The silence isn't breaking

So my dad and I had the biggest fight ever, over driving. I want to get my learner's license when I turn 16, like most people. But my dad, being anal and compulsive, refuses to believe that in fact the majority of 16 year olds in Australia are driving. No. So I have to wait til I'm 18. I mean, for Christ's sake, I won't even be living at home when I'm 18. What the fuck is the point? Apparently when he's driving the car it's a car. When I'm driving it it's a tonne of death. Impeccable logic.
After that I felt fractious the whole day. Nothing helped it. Nothing. So when Dad went out I moved - like a ghost - to the table and cut my wrists. And of course THAT worked. It always does. I know Frank is right when he says you become addicted, and it sucks all your emotions and you become a void. "You're not supposed to feel nothing," he says to me. I know. I know I know I know. And normally I don't feel nothing, I feel everything. But as soon as the blood sprang I started to cry. Huge racking sobs. I sat with my legs draped over the edge of my bed and cried for a long time. Put my thumb into my mouth. I sat there staring into space, seeing the spines of my books all lined up on my bookshelf but not really seeing them. In the front part of my mind was complete blankness, which was what I'd been aiming for. And you know what? IT FELT GOOD. The back part of my mind acknowledged this. Joanna, the precocious child, always so bursting at the seams with emotion, unable to sleep at night for the weight of it, was enjoying feeling nothing. Calm. I never feel calm unless I cut. Feel everything else to the extreme, but never calm.
So I put my wristband on straight away, and when I looked at my arm I could convince myself that nothing was wrong because I usually wear the wristband anyway. To see is to believe. The image is everything. Anatomy is destiny, said Freud. I say, the image of anatomy is destiny.
The neighbours must be getting thoroughly annoyed with me. Whenever Dad and I fight we yell - the whole neighbourhood must be able to hear us. And then I slam doors and play music loudly. All I can say is that 'Right Where It Belongs' is the best song in the world, for me. I know every part of it - every note, every intonation - so well that it's like a friend, so familiar, never changing. 'You keep looking but you can't find the words. Are they hiding in the trees...?'