Welp, I'm a moron. Totally and officially. Remember that razor blade? The one I found the other day and couldn't throw away? Yeah. I couldn't help myself, I... I used it. Again. Cutting is like alcoholism; you're always going be a cutter, the difference is whether you're on the wagon or not. And the strange part is... I knew exactly what I was doing when I did it. I was fully conscious of my actions and the consequences. But I did it anyways. Just to know I could still feel that pain, that my blood was still red, that I was still human. It was so... Odd. I didn't feel that rush of adrenaline like I used to, or that twinge of depression. Just... stagnant apathy. Like I didn't care one way or another, I just had to have that knowledge. If you're reading this, or know me or my mother, than don't tell her. She has no right to know. This is my battle, and her sticking her nose into it will do nothing but cause grief, money, pain, sorrow, and a whole lot of agony. No good can come of her knowing. I don't need psychological help; I've already got the knowledge I need. What I need is to just stop myself. This is a battle between me and myself, not me and some unresolved past or something. Don't ask to see them; I'll be offended. Just let me be and fight this battle. This is my online JOURNAL, remember that? So I'm trying to be as honest in here as I can so that when my posterity finds this, they'll know how I am. Don't betray my trust and make me start making all of my entries 'Just Me'. I'll be saddened.

Not that you care as to whether you know what I'm thinking or not.

But I suppose it's worth a try.

So just be there for me. Ok?

~Alisa

PS: Going back down to St George again tommorow night for General Conference.