Come and rescue me, come and take me somewhere else...
Feel like a right loser continuing in the same vein.
I disgust myself. Feel fat (had a curry tonight. Didn't even really enjoy it) and I've been back on the drink a bit, too.
Went nearly four weeks with only drinking once a week.
Agonising over the lad from just before Christmas; seen him a couple of times since then.
Went on our first date a week and a bit ago. Dinner, drinks, the usual. We found part of an old sandpit someone had been sledging down a hill in, and had a go. Sat at the bottom of the hill, in the snow and the dark, he lifted my face towards his and kissed me.
Texting later; I'm still a bit damp. But it was worth it to kiss you.
Second date was Thursday. More kissing in the pub. Having a cigarette outside, he pulled me roughly towards him, hands on my breasts, my legs, up my dress. I'd ask you home I murmered. But I've got to be up at six. I can't.
That's ok. I'll leave when you do he said.
We can't.
Wasn't even sure I particularly wanted it. Was really planning on waiting this time: despite the fact I'd already - obviously - fucked him, I thought that maybe this time I'd do the ladylike thing, that I could hold out and earn a bit of someone's respect. For once. Perhaps even (naively) just wanted a cuddle. Someone to hold me. Just to feel wanted, if only for the evening.
Oh, of course I let him come home with me. We got back to my bedroom and he pushed me down on the bed and started taking my clothes off. Yes, reader: I fucked him again. Put on the appropriate show. Made the right noises in the right places. Sucked his cock. Fell asleep in his arms. Got up, washed and dressed in the morning, punctuated with him grabbing me for kisses and pulling me back on the bed to cuddle me. All the while just wishing I were dead.
I felt him stroke the scars - new and old - on my thigh as we were at it.
I even made him a cup of tea and drove him home.
I've barely heard from him since then. Oh, it's not like I'm expecting marriage and babies. Just to know either way. If he thinks I'm a slut. If he's interested, even just in taking it slow.
A girl could want more, right?
Thought about death every day for days and weeks. Drinking tonight, not even wanting to, not even sure why. Will probably harm myself tonight, scar myself still more when there's no point to it and no reason why it should give me anything or take anything away.
Oh, christ. If I were only slightly less of a fucking fool, I could have ended it long ago. I've taken enough overdoses that I've fucked up, can't even get blades easily any more without having to go to a desk and ask for them.
Feels like the only way left would be to starve myself. But god knows, I've never even been good at that.