![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small}
8:35 AM
[Private to Self]
More scars. Of course more scars. But at least the source is different. At least I have an excuse to never speak of the scars because I can't. I can't even write about them. Not how I got them, at least. And that's okay. I don't want to talk about any of them. They're just reminders of things I'd rather not remember.
My mother came to visit me while I was at St. Mungo's. I didn't even know she and my father knew I was there. It was, of course, an awkward visit full of awkward silences. Every so often her hands fluttered about like she wanted to do something, but she didn't. Why start now, Mother? You've done nothing in the past. Don't break your record now. I didn't tell her that, of course. I was polite. I thanked her for the cupcakes. She told me about how I'd somehow made a good impression on Valentine's Day because Sophie's mother kept talking about me to her and about how Sophie seemed to have not entirely hated me. I think I stayed an extra day in hospital because of how sick that thought made me. I hope she's a lesbian looking for someone to take the heat off of her dating life because I do not want a girlfriend. I do not want to date anyone. And I do not want to get roped into marriage. And if I have to be roped into marriage, I don't want to be roped into marriage with a lesbian. Because, at some point, both sets of parents are going to wonder where the grandchildren are, and I'm not explaining that there probably won't be any because she prefers the company of women to men in regards to how you make babies.And if I have to date someone and get married to someone, I really don't want it to be with someone who's just using me to
If I didn't have a job I enjoy, I think I'd run away. I don't know where I'd go, but Stacey could come if she wanted. I have such a common last name I don't think I'd have to change it, either.
[/Private]
Not that anyone cares, but I'm home. from The cats are happy.
More scars. Of course more scars. But at least the source is different. At least I have an excuse to never speak of the scars because I can't. I can't even write about them. Not how I got them, at least. And that's okay. I don't want to talk about any of them. They're just reminders of things I'd rather not remember.
My mother came to visit me while I was at St. Mungo's. I didn't even know she and my father knew I was there. It was, of course, an awkward visit full of awkward silences. Every so often her hands fluttered about like she wanted to do something, but she didn't. Why start now, Mother? You've done nothing in the past. Don't break your record now. I didn't tell her that, of course. I was polite. I thanked her for the cupcakes. She told me about how I'd somehow made a good impression on Valentine's Day because Sophie's mother kept talking about me to her and about how Sophie seemed to have not entirely hated me. I think I stayed an extra day in hospital because of how sick that thought made me. I hope she's a lesbian looking for someone to take the heat off of her dating life because I do not want a girlfriend. I do not want to date anyone. And I do not want to get roped into marriage. And if I have to be roped into marriage, I don't want to be roped into marriage with a lesbian. Because, at some point, both sets of parents are going to wonder where the grandchildren are, and I'm not explaining that there probably won't be any because she prefers the company of women to men in regards to how you make babies.
If I didn't have a job I enjoy, I think I'd run away. I don't know where I'd go, but Stacey could come if she wanted. I have such a common last name I don't think I'd have to change it, either.
[/Private]