...I am like a box of chocolates, I look pure and sweet, but if you see the inside, you'll know I'm nuts...

I fucked up //again//. why do I keep fucking up? I doubt I'll ever know. I supposedly badly mutilated my arms, though that's not how I'd personally word it. So my arms are chopped to pieces, now what? Father was thoroughly pissed. I'm being admitted to the hospital. And he got so mad that he went out to get drunk. Mother begged him over the phone [she lives far away] to stay with me and make sure I live, but nope. He couldn't do it. I don't care. I don't want to live. I want someone to find the deeper problem. The goal of the shrinks around here is to stop me from cutting. I want them to find out what's making me depressed, fix that, and then I'll naturally stop cutting. make sense? I don't want to be slicing myself to pieces for the rest of my life. Yet, I cannot stop. I just want someone to understand, and like always, I want what I can never have...

I could really use a friend right now, but they're too expensive...

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