Trying

I threw my cigarettes away. I had only been smoking a week and got bored with them. Also Mike kept getting onto me for it. He had a sort of intervention telling me smoking wasn’t me, I was on a path of self destruction and that he was worried. It was sweet, and mildly annoying. Annoying because I’m not his girl, and his actual girl…smokes. I’ll write an entry later about the talk. It was…mildly inappropriate considering he has a girlfriend now.

Oh, and another thing that worried him is that I got a tattoo. It’s a quote from my dad’s favorite song that they played at his funeral. "Could have missed the pain but I’d have missed the dance." It’s on my left wrist.

I’m trying to get better. I’m tired of wallowing in depression. I cleaned the apartment, went to the gym, and I’m going to get back on track in school. Though…while I’m doing all those things to get better….I bought a flogger.

See, I used to cut, not much. Not even really cutting. I used to scrape my skin off with a safety pin. The urge to do it again was pretty bad. And I don’t want to cause a mess. I just want a little bit of pain. The flogger will just cause marks, no blood because I don’t think I’ll be able to hit that hard. I figure it’s better than cutting, smoking, doing drugs, or being promiscuous.