It's hard being the rebel trying to turn her life around. Especially when the person you trust the most talks about you to boys, saying you're a crazy bitch and she hates you. It's hard to not grab my blade (which I still have to throw away) and just hurt myself the way I used to. I sometimes get sick just looking at the food put in front of me, because of that little voice in my head saying I'm too fat to eat it. Then, when I'm alone in my room, I have to listen to my music as loud as I can-just to keep myself from crying and screaming. I let the music scream for me. My hands shake when I'm upset, more than they ever have. They're shaking right now, actually. It's a miracle I can type. But the worst part is the anger, the rage. The cigarettes are still within easy reach, and so is the blade. The drugs are right down the block, just calling out to me in the dead of night.
When I hear my 'best friend', my little sister, ask my old supplier for weed. It's hurtful to read messages (yeah, I know; invasion of privacy-oh well) to someone not worthy of her, telling him I'm insane and she wants nothing to do with me. And it kills that she doesn't care. It literally kills me to sit there and just watch her destroy her life-just so she can feel accepted.
It hurts. A lot. And I'm not saying I'm going to go back to my old habits, I'm just trying to relay how hard this is.
That's my update as of April 20th, 2011. Day 10
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