now i need to come up with an excuse.

because people are definitely going to ask me when they see. i'm an adult, it's my body, & i can do whatever i want. but i don't want the looks or the sighs or any of the bullshit that comes with people assuming things they don't know for sure but which are pretty obvious. kristin will know. i wonder if anyone will even say anything. maybe nobody WILL notice! this certainly takes me back.. to having to wear long sleeves every day, having to make up excuses, having to lie. i mean i don't HAVE to lie. but the truth is uncomfortable. & what about the fam? i'll just have to keep wearing long sleeves when i go over there. not that that should be too difficult. it's fucking winter anyway. it's damn cold. problem is i don't have a ton of long sleeved shirts. hoodies though i guess. i'll just have to keep them on. why did i do this again? it's been such a long time.. SUCH a long fucking time! what an odd time for a relapse. well, i guess if any time, winter is the best. no questions about wearing long sleeves. hopefully these will heal quickly enough that i can stop worrying soon. so what excuse will i give? there isn't one. it's completely obvious. why didn't i think this over more carefully? i could've chosen a much better spot. why didn't i? nobody will ever see my belly. i could've chosen it. or my thighs. what the fuck. now i'm regretting this decision. but only the location. not the action. i do what i want, right? i forgot how soothing the little red dots are. that sounds absolutely certifiably insane. i have to stop this. i can't start again. it's too difficult to deal with. too draining & too addictive & just too much. i have enough to worry about right now without adding extra bullshit. i have enough vices without bringing this particular one back. i thought i was done with this. what made me do it? i saw them in the drawer. that's all i needed, i think. i saw them in there, had it in my mind, cuz i've been thinking about it lately, so i did it. i need help. like.. serious professional shock therapy or something. i can't even blame the wine, cuz i'd only had about 2 sips. which is probably good, because if i'd waited til i was drunker, i'm sure it would've been deeper and worse. problem is, with that it would've been a little easier to make something up. how can you make up a story about several small ones all in one spot? i have no cat. paper bags couldn't have done this. SHIT. what am i gonna do now? it's okay. i have two days off to figure it out. i'll just have to remember the long sleeves. or bandaids. although that won't work for very long either. what is my fucking deal? what am i trying to do? am i looking for attention? that is the stupidest thing i've ever heard. & i sure as FUCK can't let stephanie know. shit, shit, shit. i mean, fuck, do i need to remove all the fucking sharp objects from my house? what did this accomplish? absolutely nothing. so why the fuck would i do it? apparently i need to go back to fucking therapy or something. was i trying to punish myself? for what? fuck if i know. jesus christ, i'm a loon. completely. who does this? how the fuck does this ever help anyone? it doesn't. so why do we think it does? & why do i feel strangely comforted in the background of my head, despite all this worrying about how to deal with the aftermath? this is completely insane. i should be put away. can i put myself away? does someone else have to do it? can i turn myself in as a crazy person? would they lock me in a padded white room with no sharp things? am i even crazy enough to be locked away? maybe i could fake myself out really well. i mean, people are surprised to find out about it, right? so obviously i put on a DAMN good show. maybe i should be a fucking actress or something. i can play the happy little sunflower really well. maybe i'm worrying over nothing. these are so shallow, they should heal rather quickly. i should be all right to stick with long sleeves until they fade. like i said, lucky i had only 2 sips of wine beforehand.. & now hopefully my quota has been reached & i can just not think about it anymore. PSH yeah okay. well i don't care. i'm drinking my mother fucking wine. even if it makes it worse. because fuck 'em, that's why.