mother was here as I was reading dear ashley's diary. she saw this picture. I exclaimed how it tears my heart to shreds to see something so grotesque on someone I love so uncontrollably. she asked me how I could cry over someone scratching themselves when I have my own picture of my gouged out muscle tissue. yes, I'm just as disgusting. even more so. i just believed that surface cuts didn't do enough bodily harm for my satisfaction. dig beneath the surface. isn't everyone always telling you it's what's on the inside that counts? well i made my inside come out in horribly gouged chunks onto the precious pale beige carpetted floor by carving with utility knives. she asked me how I could look at ashley's photo and cry, while looking at my own and laughing to death. i guess i'll never know. The destruction of myself amuses me. to see someone beautiful hurt so much does not. it's extremely difficult to love someone with such a pure heart, and watch them tear themselves away piece by piece. Ashley, if you're reading this, i love you to pieces, but i'd rather you weren't in pieces.

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