I have no excuses for this I'm just so sorry.
Everything has gotten so bad and I've fucked it all up.
Sorry.

When I die set me free

I think it's safe to say I'm actively ruining my life bit by bit.
Talked to my mom twenty minutes ago and I told her I'm not ready for college.
She told me it's fine she'd talk to Dad and she said I'll just wait until fall to register for classes.
Like it's that easy and this doesn't mean I've failed her again.
I'm fucking everything up.
A year from now if I'm not dead or hospitalized I will be sitting in this same room in this exact spot blogging about how much I want to die but too guilty to do anything about it.
When I was at least entertaining the notion of going to college next semester I felt like I was getting somewhere or trying to so it counted for something.
Now I'm just this pathetic sack of shit feeling sorry for myself.
I've fucked up so badly.
All I want to do is die.
I can't even pretend to be okay anymore I'm just done.
I've been snorting my oxy.
Not often because it hurts like a bitch but I promised myself it wouldn't get this bad.
I'm almost out of pills though so it's not like it matters.
That bottle had sixty days worth of oxy in it and I went through it in what eighteen?
I'm hurting Lukas with all my talk of suicide and substance abuse.
I hate myself for it.
He deserves better.
I wish I could be better but I can't so I give the fuck up.
Maybe I'll get into a fatal car accident or something and stop ruining everyone's lives.
Wouldn't that just be wonderful?
I'll put it on my Christmas list.

Giving up

Lately I've been finding triggers in everything.
Nothing that anyone says or does makes me feel better.
My arms are looking more and more like ugly blank canvases mocking me for not having the courage to carve them into art.
Everything feels that way to me now.
I cannot stand these faded scars.
Looking at them only makes me want to peel the flesh from my bones.
This is just another way for me to escape my responsibilities.
All of this has always been my cowardly way of saying I'm sorry.
But it just isn't good enough anymore.
None of this will ever be good enough.
I'm done trying.
The energy it would take to even attempt the things that I thought I wanted in life is far greater than I could wish to have.
Since the moment this all occurred to me I've felt like I'm just biding my time.
Breathing but counting every breath until the last wheeze falls from my lips.
This might not make any sense to you.
I guess I should have just said I'm feeling slightly suicidal.
But that wouldn't really cover it.

I'm not entirely coherent.

Today at 3 I have a therapy session.
I decided really early on what I'm going to wear so to save me the five hour process of trying on everything I own and having a panic attack.
If I feel okay about myself later then I might post a picture because the outfit is really cute.
I'm wearing grey tights under my black skull cutout leggings with a pair of light blue jean shorts over top.
And I'm wearing a really cute over sized yellow cardigan and my grey and black scarf.
Going to do my hair and make up and everything.
I always dress up for my therapy sessions.
The only one I didn't dress up for was the first one and even  then I wasn't wearing sweat pants and I had my make up on.
She hasn't seen me at my worst yet.
Today isn't really a good day though so despite my dressing up maybe she'll notice how awful I feel.
I'm giving her a few of my blog urls and showing her some of my art work.
She seems really interested in my art and what I'm going to be studying so hopefully I'll get positive feedback.
I'm really anxious about college and my future though so i really want to have a serious talk about anxiety today.
Over the break I'm going to see if I can lose enough weight to be taken more seriously about my eating disorder.
So by the time I get back I can start seeing the psychiatrist she wants me to see that specializes in eating disorders.
Maybe I can start taking something for this horrible anxiety then and if I'm lucky go into inpatient for my eating disorder.
I sincerely doubt it though.
My thoughts are all jumbled right now and this is really poorly written.
I took some oxy this morning to help calm me down and I'm still debating on whether or not I should take more later.
I haven't told my therapist about the oxy abuse though so I probably shouldn't.
More later maybe?

Future?

