Jesus motherfucking Christ, subtlety just isn't me is it? What is wrong with me? Day 1 and already 2 poeple notice. Yes, I'm suuuuuure that I'll be able to hide it from my family for the duration. I am so thick.

Explanation? Well, the sleeves on my pink and black top weren't quite long enough. I think that's pretty much all that needs to be said. I could throw in the details - my left arm looks like a bloody labarynth etc, but I won't. I'm just going to sit here and wallow in self pity and self hatred. I wasn't even drunk for fucks sake. I picked up a knife and cut my arm to shreds. Shallow cuts, don't get me wrong, but well... I have one that goes from my shoulder to my hand.

Never again will I throw all my rage / pain / lonliness / boredom into one outlet all at once. Fuck I look like I've stuck my arm into a industrial sized shredder. In all honesty, only one person would have noticed if the stupid fool had kept her mouth shut. There was a small gap in between my sleeve and my bracelets, and the girl sitting across the table from me and Ben (Polish Ben) in the computer room practically said at the top of her voice (In a most naive way) "What happened to your arm?" Ben of course turns to look.

I am the worst liar in existance. "Fight with my cat" I say blushing and pulling down my sleeve, casting my eyes to the table.

"Woah you have some vicious cat," she says.

Ben says nothing.

It is VERY obvious that it is not the work of my cat.

He's probably now busy telling all his friends how fucked up I am, just so everyone can be sure to hate me. I know, I know, I should think more highly of people, I mean, Ben's a nice person, if he is telling all his friends (Which he's probably not) it's probably with concern. But all the same... I really wish some people could use their common sense and keep their mouths shut.

I'd actually wanted to tell somebody. Nathan to be precise. I thought he might be a bit understanding (And be able to tell me how quick the cuts would clear up) but I missed him in the morning, and by the time the little incident in the computer room was over, I had no desire to tell anyone. Nathan would probably tell Ryan (orange) anyway.

But what the hell is wrong with me? This isn't normal. It's like, one minute I'm sitting there depressed, the next my arm looks like a road map. I'm exaggerating a little bit. I mean they're pretty bad, but not THAT bad. Lemme see - 26 individual cuts, most of them about 3cm in length. I wasn't thinking. No. I was. I was. I was but what the hell WAS I thinking?

How am I supposed to cope? All my old old friends I don't even speak to much anymore, my good friends are all fucked up, college friends? Well there's Nathan (no explanation needed). Then there's Ezra who just gets such a kick out of being cruel ot me. Then what do we have? Gay Ben - was telling me how much he hates life at the moment earlier. Polish Ben and Tom - telling me about how much they love morbid poetry. Steve - talking about the "Ultimate symbol of depression" the other day. Even Annabel's not as perky as normal. Internet friends - Tristan? Randy? HELLO!? ANY EMOTIONALLY STABLE PEOPLE OUT THERE!?

No. I'm not using my friends as an excuse. I alone am responsible for myself, as Iago says,

"'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are gardens to which our wills are gardeners. So that if we wll plant nettles or sow lettuce, set hyssop and weed up thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness or manured with industry, why the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our wills"

Okay, so that was a bit long winded, and Iago is perhaps not the best role model (Too much like Tamzin) but... it's true.

AND WILL YOU TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS

YOU'VE GOT YOUR GUN TO MY HEAD?>