I'm still here, you know. I am alive. Surprisingly alive. Not knowing which way to go, not knowing which people I belong with. Never having the certainty that this world is real. Is anyone even reading my blog anymore? I doubt it. Seems like my favorite blogger has also shut her blog down/made it private but hasn't updated in over 2 weeks.
Writing on this blog doesn't bring me as much fulfillment as it used to. But I'm still writing poetry. What else should I say?
I have just cut. The depression is partially gone, I'd say. I am no longer suicidal and all that, and I'm slowly trying to learn to accept joy into my life. Learning to be more carefree. Learning to be better, because that's the purpose of life. Maybe. Or maybe not. I have cut because blood and pain mean art to me. The flow of the blood, the pain, the way it itches. I'm also still purging. And taking laxatives.
Don't ask me when, or if, I'll be back. I might write tomorrow. or next month. Or in three years. Who knows?
I am asking you, dear reader or visitor or whoever you are, to take a few minutes to listen to this treasure. It is like an orgasm to the ears. It is pure, clear beauty. You sure know it.