Something broke inside of me. I was doing so well, getting so happy. I haven't cut in months and now all I can think about is cutting or drinking or jumping in front of cars. For the last three days I've sat by the road and counted the cars go back. Thirty-three is the car I would jump in front of. I count up to it, getting more and more tense and resisting the impulse to throw myself in front of it and then relaxing until it passes. At ninety-nine I'm allowed to leave but I don't. The next car to watch out for is number three hundred and thirty three. I'm allowed to leave on that one too but I also want to jump in front of that one. Today I got to six hundred and sixty six but I was still safe then.

I don't really know why I put that all down, I suppose because I can.

I think my results for year 12 come out tomorrow.

I want my razor soooooo badly but I feel like I

m too old for that shit now.

Bye.