Open your eyes

Maybe I vowed to stop writing here, but for some reason I cannot. It's the only place I can write what I feel, and I've decided to hell with the fact that my mother reads it. I'm a pretty good girl, am I not?
Yesterday was Thursday. According to the church schedule Thursday is the youth meeting. Since it is July, mike, the 'youth leader' shows transmissions from the meetings in Norway from the summer conference over there. In my mind this means one thing: two hours of torture.
The good thing about transmissions is that I get to see my cousin. She's pretty awesome, but I feel as though in some ways I must be the one to look out for her, to make sure she isn't doing things that she'll one day regret. I wish I had a friend like that, and I know there are some who might have tried. At least I can be that to someone.
I noticed something about her tonight. There were five fading cuts on her left wrist. It makes me so sad to see this. I pointed them out, asking how, and when. She tried to brush it off and make it seem like a small deal. I used to cut a lot, and I once tried to commit suicide this way. I know what she was doing, and I know it's really a big deal. So I took her outside. People were giving us looks. Of course, the two girls leaving the church get up and leave during the transmission, right?
Once outside I hugged her and told her it was alright, and that she needed to talk about it. I was there for her. She began to cry.
"..It was a fight, with my mom. I wasn't sposed to be on the computer and she told me to get off. I said no, and she told me to give her her phone back. I said no, so she grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. She was yelling and swearing, and she had her hands around my throat. So I yelled 'fuck you!' and ran. She sent my sister after me, and told me to never come home." She was hysterical.
I told her that whenever she felt like she was going to explode and needed a release that she must call me. I was a little afraid for her. What I did not tell her is that she must listen to her mother when asked for something. It didn't seem like the right time. What do I do about this? I'm not sure, but I remember that helpless feeling, like I was alone. I didn't know who to talk to. At least she knows she can talk to me.