New years

Bringing in the new year alone. I'm standing on a razorblade edge, struggling to stay upright.

But sometimes I have things to catch me if I fall and othertimes I'll look down and there's nothing there, just a grey, smokey haze. What would happen if I fell again? I've got a good hold on something this time and my lonliness isn't dragging me down like it usually does. Other people's happiness doesn't make me bitter like it used to. But nothing makes me happy either, not for a substantial amount of time. I was excited about my new bed spread for about half an hour. Then I put it on my bed and it's now just a bed spread. No one will see the bedspread anymore. My trainers can see the weight I'm putting on. No one believes I can join the police force. No one has faith, they all want me to just shut up and get a degree like everyone else does.

I don't want to become a drone.

Why is suicide still so appealing to me? Why does the word have such a beauty about it? Why do I imagine scars on my wrist? I'm trying to feed this child in my head, but it's never satiated. I'd addicted to self destruction but I'm too smart to let myself do that. Too fucking worried about the outcome to let myself truly let go and fuck up.

I've lost the motivation, determination to keep going. I just want to sit. Or stand. Be still. Exist. Let everything spin around me. Be invisible. I want to bleed, I want to see red. I want to paint with my blood. Because that's all I'm living for, to pump this red liquid around a body.

I'm making myself sad. I guess if I delve deep enough into what I'm feeling... I'm not... right. Maybe that's what vodka does. Let's my defences down so I can access my own feelings.

Eminem is amazing. His voice is captivating. When he's playing I just can't help but listen. He is admirable, he has created who he is. He deserves respect just like Manson and Cobain do.