the cutters on tumblr piss me off

I dreamed that I drowned myself again. At least, I was trying to, but in my dreams I unfortunately gain the ability to breath under water. So even though the waves were crashing over my head, and I didn’t come up for air, I didn’t die.

 

Pity.

 

The water was icy cold, though, because it’s almost January and the lake’s finally beginning to freeze over. What happened was, well, kind of stupid. In my dream, my sister drove to the end of our driveway and then got out of the car, not putting it in park. It started rolling backwards, and I, in the passengers seat, tried to steer it so that it didn’t hit the other cars in our driveway. Of course I failed in this simple task, and everyone was pissed off at me for being such a fucking waste of space, so I got out of the vehicle, walked across the street and through a brief stretch of woods to the shore. And I waded into the lake.

 

It was storming, and the waves were high, and it pulled me under but I still didn’t die.

 

I haven’t left the house in three days, my face is breaking out worse than it did when I was a teenager, and I decided to get a psychology minor, like I’m not already ridiculously overeducated.

 

It’s been a busy week.

 

Been spending a lot of time on Tumblr. I find the self-injurers/depressives just insupportably whiny. This probably makes me a terrible person, but it’s like, you’re 13 years old. What the fuck do you know? I’ve been cutting myself since before you were even alive. Oooh, you’ve been cutting yourself for 2 months and you think you need help? Fuck off. Talk to me in a decade.

 

And the people who post pictures of their cuts. What the fuck is that? First, they’re all pathetic looking cuts. It’s all just so clearly a plea for attention, and I don’t get it.

 

I’ve been cutting myself for FOURTEEN YEARS now, and I’ve managed to keep it a secret. Well, except for that thing A DECADE ago when I had to get staples put in. But since then? No one knows. I can’t imagine posting pictures of my scars or of my injuries online. I’d be too embarrassed. Mostly, I’d feel pathetic. Which I am, so that’s cool.

 

There’s a large asexual community on Tumblr, though, and that’s been interesting. I still feel like a fucking freak most of the time, but it’s good to know that there’s other people who feel the same way. Not like a fucking freak, I mean, but the whole lacking-a-sexual-orientation thing.

 

In sum: I dreamed about dying but didn’t, I’m becoming a recluse, and I’m pathetic.

 

I’ve been thinking about repressed memories some. I’m not sure I believe in them. The things I’m remembering…I don’t know if I’m remembering or fabricating. I tend to disbelieve myself, so I’m going with ‘fabricating.’ Also because if this shit actually happened…that’s fucked up.

 

I mean, I grew up in an apartment above a porn store, in a neighborhood filled with bars. Giving a blowjob to some drunk guy at knife point behind the dumpster outside my house? Could have happened.

 

It probably didn’t actually happen,though. But then, what’s it say about my mind, that it’s making this kind of shit up?

 

I don’t even know.

 

On the plus side, Christmas was all right.