#77654

Today is my last day before I stop cutting again, this time, for good. (I hope.)

what happened on the last day of school before winter break.

I found out about some rumour people had been talking about at lunch. They were saying that I had hooked up with this guy I was friends with last year. I sulked in a corner all through lunch and ate the homemade treats I had brought to share with my friends. Comfort food wasn't enough. So I went to the bathroom and sliced my hips. I felt like shit.

But cutting didn't help. It didn't. I only felt weak after that because I let some lying bitches pull me down to that.

Shit happens. That's life.

Most people manage to move on and keep living.

But not me.

Shit happens to me and I dwell on it forever. I can't get over anything.

I realised, just last year, that all that weight, the memories collecting on my shoulders, might just be (at least part of) what's causing me all the pain I'm in.

I realised this in mid-April, I suppose. The irony of that, of course, is that's just when I started towards the chain of events that is weighing me down more than anything right now.

I can't even begin to explain what those events were, though, and I wouldn't feel comfortable doing so, even if I could.

Let's just say that shit happened and, for a while, I was really happy. At times. You know, I was going through hell, still, but what was happening then, and would continue to happen until just a few days before my 16th birthday (yes, my 16th birthday was ruined by this, without a doubt), really helped.

Until it died. In July.

And, yes, I KNOW it's late-november now. But some bullshit happened in between that prolonged my confusion.

Anyhow, I realised today:

Hoping for this dream to revive will hurt me more than it can help. The dream is dead. But I am not.

So, perhaps, in a way, I could say that this dreamer never really lost her dream--it merely ended. And, one night, a new one shall dawn to be set into memory.