i found this in another journal of mine, and i think it's good. i like it. but you probably won't. it's weird. i'd make it private, but i think it's well-written. still, you probably won't like it. i beat myself up a lot... i tear myself down, and make myself feel like crap. like worse than crap. i tell myself awful things. it's my only vice; self-deprecation. in some sick, twisted, masochistic way it makes me feel better while making me feel terrible. i hate it and i love it and i wish i could stop doing it, but it's my crutch for when i'm feeling low. today the idea popped into my head of beating myself up physically, and i saw myself standing over myself, just beating myself with a board. beating soft and useless weak flesh; that'll teach me. yeah, that'll teach me to be fat. that'll teach me to be such a weakling. that'll teach me not to be good enough. bruises on pale limbs, splotchy and inconsistent. scratches, scrapes, and lacerations, bloody and red, or dried up and scabby. the shock of blood on white skin, reddish with abuse. cauterizing pain. redemptive pain. pain as pennance for all those things i do, all those things i am, and all those things i can't stop thinking. soft sobbing, tears that offer no plea for pity, tears that know why. yeah, that'll teach me. panting and sweating from exertion standing over myself, coming down off the angry high. that'll teach me. i'll teach me.