Roughly 2 weeks since I last cut. Every day I’ve wanted to slice myself up. I’ve just ended up worse instead of better.
I’ve had a good day. A really good day. It has been good. Yet all I want to do is cry, overdose, starve and cut as deep as I can. It is like controlling me. It is always there. Always but I cannot do this to my family. I need to be here for them. I’m sick of being strong. Everyone sees me as strong because I’m ‘coping’ well. No, I’m not.
I’m still suicidal. I’m still self harming. I’m not coping at all.
I’m not coping. I want everything done with.
It was good. Everything was good. Good report. They just want to push me further because they know I can do better.
After my Science appointment, James and his family entered the room. I had to drag my mum out of the room because I couldn’t be in the room. I couldn’t breathe the same air never mind look at them!
On my Spanish appointment, they walked into the room and sat with Mrs Borne. My teacher was next to them. Mrs Cummaford. We had to sit next to each other for 5 minutes with different teachers. It was awful. I kept scratching, pinching and squeezing my skin to keep myself calm. Once my appointment finished, I dragged my mum out of the room and away from that room. Where ever we were, they were.
I was so on edge. I kept looking at the doors to see if they were close. I was so paranoid. They’d enter the room at any time. I knew they would
