No one cares. I love how after I've been home for almost three hours, my mother doesn't call. She doesn't call to see if I'm okay. Or to say hi. Nothing. My sister was supposed to get home at around 4:00. 4:01, the phone rings:
"Hi! Is your sister home yet?"
"Yeah, she just got home."
"Okay, good. How did she say babysitting was?"
"She said it was fine."
"Okay! How was your day?"
"Fine."
"Gotta go! Bye!"
Gee, thanks mom. Appreciate it.

I wish I could give myself advice and believe it. I give so many people advice and I talk to them about what's going on in their lives. I want to help them get better. I tell them suicide isn't the answer, they aren't fat, they're beautiful, they deserve to be happy, blah, blah, blah. But why can't I tell that to myself? Why can't I be happy?

I don't get it. I don't get anything anymore. Nothing makes sense. At all.

For the first time in over a month, I cut today. I carved the word 'FAT' into my leg. And two other lines. On Saturday, I wrote 'FAILURE' but it didn't show up. It was just a scratch. Today, it bled. I like to watch it bleed. It makes it feel better.
I'm not telling anyone this time. Not even my psychologist. I don't want to be stopped. I want to disappear. Last time they stopped me.
I'm. Not. Done. Yet.