I’ve put my trust in you.

Pushed as far as I cango, there’s only one thing you should know.

I watched "Prozac Nation" today.  It was an okay movie, althought I must confess the point eluded me.  Supposedly, it was an in-depth look at major depression.  It really just made me want to drink a lot of vodka.  I don’t think I need an in-depth look at major depression.  But of course, I only have a disruptive behavior disorder.  At least, that was a few years ago.

I saw my therapist yesterday.  I don’t know if she recognized me, with the new haircut and 2 more years worth of worry lines.  Even if she did, confidentiality dictates that she probably couldn’t say hello.  How awkward.  "Who was that?"  "Oh, that was my therapist from two years ago when I was a little less crazy than I am now."  Most of my friends don’t know I ever had one, let alone why.

I took a survey on my livejoural.  One question was "Number of scars on your body."  I answered "A lot."  Because I don’t know.  I don’t have enough time or patience to count them all.  The highest I ever counted was 113.  That was my left arm from fintertips to shoulder.  I don’t think I want to know the number. 

It doesn’t take a lot of work to get yourself proclaimed cured.  It took me 3 1/2 months.  3 1/2 months of learning the depths of my own manipulative power, and the power I had over the way people perceived me.  I am not an open book.  You can’t read me.  And I’ll only tell you what I want you to know. 

The people who read this diary from beginning to end probably know me better than most of my friends.  All of them, even.

I’m not one of those people that lets things slip.  If I don’t want you to know something, you won’t.  You will not find out, because I am that good. 

It’s always kind of offended me that I have never met anyone better than me.  I can see through people.  Because I’m used to seeing through myself.  If there is something you don’t want me to know, I will know it, because I am that good.  And it makes others appear weak to me.  What sort of a fool can’t hide their emotions?  What sort of a fool can’t control themself?

If I did half of the things I wanted to, I’d be dead now.  But self-control is power, and I am as power hungry as the next person.

But it’s lonely at the top.

I never wanted to be an enigma.  I didn’t wake up one morning and say, "I want to be deathly afraid of human contact, to the point of scorning it.  I want to be a stoic, cold-hearted bitch."  You might find that hard to believe.  Once, I thought it would be nice for someone to understand me.  Now…

"I don’t want to be lonely, I just want to be alone."