Play practice today was good. I was made-up with everything piece of make-up they had there. Of course, I was a little girl for today, with hair in braided pigtails. He was there and we tried to spend time together (or so it seemed) but Roe didn’t like the fact that I was up sitting on the side of the stage with the light guy. Oh well. She was an outrageous bitch today.

When we began, I sunk really low all of a sudden and became to depressed that my make-up was about to roll down my face with tears mixed in. I sat on the floor, with my CD player running.

“You know what’ll help?” Maddy asked in her raspy voice. “You need to get laid.”

“Yeah,” I said closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall. “Tell it to the light guy.”

Everything seemed to get better when I went to sit on the sit of the stage for a few scenes with him.

My mom was a bitch too. She showed up at 8 pm when rehearsal was supposed to be over. She came in at 8:30 or so and said I wasn’t coming back. I’ve never seen her so angry. I was beyond scared of her. I was supposed to give him a ride home, and all of a sudden she wouldn’t let him come with. I go and tell him to walk home. (He lives about ½ a mile from the school. Probably shorter if he cut through school property.) Suddenly she decides to change her mind and says to go get him.

She starts bitching at me about Roe going over. I probably have the easiest mother to piss off in the world. I know she went over, and I started getting nervous when 5 minutes late passed. I knew I was going to be yelled at from that time on.

I woke up this morning and looked on the counter and saw my razor laying there in plain view. I freaked out. I’m sure that everyone had seen it, but pocketed it. How did it get out there in such plain view of everything? I have no idea, but it was obvious that it was used. I don’t exactly rinse it from use to use. (God, I sound so unsanitary.) I took it and put it in my pocket.

A girl at practice today said she used to cut her wrists. “Did you do it just for fun?” A boy asked.

“No! I’d like, get so über-depressed. I only did it when I was upset and depressed.” She said.

“Let’s see.”

“Oh!” She said smiling and looking at her perfectly smooth and unmarked wrists. “They’ve faded.”

Now let’s examine this. If I had said that, (I’d kind of be lying, because I do it when I’m bored.) people would look at me like I was a huge freak and say that only fags cut themselves. I don’t understand people.

Not to mention, I can tell when people’s wrists have been cut. Even in the faintest cases, there is a subtle change in skin tone. No change in hers. I looked at mine and see faint pink lines all over them. I don’t want to live like this anymore.

“How’s his mom doing? Health wise I mean.” Mom asked.

“I dunno.”

“I think about her a lot.” She says.

“I think about them both continuously.” I said.