I have not cut in a week. My skin has healed. I found my old blade in my journal tonight and snapped it in two in a fit of “fuck-you-ness” towards the dark passenger.
I don’t want to die. I am home now, and I want to be alive to see J when he comes to visit. I am ringing the psychologist in the morning.
J said that the voices are a representation of all the bad things I have had said to me, and another friend I have been talking to recently feels the same. I know that she has just been through a very tough time herself, and I want to thank her for her help. It’s been invaluable.
I am going to draw J’s butterfly on again, and Y’s, and keep going. I am going to beat this. I will ring H tomorrow as well and try and keep going to fix my head.
I don’t want to die. Not right now.