Today's the day I finally told my mom what's been happening. She tried to understand and told me it's because I'm always in my room.
I trust her opinion. After all, she is a doctor.
I don't like it when my parents are at home, I feel... intimidated?
I like to be alone and sing and dance and do whatever I please.
When they're home I barely interact with them, I close my door and use my computer until night arrives and they call me out to dinner, then I eat and immediately go upstairs back to my room and go to sleep.
That's how my days are going by
And it's hurting me
...
I've been having self harming thoughts
More often than I'd like to admit
I haven't done anything yet
...
Yet
...
I'm slowly losing interest in talking to people. I do worry about their well being, but I feel myself growing more and more antisocial as days go by, I'm not sure how it's going to affect my well being and my capacity of interaction with... anyone really.
The only thing that makes me truly smile is my cat, Coffee. But he hates me because I'm always trying to pet him and pick him up.
I've started to use him as an excuse to have wounds on my body and let them bleed out.
I play with him with my hands, he sinks his claws into my skin. I don't mind it.
I missed the burning, my scars are fading and I want them to stay.
And I wonder if I should mark them again.
Who's gonna lift up my sleeves anyways?
YOU ARE READING
Quarantine diary
Non-FictionI've been going through some stuff, and I guess I could share it here, to whoever might read this... I won't answer any comments, and I probably won't write in it every day. I'm sorry.