I've been debating on whether or not I should start snorting my oxy.
The 700mgs I was taking isn't doing anything and snorting is supposed to have better results.
It's better than taking a higher dosage but I'm a little worried.
I keep telling myself this isn't as bad if I'm just taking these pills orally.
So to snort them kinda makes it obvious that this is more serious than I originally thought.
Things have gotten more stressful lately and I could really use a good high right now.
I am in the process of officially registering for college.
Please don't congratulate me because it's terrifying.
It's just community college right now but for some reason I can't deal with any of it.
I don't even start until January and I'm already too anxious to handle it.
Making phone calls is upsetting okay how am I supposed to deal with lecture halls and studio spaces full of students?
My major is like a general art major.
Basically I am getting core classes out of the way and also beefing up my portfolio as well as getting any recommendations I'm going to need for Cleveland Institute of Art.
For now I've decided that until I can prove that I can handle college 15 minutes away that I'm going to stick with the closest major art school.
CIA is thirty minutes away and unless I can safely attend my classes without a repeat of every year of high school I attended then there isn't even a possibility of me going away.
I just can't stand not doing anything anymore.
Everyone I knew is now moving on with their lives.
Getting jobs and attending college and I'm just sitting in my room.
Blogging about how I hate my life but doing nothing to change it.
So I'm trying.
Or well pretending to try.
Going through the motions at least.
I need to get going on something okay even if I don't graduate from college even if I can only attend a few years at an art school it's something.
Important years of my life are falling through my finger tips like ashes.
I've wasted so much time already doing nothing.
I'm forcing myself to finally do something and this will probably result in a bad ending but at least I have my oxy to help me through the day for now.

I have started a new diet its called oxy and whatever I use to swallow it.

you should be careful of what you ask for.
apathy was so much better than this.

Sobriety is overrated

I'm fucking everything up again.
Must have gained like 23 lbs.
I've felt so numb lately everything feels like it isn't real.
All my emotions don't actually exist.
I got into a fight with Dad and Sam and I wasn't even angry?
I yelled and acted like I was but I didn't feel anything.
I cried but I didn't feel sad or panicky.
Then I purged violently all over my bathroom floor and shower.
I can binge and binge and I don't feel anything.
Whenever I do feel something its fear.
I'm afraid of going to mom's.
Afraid of time and school and the future.
I don't like this.
Everything is either too terrifying or insignificant and not worth the effort.
I'm going to try and make an appointment with my therapist.
For now I'm going to take this oxy and pretend I'm okay with feeling too much and not enough.

Let the wolves enjoy my bones

I've been mindlessly binging (being a loose term because honestly I've eaten maybe 2000 calories between the last two days).
So today I decided to go for a walk and get things done while staying as far from the kitchen as possible.
Also used up the last of my oxy as a way to distract myself.
I asked Dad if we could go to dinner.
Every time we go I get a salad and a diet soda and I purge in the bathrooms after I finish 3/4 of it.
Dad notices kind of but decided to play dumb.
Not like I expected more.
We went shopping last night.
I got my hair cut and got a pair of cute knock off uggs (I hate uggs and the style but these look so cute with my winter coat).
If I lose enough weight I'm gonna bribe Dad to take me shopping for sweaters before Mom's so I can be warm and fashionable.
I need to lose about 15 lbs though and if I continue like I have been today I should be fine.
I haven't eaten anything and I think for the rest of this week and next I'm going to purge everything I eat.
Anyways this is a shit post so have a picture of my ugly face.

Appreciation post

I am really unsupportive and bad when it comes to putting other people first.
Last night I said some really awful things to Lukas while I was high.
It's been about nine hours now since I've heard from him and I really hope his phone is off or he's just sleeping.
With that in mind though I thought I talk about all the people I take for granted but I really wouldn't be alive without.
Lukas is obviously one of them considering he was the one that made the call to the police that saved my life during my last overdose.
But it's more than that.
Everyday that I wake up and feel awful about myself; every time I think about suicide, Lukas is always there.
He calms me down and let's me know how much he loves me.
There hasn't been a day since we first met that he hasn't saved my life.
I love him more than anything in the whole world and I don't tell him enough but I really do appreciate his existence.
If anything were to happen to him I don't know how I'd keep living.
He's my moon and my stars and every cigarette I taste.
I'm going to try to work on being more supportive and listening to him.
I need to treat him better.
Also on the list of people I don't treat well enough: Samantha.
Sixteen years of friendship and I still haven't figured out how to be a good friend.
Or even a decent friend really.
She's been there though despite my complete selfishness she has been there through every bump and every scrapped knee.
I have never had someone stay in my life that wasn't blood related as long as Samantha has.
And even then a good portion of my family takes leaves of absence.
She's so precious to me and I don't tell her how wonderful she is nearly enough.
These two people have treated me better than anyone who has ever come into my life.
No significant other or friend has loved me so unconditionally as these two brilliant under appreciated human beings.
So I really just wanted to say thank you; even if neither of them reads this.
You are both so important to me and everything I have ever done in my life is thanks to one or both of you.
I love you both dearly and I hope I don't have to say goodbye to you for as long as I live.

