Hi all.

I know I said I would do a daily blog, but I don’t think I’ll be doing one. I’ve got too much going on in my life, so I’ll only write when I’ve got important things on my mind.

Lately, I haven’t been feeling well. At all. A lot has been going on, including a friend who needs help, so I’ve been bottling it all inside like a storm in a bottle. A big group of my friends and I are doing all these things for my friend Kayli, who I know needs help because she has depression as well, and I’m very glad she’s getting all the support and love she needs, but I’ve also been hiding my feelings the whole time. There’s a weight on my heart, and it gets heavier and heavier as my thoughts and feelings get darker. I feel useless. I don’t want to tell my friends, though, because they don’t deserve two friends who need help. I feel like a burden, a kid who showed up last year and now sits at their table and hangs out with them, but I can’t just dump all my feelings on them. Kayli really does need help, so I won’t say anything.

I did something last night though. I felt like I was going insane last night. I feel that way a lot. I had a lighter.  was going to burn myself. But I didn’t, my reflex was to pull away before the flames could touch me. But then I found myself entranced by the flame. I couldn’t help but continue to click the lighter, turning it on every time the little flame flickered away. I felt the sudden urge to set things on fire. I was imagining my old birthday balloons crumbling under the flames, and my sheets too. I have never felt this urge before, I’ve never picked up a lighter and thought about it.

I went to the bathroom. I filled the sink with water, then got a bunch of crumpled-up toilet paper. I continued to light them on fire, watching the flame lick up their little papery bodies, before tossing them into the sink before they could light anything else on fire. I did this so many times, I couldn’t stop. I’ve never considered myself a pyromaniac, because I’ve never lit anything on fire for fun like that, but it’s almost guaranteed I’ll do it again. I WANT to do it again. I love it. It takes my mind off the urge to take the scissors and scratch and cut myself, it resists the urge to sneak out and run far far away.

But why?

AM I a pyromaniac..?


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