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I dont know anymore. I never knew, but now I completely have no clue.
Why do I hurt myself, over and over, psychologicly and physically? Maybe I find comfort in the pain. It is always there, you know. A constant, unlike everything else.
Maybe I figure that after a certain point, I will be immune to it, stronger.
I only hope so. I dont know how much longer I can withstand the constant barrage...that...I....bring upon myself.
Heh.
I want out. I want out this insane game. I am losing miserably, I dont know the tactics to survive.
I think I am leaving PA on Sunday. *sigh* Right before I leave, I am going to go against the unspoken family rules, and do what I think I need to do.
I am going to the house of that filthy dirty *cencored*.
I need to make sure I am not insane, that I didnt imagine everything. I want him to admit it, I need to hear it myself.
I. Bet. It is going to blow up in my face. A sixth sense tells me somehow, I am going to get hurt.
I am going to be in pieces, coming...to where I am going. Technically, I am homeless. I have been living out of suitcases since my trip began. I dont know what to put down as my address, on college forms, postcards, general mail.
My heart is crushed, bleeding so freely, all over the place. Somehow, I do that to myself all the time.
Maybe I find comfort in that, as well.
*drowns herself in music, curling up in the dark*
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