Edit: I feel a little love and appreciation needs to go Katie Elizabeth's way as well.
Thank you for being there for me despite having mountains of your own problems to deal with.
You take time out of your day to write me a comment and read my posts and I want you to know I am so so grateful.
I do not deserve your kindness but still you give it and you don't ask me anything in return.
I'm so proud of you for trying to get better and taking care of yourself.
Your little boys are so lucky to have such a wonderful mother.
I hope you get to stay with them for a very long time.
And to anyone else who comments and reads my blog regularly I hope you experience nothing but happiness in your life.
I hope you can all overcome your suffering and create wonderful lives for yourselves.
I love you and I appreciate you.

Take the pain ignite it

I'm going to Mom's house on the 4th of December.
Which means that the appointments Dad has to make today for my therapist are probably going to be for January.
For about five seconds I was distressed but then I realized that this would be the perfect opportunity to get 'sick enough'.
I have the rest of this month plus December and at least a week in January.
I've already lost two pounds since I started two days ago.
For me to fit the criteria of anything other than EDNOS I have to be underweight.
In order for me to be underweight I have to lose at least 36.5lbs.
Which considering the fact that I can drop 20lbs in three weeks isn't actually that difficult.
I'm tired of suffering and having no one see it.
This has been eight almost nine years of complete hell but not a single person has seen how much I struggle.
Its the worst feeling in the world when you tell someone you're in agonizing pain and they tell you you're lying.
By saying I don't look like I have an eating disorder or I'm too fat to have an eating disorder they're telling me they don't recognize my pain.
I know I've said it before but can you imagine being stuck in a body you detest and starving it to no avail for eight years only to be told that you don't meet the criteria for your diagnosis?
Excruciating would be an understatement really.
When people don't acknowledge your pain you lose all sense of justification.
You forget that you have meaning and purpose and worth and you become the moldy wall paper peeling off rotted walls.
No one looks at you.
No one sees you.
I'm going to force them to see me this time.
I refuse to be invisible any longer.

Is it possible for me to lose 60lbs before my next appointment (which will probably be in two or three weeks)?

"You don't look like you have an eating disorder"

I went to my psychologist appointment today.
She's fantastic and she wants to help me and everything is not okay.
No one has ever really taken my eating disordered behaviors seriously.
She is.
One of the first things she did was give me the name of a psychiatrist she wants me to see that specializes in eating disorders.
He works on an eating disorder and she said she'd like me to get into the program (most likely outpatient).
But I can't get help for this right now.
I'm not thin enough.
There are going to be so many girls and boys thinner and sicker and more deserving of help there.
In short I'm freaking out.
Dad keeps asking if I have an eating disorder.
I told him "I don't know" and got up to purge.
We went to lunch and I had tomatos.
Thats all I ate and I purged them.
All of it came up so easily it's like I never stopped.
This new psychologist looked at me like I was moronic when I said "but I'm not sick enough".
Because when you aren't visibly sick no one takes you seriously.
When you say "I've been diagnosed with an eating disorder" everyone's eyes rape you searching for the protruding bones to confirm it.
But they don't realize its not in narrow angular figures that these eating disorders show themselves its in dead eyes.
Suffering is not limited to the emaciated girls with their prepubescent bodies it sits in the back of the throats of men and women choking on their own bile.
Its assumed I do not have an eating disorder because I do not fit into the cookie cut out version of your typical eating disordered person.
"Thin" isn't a stepping stone to beauty.
Its a key to open the door I've been searching for.
It means recovery and being seen.
Because when people say "you don't look like you have an eating disorder" what they are really saying is "we do not recognize your agony. We do not see you and we refuse to see you".
Right now I might as well be invisible.
I cannot receive help because this repulsive pudgy figure makes my years of starvation and binge purging invalid in the eyes of medical professionals.
These people do not see me they see the symptoms I do not display.
They see a body weight that doesn't fit their criteria.
A person who has a "healthy" body.
I am not courageous enough to make them look at me.

