*everyone here knows how to cry. 2001-06-15 9:17 p.m.*

i hurt myself this morning. some sharp blows to my wrist against the dryer's edge, making my fingers tingle, accompanied with a dizzy falling sensation. it's not the pain but what it symbolises. it's what i would do in high school to keep me from killing myself. the other option was to hit my head until i thought it would crack. once i was convinced i'd left blood on a wall, but it was only my sweat. i've never cut, i've never burned myself, but these things scare me. the wrists, the part of me that seem most tender, most fragile, most connected to my life. or at least symbolically. my head, where i felt my one saving grace was, my brain. my brain that seemed to get stupider and stupider the more high school progressed. my head that would ache for days after a good rage. my head that i wanted to shatter. the sharpness of it. how i felt so alive and so soothingly dulled at the same time. how the punishment fit the crime of stupidity so perfectly. how it ironically added to it. i thought one day i'd permanently damage it. my dad has had a drill fall on his head. i've seen him hit his head on numerous car roofs. i used to blame his... everything... on that. but i had a compulsion to join him.

and i thought i'd outgrown all those things. and then this morning, because my mom was using her computer which happens to be in my room, i felt my privacy invaded. and for one moment i hated myself and my selfishness enough to do something that i keep reswearing i will never do again.

and then work. and mom and me arguing on the way there. and then home. and mom and me arguing on the way home. and me crying in my room, standing against the door, sliding my back along the full-length mirror until i was squatting as i sobbed. calling my manager to tell her i didn't think i'd be able to do my assignment tonight, tears in my voice falling all over the phone, admitting that my mom thought they were a scam. calling kinaesthasia, wondering when michael was getting back, crying to her, wanting to beg her to let me sleep on the floor for the rest of the summer, maybe using the illegal kitten as a pillow? kin offering to come pick me up. me asking if she would mind. getting a call five minutes later. "my car won't work."

confronting mom. "i'm miserable here. i love you it's not your fault, but i'm so miserable i hurt myself again." and watching her face as she hurt so much. and not wanting to hurt her desparately not wanting to hurt her. realizing that that's been the problem all along. i so desparately want her to think i'm the happy daughter, that she succeeded in raising me, that i make myself miserable trying to be happy. learning about her stories of post high school misery, her search for someone to love her, my father's emotional abuse "you're no fun, it's either coke with me or i'm leaving with these other women," her becoming a coke addict when i was very young. but how my birth was so amazing because she loved me and i loved her. and how her life is about loving people and not hurting people because she's been hurt so much. "i never liked myself, and i'm not even sure i do now. but it doesn't matter because my soul is good." her soul so disconnected from her body. her waiting for punishment for her sins but also thinking she must have suffered enough. me telling her how amazing she is, how i wish i could hold a mirror up to her amazingness and have her see it. me wishing i'd known this. me not wanting to hurt her. but also trying to be honest. trying to break the cycle.

still dazed. i emailed james and semi-asked her to call me. and she did, and her voice was like a hug. i felt enveloped in this wonderful love as she listened to me tell her about my day.

now i think i need to stare at blank things for awhile.

*listening to: *
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