I sat in the silent bathroom, using my blade to cut small scars onto my arm. Honestly, it was the only way to relief myself; I had too much on my mind, almost all the time.
Placing down my personal knife, I grabbed my journal. My journal, was my safe place. The only thing I could trust: but mostly the only thing that would listen.
Why wasn't I feeling like myself lately? Everything felt different, everything was changing: and I don't know if I like the changes.
I always hoped for a cure to this odd summer depression, but I couldn't find one.
Honestly, I don't think it's summer depression. I had started self-harming in about February or March, and I had always felt the way that I do now.
But, I never felt like such an outsider. I hardly see my own sister anymore, we used to always be there for each other; well mostly. But now? We couldn't be farther apart.
Me and my sister might be very different, but we both share our trauma. Apparently she has forgotten about everything that has happened between us and the world.
She had definitely found another hobby.
But, I picked up other hobbies as well. I started to learn Russian a few months ago, I'm not that good yet; but I'm trying.
I've tried listening to popular music, that didn't end well... but at least I'm trying to try new things.
I know your disappointed in me, and I'm sorry; for everything.
I placed down my pen, impressed with what I've written. Everything I wrote had a meaning to it; sometimes it was hidden, others times it wasn't.
"Just a little more time,"
As I was about to continue writing, I hear a loud song coming out of my bedroom, "Not this shit again,"
"Is all we're asking for,"
They do this all the time. I asked them constantly to at least turn down the music, but they don't listen to me.