I'm sort of getting help? However unwanted it might be.

I really appreciate you.
All of you are so lovely and I know maybe five people still read this but I am grateful for each of you.
Everything is kind of chaotic right now.
Realistically I know I shouldn't be doing what I'm doing but I can't help it.
I gained so much weight and I look and feel so dreadful.
So I've decided to go back to my hard core restricting.
For the passed few days I haven't eaten above 600 calories and I think that 600 is a bit (lot) too much.
Cutting back to 300 seems safer and just generally more comfortable.
Not that I've been counting calories like I was I mainly just eat two or three safe foods a day.
Meaning I'll probably be way under 300 calories but I'm just so uncomfortable right now.
Also whenever I eat now I'm very aware of it?
Not so much how things taste or feel but the fact that I am putting this food in my mouth and it is going to be digested and make me fat.
I thought about purging yesterday but it's been so long and purging actually leads me to binge more.
It's ridiculous because it wasn't a binge it was 150 calories worth of rainbow sherbet.
Which is virtually fat free?
My hunger pains have been bad lately and I can see I lost weight in my face a bit but my stomach and legs have grown 57 times their original size I'm sure of it.
This is the reason I started abusing Dad's oxy.
I have this love/ hate feeling towards my disordered behaviors.
They are just so exhausting?
Lately though everything is exhausting.
I'm not trying to get better but I am going to try and be a better person.
Lukas is having a tough time right now and I really need to be there for him.
I've just been so self centered and he deserves better.
I'm not allowed to eat today I just can't handle it.
And I think if I'm able I won't eat tomorrow either.
I just don't want to deal with being massive on top of everything else.
Everything else being I actually have an appointment with a therapist on the 8th.
I forgot about it until a week or so ago.
I had asked for help a month ago when I actually wanted it so now I have to meet this new lady.
Keeping my fingers crossed that I like her and that she'll see me though because I do miss talking freely about my bullshit.
Not exactly asking for help right now but a someone to listen to my narcissistic monologuing would be nice.

Holding onto you

I'm reading things I know will hurt me.
Sometimes when I feel like I'm doing too well or have been healthier I like to read/ watch/ listen to really triggering things?
Today it's old personal posts from various eating disordered bloggers on tumblr.
I used to do this kind of thing for motivation but now I just want to feel miserable I guess.
Literally just after I typed up my previous post I thought of taking some oxy to make me feel better.
Pain meds are obviously not to be used for mental illness but they work?
Never have I ever had an antidepressant work for me as well as a narcotic.
There I go again prattling on about drugs.
I just want to be comfortable in my own skin is that too much to ask?
When I'm high I am more than comfortable and  yes I understand that's an escape and not solving the problem, but I don't know if  can solve it anymore.
Hear me out for a moment okay?
I've had these problems since I was really young.
Self harm going on what nine, ten years now?
I've been eating disordered or displayed eating disordered habits for over eight years now.
To some people this would obviously be exhausting and debilitating (which it is).
But it's really all I have.
I don't really have any identifying characteristics.
Really the only things I felt were mine or made me different (which is contradictory I know) were my "issues".
Which seems like a big joke to me knowing I've never gotten within twenty pounds of my "ugw".
Never been underweight either so it's not like anyone takes me seriously.
I know this is redundant.
You've heard this all before; from myself as well as other eating disordered people, but it's true.
I've only ever associated my self worth with my ability to harm myself in various different ways.
I'm not ignorant I do realize this isn't healthy or any way to live my life.
That being said I can't give it up.
Not yet.
Maybe after people start taking me seriously.
But I doubt that will ever happen.

