this is reality interrupted

i don't want to spend thanksgiving and christmas in the hospital. no, no, no. this is what my dad pointed out to me as he asked me to please take the zoloft. after i had gotten off the phone with john who was angry at me for not already taking it today.... i had been in the bathroom, ripping scabs off my arms and getting ready to cut again, when my dad knocked on the door, said he wanted to talk. i figured i would have to wait on the cutting because he'd get suspicious if he had to wait that long.

and look at me now. i didn't end up cutting.

i took the freakin' pill.

it was so tiny that i could hardly feel it in my mouth. and still it was like utter misery sliding down my throat; i wanted to choke on it. but i didn't, i squeezed the heck out of my care bear and cried instead. and i have to take one every night, and i will, because i'm terrified of the hospital.

i told my dad that i don't want to get better, and i trembled as i said it for fear that he'd get angry. but he said: "of course you do. just a part of you doesn't." and i cried even harder because maybe he understands more than i thought he did.

if i don't make it to tomorrow, don't forget how much i love you.

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