I'm fucking cracking up again. You know, when the thought of killing yourself is soothing and, ironically, the only thing that actually keeps you alive. Do I wanna kill myself? Truthfully? I don't know. I actually don't know. It's always been my plan B. It keeps me calm. No matter how crappy things are, I can always end it, you know? I've lived like this for ages, and it's been almost two years since my last suicide attempt. Every time I self harm I'm tying strings och cloths to myself to keep pressure on the sores. I can't go to the hospital, since they never would just stitch me up and send me home. I don't wanna go back to the psych ward. I'm fucking cracking up.