An apology of sorts

I rarely ever respond to comments (mostly because I'm not good with people being nice to me I have no idea how to convey how appreciative I am and I usually wind up sounding like a spoiled ungrateful brat) but I thought I'd take the time to say something to this one.
First I'd like to apologize because I think I've needlessly worried you.
I made it seem like I'm doing hard core drugs in the corner of someone's sleazy basement.
When in reality what I'm doing can hardly be considered dangerous.
I've been taking oxycodone orally and no more than 1400mgs at a time.
This isn't even a daily habit.
Lately I've been taking more than what I used to but it's considered a more mild narcotic and not nearly as addictive as other pain relievers.
Although I'm saying that your worry isn't necessary I am not in any way saying I'm ungrateful for it.
I feel the opposite actually I'm incredibly thankful that someone gives a shit.
But I assure you I am not ruining my life over this.
I have all of thirteen pills left and no means to find more.
Getting more pills would also require a certain amount of effort that I am not willing to expend.
Really the only reason I've been abusing these pills is because they greatly reduce my appetite.
Also I find it sort of liberating to not be in mental agony 24/7 (though I am aware this isn't exactly a cure or healthy).
I know this sort of makes me sound like someone in denial over their drug habits/addictions but I only started taking oxy a month ago and only for the last two weeks have I been taking over what the recommended dose is.
Obviously I'm not taking it as prescribed seeing as it's not even my prescription but I'm not taking 1880mgs a day I promise.
I'm sorry to have worried you and I really hope I haven't upset you further.
And that being said please if anyone finds the things I post about to be unsettling or triggering please unfollow I do not wish to hurt anyone.

Don't worry be happy

My life is measured in milligrams.
I have two stashes of pills now.
The stash for suicide and the stash for getting high.
For the passed month I've been abusing my Dad's oxy.
Lately I've started taking more and more of it.
This should probably be worrisome but honestly?
I just like the way it makes me feel.
Everything takes on a warm glow and I get this prickly sensation that sits behind my skin.
It's lovely really.
There's something wonderful about narcotics really.
I think it's the way that depending on how they're ingested they can slow everything down or put your mind into overdrive.
Realistically I know that I need to stop taking these because I get addicted to things in .3 seconds.
But it's nice when I don't have to care about anything and I feel comfortable in my body.
Oxy does that for me.
I could count on one hand the number of things I've eaten in the passed two days and I don't even feel hungry.
At the same time I could have eaten the contents of my fridge and it wouldn't matter because I don't have to care.
Flashbacks?
Take an oxy.
Stressed about future?
Have two more.
I've never had a self destructive habit that actually made me feel good before.
Not in the same way this does.
Currently I can feel the last pill I took kicking and it's such a pretty feeling.

Pills and pills and pills and more pills always pills.

I've been thinking a lot about those pills recently.
The ones stashed in my closet.
Also the ones Dad thinks he hid from me but are really just sitting in a box under his bathroom sink waiting for me.
I've been thinking about how nice it is to just take a few pills and go to sleep.
How lovely it feels when you take just a bit too much oxy and everything gets all soft around the edges.
Really if given the chance I would do heroin in a heartbeat.
Downers are so wonderful I don't know how I functioned without them.
And it would be so easy.
Twenty could probably be enough to kill me the script is really strong.
Maybe not even that many.
I'd just go to sleep and never wake up.
At the worst I'd vomit in my sleep (because too many pills does that to you if you didn't know) and asphyxiate.
Which would probably be awful and painful but hey if it happens in my sleep maybe I won't feel it.
I'm just so tired.
Everything is so difficult.
It's all just so fucked up and I can't fix it.
And I don't know if I really want to anyways.
Maybe I'll go back on meds.
I'm not sure if I'll actually take them or just add them to my collection.
I think I'm at 237 now.
Seems like such a small number but really it's pretty impressive.
Well I think so at least.
Might actually be enough to really kill me this time.
It's a nice thought anyways.

Update?

