5.25.02 - Saturday - 6.47 am
»»»»»»» It is too early to be awake. I always wake up early. I always have, and I think I always will, unless a dramatic change in my sleeping cycle occurs any time soon. Which, might I add, is very unlikely. I have my coffee with me, in the starbucks thermos. One time I asked my mom what a starbuck actually was. She told me it was just a made-up creature. For some reason, this upset me. Had it been a Greek mythical being, I would have been okay. But some middle-aged executives probably thought this up. It's so...strained. Hmm. This isn't even my thermos. It's my sister's. She doesn't drink coffee. Why did she buy this? Yet another one of my unsolved mysteries of life...
My mother thinks I drink too much coffee. This container from Starbucks holds roughly 2½ cups. Sometimes I re-fill it to the half-way mark, so that she won't notice. She won't notice, because I pour the coffee into the ice cube tray for her now. [note: for unknown reasons, she drinks coffee extremely cold with a disgusting amount of hazlenut coffeemate and mountains of no-calorie sweetener.] So, if it was filled half way, it'd be at approximately 1¼, right? Right. Added to the previous consumed coffee and we get 3¾ cups.
I assume she thinks I drink too much coffee because of my stature. I'm only 5'1-5'2 (on -good- days), and apparently I'm underweight (too fat in my eyes), and although I did a report on caffeine last year that proved it does not stunt growth, really, she still firmly believes it's unhealthy for me. I mean, it's my body here. I can put in it what I want to, can't I? One time she said she owned my body. Just because she's my mother.
Okay, no. The definition of a parent is ONLY that of one who cares for a child. There's no mentioning of owning this child or restricting or abusing or loathing this child. It makes me extremely mad, because I've done the research, and I know my rights, and even when I beat her in our little arguements, she still has never once conceded and stands firm that because she is my mother she can dictate out my whole life.
It's petty tyranny.
And she thinks my anti-depressants are working, which makes me really fucking mad, because I see no difference, whatsoever. I'm so sick of putting pills on my tongue and being watched suspicously as I swallow them. Why? Because one time, and only once, I decided to tongue them because they weren't working and I was getting tired of them. These were prozac...And then, months later, my mom had been reading my DIARY (pen and paper) and it mentioned that I had been cutting and not taking my pills.
Um. ROAR! I'm so paranoid about her reading my diaries or going into my room to see my blades covering the floor (a section of it) that I can't take the chance of keeping a diary that isn't on the computer. Hence this stupid boring thing.
If you put lots of lotion on scars, they fade a little. The ones on my leg are so noticeable and it sickens me. I'm thinking that it's so TERRIBLE and DISTURBING that I took a razor and drew gashes into my own flesh, and at the same time I'm thinking how beautiful scars are. The beginnings of a split-personality, maybe. I think I'm becoming a hypochondriac. That's not correct though. Because it's mental hypochondria without the fear of death...
I have no more friends left.
Allie - let's not go there. another time. when I feel like explaining the story.
Jessie - because I once forgot to call her back, she called me a bitch and hasn't talked to me since.
Genevieve - what is with this child? she promises to call me at least once a day, but that was 12 days ago, and she hasn't called since. does she hate me? what does this mean? why does no one like me? am I that terrible of a person? I must be. I am a pretty pathetic excuse for a girl. For a human. For living matter.
and no, I don't see them in school because I'm being home-schooled for the rest of the year (2 weeks) due to me cutting class and cutting other things. It was apparently too dangerous and so I was sent home. Um, okay.
I have no friends. God, it keeps running through my head, over and over. An never-ending circle of horrifying truth. I have no friends. I have no friends. I have no friends.
It scares me.