I told myself wouldn't write about today. But yet, here I am.

I only cut once. I don't even know if it counts. I used the sharp end of my school compass. I didn't even draw blood. The thing is, is that it didn't help. With anything. With the pain, with life, with the towering gloom that made my heart heavy. So I promised myself I would never do it again. Never. Ever.

Unfortunately, I have almost never stopped thinging about doing it. What's wrong with me. The only thing keeping me from doing it is that promise that I made. My wrist almost burns with the desire to feel pain. I want to do it so badly. And not to kill myself, but to have that control over the pain I'm feeling. Other times I don't even know why. It's like that line from The Trail To Oregon, where the Son keeps saying, "I don't know." Why do I want to hurt myself so bad? I don't think I'm a terrible person, but it's not like I think I'm the best.

I want to cut soooo bad and maybe one of these days I won't be able to stop myself.