don't they usually have tokens for this sort of thing?

I can't really put it eloquently: 30 days ago was the last time I self-injured.

30 days ago, I had a three-and-a-half-hour fight with Findlay. I think up until now, I've never admitted it was a fight--it was a 'discussion,' an 'argument,' a 'disagreement.'

No, actually, it was a fight. And it wasn't pretty. I punched myself in the face and he walked away, I punched myself in the leg and he thought I was aiming to punch him. I called him a selfish bastard and told him he fucked everything up, he ruined everything we had, he ruined me. He said that he had fallen in love with me last semester, and he had decided he didn't want to be physical anymore so he just stopped. And fell out. And he said he was fed up, unpacked my books from the bag he'd been carrying them in for me, put on his fedora and left me sitting on the floor in the basement of Margaret Norrie.

I scared him. I'm 5 foot 5, 115 pounds. He's 6 foot 1, probably around 160 pounds, and fairly strong. And I scared him. How does that happen?

I got back to my room at 11 o'clock at night--I had left Fin's at 7:30. I tried to put it off, but by that point it had felt useless to even try and resist it.

I carved 'il m'aime pas' into my thigh. I can still see it, a little bit. I believed it then. I believe it now. The only difference is it starts to matter a little less. At this point, it's your loss.

You know, you've all been amazing. I can't thank you properly here, you all know who you are. I love you. So much. Thank you.