Self Harm @ MindSay 
cutting
Dixie currently feels:
Depressed
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Yesterday, whilst Adam was round here again - he told me he can tell when I'm depressed.
His main reasoning was, whenever I'm with him, I'm prone to laughing spontaneously for long periods of time. I'll laugh a lot at most seemingly normal things he says.
But his reasoning was that when I'm depressed, I don't laugh, I'll only smile minorly.
So I thought, and I applied it - and I found that he was right.
So I'm wondering, am I really that obvious?
When I'm alone in the house and depressed, I'll wander up and down the passage, staring at the floor.
If I'm laid on the sofa in the living room, I'll stare at my reflection in the fireplace for ages.
If I'm in my room, I usually sit differently in my chair - I'll slouch more, whilst I normally sit really straight.
I've also noticed I get less enjoyment from things, and when I think to myself, I swear less, and when I talk, my voice is a lot more emotionless.
When I'm around others, I'll isolate myself.
In school, I'd sit down my aisle, or I'd sit at a table alone.
If I were on a table with others, I'd remain silent, and work quicker, with my head down.
Yeah, I'm starting to realise.
I actually am that obvious.
I must've been really sad yesterday, because Adam actually hugged me.
And that never happens.
Dixie currently feels:
Depressed
...Very fucking depressed.
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Here is a numbered list of why Dixie is depressed today:
- - I had to watch my daddy holding someone else's baby again. I hate it.
- - I've been thinking about college and how terrible it will be.
- - Watching Big Brother has made me realise my social phobia even more.
- - I miss Emily so fucking much now. I'm crying at nighttimes when I can't sleep because I think about her.
- - June is patchy as fuck, I really don't have anything to blog about anymore.
- - I'm constantly bored now.
- - I still can't write anything.
Dixie currently feels:
Suicidal
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Currently playing:
- Pokémon Diamond
Currently listening to:
- My Immortal - Evanescence
- Vermillion Part 2 - Slipknot
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Times cried: Three times
Wounds inflicted: Left arm - 154, Right arm - 61.
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I don't know what the point in blogging today is.
I don't mean anything to anybody anymore.
It's been a week now.
And look what it's done to me.
- 27th May-3rd June -
Dixie currently feels:
Alone
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Blog Poem #1
I'm hiding my emotions from everyone,
I hide behind my fonts and smileys and fun.
The red arial, size twelve. Hides all,
Except the days when I sob, cry and bawl.
Those days are the days when I let everything flow,
I post photos of cuts and leave it all on show.
I'm shit at writing poetry, but everyone says I'm not,
I'm so bad I have to use rhyming dictionaries, a lot.
But poems just sound so wrong when they don't,
A rhyme on the end of each line, or flow it just won't.
I was just laid in bed, holding her under my chin,
She still has your scent, but its vigor is thin.
I hold her too close, my smell is now overpowering her,
But I don't think I can let go, I need to keep a hold of her soft brown fur.
My structure of syllables and prose is just fucked,
Try as I might, my talent's just cooked.
It'll never be whatever it once was,
I've turned it all against myself, because...
I don't even know the reason myself,
I took too much time over your shelf.
If it falls down then we'll all get a pain,
Right in the skull where it'll fall to blame.
Blame the one who didn't tighten the rivets enough,
A defective spanner, she didn't tug it so rough.
Poetry is the worst form of expression in the world.
I don't think I'll try this again... My frustration is heard.
Dixie currently feels:
Dead
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Blog Poem #2
"Scabs"
Whenever I was hyper active,
Enjoying the way I'm supposed to live,
I'd often remark on pointless things,
And smile on the joy that my randomness brings.
I once often remarked, my brain was gooey,
The sky was bluey, glue sticks were gluey,
My brain was so screwy, my Converse were shoey.
The best thing I ever said though:
"My scabs are chewy."
And that's not a lie.
I'd picked one from my knee and gave it a try.
It was crunchy at first, then soft inside,
The surface was squishy, all the blood had dried.
Scabs are only a barrier, a mask, if you will,
They cover the wounds and they will be clean, until...
Until I rip them off again,
I want to see what's under them.
The wound hasn't fully healed.
It's bleeding now, just like when I:
Drove the cold blades into myself,
Sliced off my flesh and cut out some trenches,
I start the war, I fight the war,
I make my own barracks, eat my own stew.
I raise my own weapon, but not to my enemy.
I raise it to myself, and bring it down fast.
Ah... Relief at last.
I've made this once happy poem into something I shouldn't.
Keeping myself happy, content, I knew that I couldn't.
My scabs are all gone now.
I've scraped them away, pow.
All that's there now are the remains of the mark,
The small red indents where my silver blades park.
Where they dance upon me,
Take their fill of my skin, see?
There's one there, one here, one just near my elbow,
One down in the middle, and this one here... Oh...
...Maybe I shouldn't show that one to you.
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