TRIGGER WARNING.
October 21, 1999
I've started slicing my left wrist again. It's not because I want to die (I definitely don't, anymore), it just makes me feel better... I can't explain it.
I'm not using a razor anymore. You know those nail clipper things that like, fold out? Well, I use the sharp thing that pushes back your cuticles. I just run it back and forth over my skin, pressing down hard, and it draws blood. I can't understand why this is calming to me, but it is.
About ten minutes ago, I got off the phone with Tyler. I had already told him about it, but talking about it out loud was hard for me. He said, "I don't want you to get hurt. You need help. Tell your parents, please." Fat chance of that. But he seemed genuinely worried. He said, "Next time you think of hurting yourself, think of me instead." Then the subject switched to something else, and we talked for about an hour before my mom told me I had to go.
"Hold on," he said before we got off the phone. "Next time you feel depressed, like you're gonna... do that crap, think of my laugh." Tyler has the gayest laugh. He usually changes it so it's normal, but sometimes if you catch him off-guard with something really funny, he accidentally laughs in this high-pitched giggle. "Okay, Tyler," I said, laughing. "Cause that will make you laugh, instead," he said. "Think of me and how I don't want you to do it anymore." I said, "Thank you, Tyler," and I smiled, but he couldn't see it, obviously.
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The UnSlut Project
Non-FictionI was the 6th-grade "slut." And I kept a diary. So I decided to create The UnSlut Project in the hopes that my own diary entries could provide some perspective to girls who currently feel trapped and ashamed. I am publishing these entries one at a...