Remember when I wanted everyone to give up and stop caring?
I was wrong.
Never did I actually think everything could get so fucked up.
I'm tired and I don't know what to do.
Lukas lost his phone.
Actually it was stolen which just makes him another person that I can't talk to.
He's all I have but I can't even talk to him.
I got fat again but that's not new.
Really I think I'm just going to not wake up.
Upon waking up I'm going to take some oxy and got the fuck back to bed.
There really isn't a point anymore.

Panic

Everyone is going to leave me.
All the people that I used to be friends with here left for college and got on with their lives.
They stopped caring because they had better things to care about.
Now I feel like the people I have no are going to forget about me too.
It's a really small group of people but I thought if I only had a few friends they'd be less likely to leave me.
They are all getting older and closer and closer to their graduations and they are going to go off to some big university and forget about me.
And I'll just be sitting here.
Rotting away in my bedroom wishing someone could save me or kill me.
I'm never going to get to college.
All the things I wanted to do in my life are never going to happen.
Mostly because I don't think I'll ever have the courage to actually accomplish anything.
Especially if the things I want to do are for myself.
I spend ten years getting better and worse better worse betterish then so much worse again.
There is no college for me.
No art school will ever take me.
I might as well just die because I'm never going to be the person I want to be.
But I'm not even good at dying.
So I'll just sit here and wait for my body to give up on its own accord.
And as I sit here I'll watch them leave.
They always leave.

Family. Fuck no.

Just remembered that Mom wants to go visit my Grandma next week.
That means we have to go into Gibsonburg and see all my family.
I am not thin enough to go see my family.
Weighed myself this morning and I'm finally back down to 139 but a week is not enough time for me to lose 20 more pounds.
Kinda freaking out right now.
My family always comments on how I look and unless there is a very visible change with my weight they are going to think I've been eating the same way I was before?
One thing about my family is that they fucking feed you.
You go there for dinner and you will gain about 5 pounds in one sitting.
There isn't really a way for me to get out of eating there.
I also need to wear long sleeves and I look so fat in everything I own.
Two of my cousins have been dieting and going to the gym for about a year now and they got so thin I cannot be seen around them being so fat.
I feel like I failed?
Last time I saw them I made myself a promise that I would be a lot thinner when I saw them again.
139 pounds is a little less than I was but that's still too much.
Way way too much I'm so upset with myself.
If I didn't think I would binge like crazy I would start a week long fast but I would binge.
Not to mention the fact that I will have to eat constantly around my mother and I know I'm going to gain.
There is nothing more terrifying to me right now than gaining weight.
I haven't even eaten today but I'm so bloated.
Now I'm also really anxious so I'm afraid I won't be able to eat or if I do eat I'll have to purge.
I only purge when I eat too much of a safe food (i.e. three mugs-always eaten in a mug- of cheerios in less than a 24 time span) or I've eaten a food that makes me anxious.
But if I keep thinking about this everything is going to make me anxious.
I don't want to see my family.
I don't want to turn nineteen.
I don't want to be forced to eat.
Can I please just sleep through the next two weeks?

Longing

Sometimes I look at all these girls I follow who are recovering and I get jealous.
Not just of their courage and the fact that they are happier but also the treatment programs themselves.
It may seem contradictory but I think treatment would be great for me.
Being on a locked ward has generally helped me in the past.
Picking out my meal options setting up a plan for therapy and working towards a happier life seems wonderful.
Realistically I'm never going to ask for help.
That's just not happening.
I actually need people to see whats going on with me.
For someone to acknowledge that they see my suffering would be not only justification but also a huge relief.
Right now I'm in charge of my life and I'm making a huge mess of it.
To have a person come in and see the severity of my illness and say "You need  help." is all I want really.
It's so contradictory that I'm getting sick to get well.
But in order for people to notice the danger they actually have to see physical symptoms and side effects.
Don't get me wrong.
I only feel like this on certain days.
Mostly I think only of the numbers on the scale or how many calories I've eaten, how my weight translates into kilos, when can I eat, is my current system working, where can I cut back, do I need to add more exercise to my daily routine or am I too exhausted on average is my intake low or should I snip a few more calories off etc etc.
And as I sit here thinking "wow I wish I could recover" or "she's doing so well in recovery!" I pop another diet pill and think about when I can allow myself to eat today.
Really it's an exhausting miserable existence but it's mine and I can't seem to get out of it.
When I think about how lovely recovery could be for me I know realistically I'm going to cry and hate it and myself and everyone who pushed me to recover when I get there.
But I also know that this constant misery isn't better and when I'm ready to I will recover and I will give it my all.
For now I'll subsist on Cheerios and frozen raspberries.

