Sick?

There came a time in my disordered life that I realized I would never be normal.
I would never meet the standards for happy.
My life will always be a swirling chaotic hell hole.
My fingers will always smell of vomit and I will have blood stains on my over sized sweaters.
Sleep will never come easy for me.
But at the same time I don't feel like I have what it takes to be qualified as a "successful" mentally ill person.
I feel like there will always be someone sicker more deserving of help than I.
There will always be someone who suffers so much more and I have not the energy to put forth towards anything; lest be my suffrage.
I am sitting here contemplating cutting myself.
Trying to cut deep enough so that I will need stitches and go to the psych unit and just escape for a while.
But I ate for the first time in two days, not even 70 calories and my heart feels swollen.
My stomach feels as though it will burst at any given moment.
I feel deflated and bloated and so very tired.
Taking pills would be easier but a suicide attempt isn't something I really want to put the effort into right now.
I wish I could just tell Dad that I cannot handle being a functioning human being right now but I doubt he would allow me that.
"Push yourself Rachael."
"Muscle through it."
"Just keep going."
I will wind up pushing myself all the way to the edge of sanity and fling my meat carcass over the edge.
Dive head long into mental anguish.
I feel like I'm already there anyways.

I should be sleeping.
I should be getting ready to face school tomorrow.
Instead I am writing an over due essay that has more to do with my personal feelings towards myself that Beowulf.
I am watching Lukas sleep over skype and wishing that I could be well or sick enough to warrant the worry of others.
Sick enough to go to a residential treatment center or kill myself.
I feel so weak.
I am so tired and my energy just evades me.
There isn't any solace or comfort here.
My exhaustion is overwhelming but not enough to justify my pain.
My mentality is not so far gone that I deserve the empathy of others.
So I am stuck between hoping for more and needing less.
Between the longing for death and the promise of life.
I am stuck and I am tired.
So tired.