I often ask myself, "Kate, what is wrong with you?" Then the tiny little voice in the back of my head speaks up. "What isn't wrong with you..." My life was almost perfect... Actually? It's fucked up. Though, looking at two things, it is perfect. Number one : I have an amazing, yet dweeby, boyfriend who I love. His family loves me and makes me feel like I belong there. They care for me more than my own family does. Number two : My best friend Armando. He is the best friend anyone could ask for. He is there when you need him, gone when you don't. He is the person you can talk to for hours, scream at, vent at, or even hit... Yet he doesn't leave. He sees how messed up I am just trys to fix me, not tell me what is wrong with me like most people. Besides those two things... My life is messed up. It may seem great for some people but I don't want it. My mother just wants me to be perfect and calls me fat. She is so hyprocritical that she makes a hyprocritc seem like an angel. I'm failing every single one of my classes. My cavaties are on a rampage. My kidneys are soon to be in the risk of failure... My father looks down on me. My step dad is dissapointed in me. My boyfriend gets depressed if my mood dips just a bit. I haven't been eating, but I finally weened my self back into that. I've been so emotional lately... Like maybe I'm actually a girl? Haha... I've been repeling people like the plauge. I don't speak to people, I stare at the ground. Words go in one ear, then out the other. I don't know who to trust... I feel like my friends are just pretenders, laughing behind my back... I was in the kitchen this evening looking for a better pen. In the drawer that the pens were in was a green box. I opened it up and found out it was a package of fresh, clean, and sharp razor blades. I pulled one out and went up into my room and began carving... I was fully aware of what I was doing... Yet, I didn't stop myself. (I've been trying for the last few months to quit, gone a month and a half with out harming myself) I let it fall down in the cracks.It's always a word. Last time it was the word Perfect... This time? This time it was Unable. I'm crying while writing this because I'm such a stupid teenager. I'm crying because I can't believe I did this. Most importantly... I'm crying because I now realize I just do not care. Why did I carve Perfect or Unable into my ankle? I don't know. Why didn't I stop myself? I don't care. I don't care what happens to me. My blood is leaking and dripping onto everything, yet... Do I do anything? No. I sit there and stare at it. Why do I do this... I feel so dead on the inside. I can barely move, can barely speak... I feel as if my wounds, literally and figurativly, will not heal. My scars will not lift. My psychiatrist told me a while ago... That if I continued this... She would have to send me to the hospital for watch... She said it would help a lot with this situation. I feel scared yet... I feel like that is where I belong... I don't belong on the outside. I know I wont be comfortable in my own skin ever again... Scars covering my feet, ankles and thighs. I just want to know the truth. I don't want to wonder any more... I just want answers and solutions. I don't want to run into any more doors.