Some boxes should never be opened.

I wish I could help all the people I knew that were hurting but I cant. I can only try and comfort the ones that want me to, I'd never throw myself at someone who didn't want to be comforted, it hurts to see my friends in pain, even if I don't know them very well, it still hurts. It'd hurt more to know that I was the one that made them more introverted because they were trying to hide their pain from the world thinking that it was obvious, or even if they decided they couldn't be my friend anymore because they don't want to be seen as a charity case (I've used that excuse to isolate myself from people before, it works every time) I think it hurts because if I don't have someone else's pain to focus on, to try and get rid of, then I only have my own to look at, and that's not something I want to do, I've been squishing too many things down for too long to open up those boxes again just because there's no one else's pain around to look at. Its a selfish reason to want to help people but its a reason nonetheless and at least I'm trying to make people believe they're worth something instead of doing what the counsellors do and make them feel shit about themselves (this could just be the ones I've seen, well, most of them, because I don't think I've ever felt better coming out of a meeting with any of those people) It has been 4 days (approximately) since I last cut, not because I can give it up, but because I'd ran out of room on my hips, it wasn't cutting them anymore, it was just opening up the other wounds, it didn't make me feel anything, so I've been letting them heal a bit, its been killing me. Every night at 8:32 my brain goes into cutting mode, it craves the blades conversation. My arms have never looked so inviting as they have done in these past 4 days but I cant do it on my arms, my mother would notice and I'm already in a precarious situation with her, I think she's starting to suspect things again because she read a book that I keep hidden under my mattress, a book with...well, not nice things written in it. I told her it was a way of healing myself, to write down everything I hate about myself all the negativity and burn it, I think she sort of bought it, but not completely, I'm having to be a lot more sneaky with what I do which is nothing I cant handle but its a bit of a piss-take when she's watching me eat my food. Anyway, I have English work to do, they haven't invented a pen that will write the essay for me, unfortunately. Bye my Angels <3