of luck.
This is who I am and it doesn’t bother me so fuck you if it bothers you. My body. My choice. I do what I want with my body.