Actually trying to make changes wo a h

Going to try and be productive today.
There's a list of things I need to get done so maybe I can actually start pretending I'm actually living.
Versus what I've been doing which consists mostly of sleeping and eating too much.
Mom is coming in for my birthday and she wants me to get a bunch of shit done before she gets here.
Over the summer Dad gutted my room and set up some of my new furniture but it's still under construction.
She wants that finished by the 23rd.
I've already come to terms with the fact that this shit isn't getting finished before then but if I pretend I'm trying maybe she won't be angry with me.
When Dad wakes up I'm going to pluck my eyebrows and beg him to take me to a sporting goods store to get exercise equipment.
If I'm doing this shit I might as well go all out and although I'm about as athletic as a boulder I feel like maybe I can try to do something in the realm of physical activity.
Besides the whole going to try and exercise thing I'm also keeping a new food journal and I'm going to try and keep a routine.
I've been trying to establish some sort of routine in my life for years now but since I'm not currently attending school or working it might actually work for once.
I am also going to start making lists for things that need to get done or that I want to accomplish.
For normal people who actually do shit with their lives my list might seem pathetic but keep in mind I'm pretty much a fucking sloth.

6.10.13//
-pluck my eyebrows (got like caterpillars growing on my fucking forehead shit is ridiculous)
-convince Dad it is imperative that I have exercise equipment
-wash my bedroom walls (they have like black scuffs on them from my old furniture ugh)
-do some fucking laundry holy shit I have the equivalent to the Appalachian Mountains in dirty laundry
-shave my legs I may or may not wear shorts depending on the temperature and my degree of laziness
-paint nails
-study for my drivers license
-straighten up my room so I don't have boxes of shit everywhere
-call Mom so she doesn't bitch that I never fucking call her
-smoke cigarette with Samantha (I miss her face stupid brat going to college and doing things with her life)
-find a link for Black Swan online
-write in food journal
-weigh myself probably fifty times and cry a lot
-also read Wasted

I'm actually very excited about painting my nails.
My nails haven't been painted in so long and I'm gonna make them all cute and Halloween themed.
And getting exercise equipment is productive in the way of weight loss so I feel like I'm actually working for the things I want which is super cool and something I never do ever.
Maybe my day won't actually be too bad we'll see how it goes.

Mania

I'm manic again.
My hands are shaking and I have this never ending panicky feeling that sits in my chest.
All these fears of my future keep swirling around in my head like an awful horror story lullaby sung by those creepy dead children.
I won't ever get into school.
No where near good enough to get into art school.
I'll be living here for the rest of my life bingeing and purging left overs from three weeks ago and breathing putrid bile smelling air.
My art isn't good enough for art school and even if I got in I'd never be able to keep up with the pace of the class or the work load.
I'm going to be a failure.
I'm going to be fat and unhappy for the rest of my pathetic existence.
I'm going to lose everyone I love because I'm a worthless piece of shit.
It just goes on and on.
I need a change and it needs to happen soon.
But it requires me to actually suck up my feelings of inadequacy and just DO IT.
Not to mention all this shit is so terrifying.
I'll be on my own at college no one to hold my hand and I won't be good enough everyone will hate me.
And with good reason jesus fucking christ.
It all seems so irration when I type it out like this but I know that when facing the situation I'm going to burn holes in my arms with cigarettes and give the fuck up.
I never stick with anything and I always give up because if you don't try you can't fail and if you quit no one can really say that you wouldn't have made it right?
I just don't know what to do and I'm so scared of my future and growing up no one ever prepared me for this and I'm fucking terrified.

