this past week, i've been running myself around, putting my smiley face on, running around with my mate's family and trying to be supportive and get to know his daughter and sister better. for the sake of our friendship. at the same time, he is in the process of trying to buy a house. on monday when we went to look at it together, the realtor referred to me as "*mate's name* fiancee" ... WTF??? he's not my fiancee. he's not even my bf. he's a very good friend that i live with and care about, and that's about where it ends. it makes me think ... and get all worked up about what the fuck he is thinking/saying/doing behind my back. last friday night i cut the shit out of one of my right leg. i have been resisting the desire to go for the other leg for the last few days. oh yeah ... on saturday we went to a dinner for my mate's mother (and i use the word mate as in FRIEND ... nothing more) and was totally ignored by his family and just made the picture taker. fine. but don't expect me to have a lot of love for them after they treat me like the fucking photog all night. anyway ... yeah, now my leg is healing and today while i was in the bathroom at work, i started to pick the scabs off of the wounds and had to really REALLY resist the urge to go out to my bag and get my blade and cut cut cut. i didn't have any bandages though, so i didn't. i'm sad though ... i don't want to be any more scarred than i already am. and i am going to visit a friend that i really care a lot about in a few weeks ... someone who i would really want to be in a relationship with if we were anywhere close to me (he's like ... 30 hour drive, 5 hours by plane ... not counting layovers) ... and i don't want to be all torn up and scarred. i know that when we get in the hot tub, he's going to ask about my fucking scarred up leg ... but will he notice my arms too? probably at least one of the scars. the thing is .... he doesn't know that i cut. i've been really good lately ... and really most of my life. but it's like when everything seems to just OVERWHELM me ... for a few years now (maybe like ... 5-10 times a year?) i CUT. and a lot. and deep. but it's not a constant thing. it's like when i feel like there is nothing else left in the world, when i am at the bottom of that dark dry well, that is when i need to feel some physical pain to let me know that i am alive ... or to relieve the emotional pain ... i don't know which. but i suppose since i don't have the urge every day ... even every month, it's definitely a reaction to major stress. anyway, i don't know what to tell him. i know he is going to ask me. the cat scratched me? i cut myself? i went on a hike and fell down? i don't know. i don't know how he will react. i will probably talk to him later online. and i'm tempted to ask him about it. but i'm scared. so fucking scared. i don't want this to be the one thing that drives us apart. even if i can't have an intimate relationship with him, i still value his friendship very much. no matter what. i don't want him to push me away because he knows that i have been (and sometimes am?) a cutter. god i feel fucked. drive into a tree? take all the pills in my medicine cabinet? i feel lost. fucked. scared. i don't know what to do, i don't know what to say.