This week has been okay, all in all.
Who am I kidding? This week has been horrible.
My so-called best friend (we don’t like each other, but I’m tactful about it) is spreading rumours that I’m Bitch of the Week. I know that she’s only friends with me to use me, as one of my two only friends kindly told me, but I’m sick of it. Now half my year isn’t talking to me, and the other half have no idea which one “that bitch friend of Hollie’s” is. I can count on my hands the number of people I thought were friends not making snide comments behind my back. If you ever write a novel set in secondary school, trust me on this: the popular girls’ words are law, and if you decide to grow a backbone and object, they ignore you.
I started self-harming. Not because of that – well, not completely, anyway. If you think it’s ‘just a phase’, please, go read someone else’s blog. Maybe it’s because the amount of blood on my wrists is the only damn thing in my life I can control. Sure, I don’t eat until dinner – but that’s still eating. I can’t control that. Self-harm is the way I stay sane. The way I deal with pain. Ironic, isn’t it? But surface cuts, if you make them just deep enough, hurt like hell and can be easily explained away. No one needs to know it wasn’t the cat, or the rose bush, or my general clumsiness.
My Tumblr’s become far more depressing. Because I am depressed. I am starving myself. I am self-harming. I am contemplating suicide. And no one, no one at all understands. No one except the equally depressed, self-starving, self-harming, suicidal, wonderful people on Tumblr.
It’s like a family. I know that none of us have ever met, that it’s all done around likes, reblogs, and messages, but I love them all.
And I’m wearing my black ribbon today. Love to all who are. If you’re happy with yourself, or happier than I am, at least, you won’t know what it means, this black ribbon on November 30th.
Search it on Tumblr, if you’re that bothered. But you won’t be. Because honestly, does anyone really care about me? About us?
And no matter what you think, the answer will always be no.
The Literary Perefticonist
* It’s a Perks of Being a Wallflower reference.