And so it begins...

I don't really know what I expect to achieve by writing all this shit down.  Maybe it's an ego thing and I think that there will be millions of people worldwide who'll think that my ramblings are worth reading.  Yea...Maybe...

So, yea the other night I was a bit fucked up, I could feel it building for a few days, but instead of dealing with it I got pished for a few days.  I got back home after being out with some friends, and I couldn't deal with anything.  So, I cut my arm.  Not deep at all, I used a Gillete fusion razor.  As best a man can get as they are, they're pretty shite for cutting yourself with.  I then did the whole attention seeking/shock/drama thing by showing my mate what I'd done.  Abysmally trying to disguise it by asking him for some Savlon, like for some unknown reason we'd come home from the pub and I suddenly realised that I couldn't do without any antiseptic cream.  Incidentally I've ruined my white shirt, that must have been to add to the drama too.  This white shirt with blood all over it, I was like Bruce Fuckin' Willis. What a fuckin' idiot.  Anyway, I then bored him for a few hours while I rambled some incoherent shitethrough the tears running down my face.  I guess it helped that he was fuckin' gassed anyway.

I guess it's just the booze, but it's difficult to know whether I was feeling like that because of the boozing, or whether I was boozing because I felt that way.  Either way it was like trying to claw my way out of the depths of hell.  Today though I just feel like a fuckin idiot for behaving that way in front of my mate. 

I tried to explain to him what I was feeling, why I was feeling it and why I feel that I fuckin' hate myself.  But it all just sounds like pretentious bullshit.  And I guess in all honesty it is just attention seeking nonsense that I should really have grown out of by now.  I'm not a real self harmer you see.  I'm just a tourist, visiting every now and again when I feel like I'm so fuckin frustrated that I'm going to explode.   I'm like the self-harming equivalent of a package-holiday family.  Working 40 hours a week in some shit job, to pay a mortgage in a house that you both knew you couldn't afford, along with two fuckin ungrateful, screaming brat kids on a 2 week all inclusive in Benidorm.

Yea...that's me.  Uno sangria por favor.