I think my cat is dead... I am really fucking sad. I don't really want to think about it especially now. I'm PMSing and this has been an especially annoyingly emotional one. But the saddness is overwhelming when I thin about it. I need to talk about it... but I can;t do that now. I just need someone to know. No one really reads this, so no one will now, but I can pretend that some one knows so it's a load off of my chest... If I tell anyone about it they'll just want me to talk about it. And I can't do that. I don't trust anyone here enough to potentially cry in front of them. ugh. I mean fuckity fuck. Things are heading south and I don't know what to do really. I'm self sabbotaging. And I don't know why. I still haven't gone to go see the school's psychaitrist. I need to. I also need to learn how to spell. Jeez, all those squiggly red lines of disapproval. I keep thinking I'm okay and it's all just in my head and I'm mentally hypochondriacing. I tend to do that, due to lack of confidence of my own individuality. I morph into what I think people will like. There is probably an official word for that. I do it with deppression sometimes. I haven't exactly figured out if it's me trying to plead out to the world that I'm not okay and I can't do it anymore. Or if I'm jsut trying to get others to believe that I'm not okay and I need them to tell me it's okay. I'm still working on that one. But, one moment I'm as okay as someone in my situation can be, and others I'm internally destroying myself. I tear myself apart and there are points where if I knew where my razor was I would be doing it externally. I mean I deal with the, I think about cutting, self harm, or the word cut and immediately I get a major surge of sensation ans sensitivity on my thighs where I used to cut and down my forearm. And for those few seconds that's all I want that sense of just rush of endorphins attacking my body as it tries to cope with the pain it is experiecing. The sick pleasure you get when your body is trying to help you cope with this external pain when you're the one inflicting it on your self because it's the internal pain that you can't fix. I want that again. Those few moments of peace. I want it to be an every second of everyday thing. But at this point I think I can only achieve in solitary through destroying my body. I really wish I knew where my razor was. Because I want that peace. If only for a minute. That glorious minute that seems to last fro ages. The sick pleasure of imagining what would happen if someone would see. Or notice, if those who I know have injured themselves would notice. What they would say or do. Or what they wouldn't say or do. Sorry, just letting you in on my everyday thoughts. It's pretty fucked. Sorry. But I need to say these things.