Saturday, August 20, 2005

I look at my left arm sometimes... it's all cut and scratched and badly scarred. It is very ugly. And the worst part is... I did this all to myself. But I don't hate myself for it, and I'm not mad at myself for doing this. I can't. Because I remember how I felt when I did it. I can remember the lonliness and how much I loathed myself, and to cut my arm and feel the coolness of my blood drip down my arm, it made me feel better. It was how I survived. How I got through the night. I would fall asleep to the soreness of my arm, and it was soothing. I know most people don't understand it, and think it's weird or messed up or whatever. But it was how I survived for a long time. And it's still a struggle for me sometimes. I think about it sometimes. But I won't act on it. Or I do my best not too. Because I remember what it was like when I was cutting myself from Male Masturbation. Sure it solved some problems, but that was only temporary, and it created more problems than it solved. Well, I digress.

I think I know what I want to do. I want to go to school for writing about the Milf Cruiser. All my life I have been writing. I always kept a journal. And if I didn't I'd write millions of letters to people willing to read them, and those letters comprised my journal. It was my release. It helped me to stop cutting. And I love it. I don't feel like it's a chore to write papers, the way I feel it is a chore to make photographs. Especially creative writing. I love that so much.