I was angry before. I put knives in walls and I threw things. Nothing big though. Knives in walls look pretty. Knives in flesh look better. I don't wanna cut anymore right now though. Alcohol is the answer to life's problems. Well some of them. Not all. I am a thoughtful drunk. I always thought I'd be a violent drunk but I'm not. I am thoughtful, I think and I am mean. I say mean things. Like I did to Will. Sorry Will. Why did I dump him in the first place? It was just coz I was being happy and I don't deserve happiness.

My.

Head.

Hurts.

And.

My.

Throat.

Is.

Burning.

Dot. Dot. Dot.

Well it comes and goes and comes and goes...

I did 2 other entries before this one. Here they are...

The wide world of the somethings...

Inside my chest there lives a something. The something hates it's cage and it hates me. It claws and claws at my insides, battling to get free. This something makes me feel so terrible with it's bitterness, it ruins every moment of happiness I have. But futher down, in my stomach I thhink, there lives another something. This something loves living in me, it is full of sweetness and love. It releases sweetness and light inside of me, it battles the bitter something in my chest with it's sweetness and love and light and hope, dazing the bitterness, stopping it from making me hurt. But the biterness can fight too, if possible it hates the sweetness more than it hates me. So it fights the sweetness with it's bitterness and hate and doubt and darkness, releasing them inside of me, knocking the sweetness back. All day and all night they battle inside of me. They are feed by my thoughts and other's actions. Every moment of happiness I have is fed to the sweetness and every moment of sadness I have is fed to the bitterness. They are mirror images of one another, they are equal. So I don't think that this battle will ever end.

Suicide

I want to feel the blood drip down my chest and arms and throat and stomach and legs and hands and feet and face that I have cut with all of my blades. Then take a sip of the port, just to test it even though I know it'll taste good. Then my gaze'll travel to the many pills in pairs on the small table next to the empty bath I'm laying in, dressed in my black skirt and black tank top, wearing my nicest underwear. I pick up the 1st pair of pills and look at them for a moment thinking of how much power is in them, then I put them on my tongue and wash them down with a mouthful of port. Again and again I do that until all the pills and all the port are gone, asuming I stay concious that long. I can feel the blood drying all over my body. And I can feel the life seeping slowly but surely out of me. Eventually my body'll die just like my mind did long ago; slowly, painfully and peacefully.

But I can't do any of that. I won't. I don't know if I even really do. Even I'm not that selfish.

Or am I?

--------------------------------

Oh, I am such teenage girl...

--A rather drunk Lauren