Rotting

I'm growing antsy in my own skin.
Everything is itchy and too tight and too uncomfortable.
There's a frightening awareness of how fucked up my life is that keeps popping up whenever I try to sleep.
My shit was supposed to be put together by now.
Still don't have my drivers license.
I have yet to apply for jobs or register for spring classes.
The portfolio that is essential for me to get into art school has been collecting dust for three years.
My hands are shaking.
Anxious doesn't even being to describe how I feel.
There's a heavy weight of shame and guilt that sits on my shoulders.
It's unshakable and I'm beginning to think I will be saddled with this dread for the rest of my existence.
This is an entirely unpleasant life I'm leading here.
Getting out of bed shouldn't be such a feat and I should have higher standards by which to judge my stability.
What stability do I really have though?
Sure I'm not vomiting everyday and I've been showering regularly but staying in your room for six days isn't living.
None of what I do can be considered living actually.
I've been rereading Wasted whenever my head gets too small to contain my self loathing.
Don't know how I got it in my head that reading the book that contains all my shame and insecurities could possibly be therapeutic but that doesn't exactly stop me from scribbling in the already full margins.
I think I'm losing the only person in my life who matters and I'm trying to pretend it doesn't make me want to die.
But I'm going to focus on the things that I can control right now so I'll pop a diet pill and make myself  tea.
Maybe I'll have another cigarette too.
I miss Lukas so much it's hard to breathe.
Not that my lungs ever worked well to begin with.

I need to get thinner.
Nothing else matters right now.
If I try to focus on anything other than this it'll all fall apart.
This is all I need.

Falling apart

I gained weight and I can physically see it.
Dad insists that I lost weight but he doesn't know anything.
Went into to the ER again yesterday because I got really confused and my heart hurt.
They found nothing wrong with me of course.
So I looked like one of those pathetic kids that asks for medical help to get attention from their parents.
Not that it would matter they wrote off my physical symptoms convinced that this was a mental health issue.
But maybe they were right to think that.
After all I'm healthy so how could there be anything actually wrong with me?
I've decided to stop asking for help.
For the passed couple of weeks I had been asking dad to find me a therapist.
Not anymore.
Over the last few days I've been eating more because the pain meds for my kidney stone need to be taken with food.
Guess what I stopped taking.
I'm pretty much through with trying to get better and I've decided if no one will believe me now then its obvious I have to get worse.
I'm also done telling the people close to me things.
Sure of course I'll still tell Lukas but Samantha and Will don't need to know anymore.
Don't remember if I mentioned Will but right now that's not important.
Eventually I'd like to get better.
Recovery and all that wonderful happy bullshit.
I fail to see how that will work unless people actually believe there is a problem.
But people never believe anything they can't see so I guess it's time I got visibly ill.
Only took me eight years.

I went to the ER for a kidney stone.
They took blood work and ran tests.
I'm considered healthy.
"Your blood work is really great!"
I have never been so disappointed in myself.

The last time I listened to this song I said it would be the song I played next time I killed myself.
I have to have a song for the occasion.
Wouldn't have it any other way.

Growing old feels like you're giving up your soul

I'm so tired.
It dawned on me that I will be nineteen this year.
Two years beyond my expiration date.
Everyday the weight of that knowledge gets heavier.
Five years old was easier; safer.
I'm not safe anymore.
I've stopped eating everything but cheerios and some fruit and tea.
I purge almost everyday, sometimes more than twice.
So far I've lost 28 lbs in three and a half weeks.
I do not feel better.
Relapsed again but it's not a surprise really.
I am still not attending college.
No driver's license or job either.
Maybe I'll never accomplish anything.
I've singlehandedly ruined my relationship.
We're still together but I'm being awful so I wouldn't blame him if he broke it off.
Not to mention I have feelings for someone else and it's not like I attempt to hide it.
His name is Will and he breaks my heart a lot but I deserve it.
I've been fondling my pill stash and maybe one of these days I'll actually ingest them.
For now I guess counting them everyday is enough.
I'm very sick.
Getting sicker.
Sorry.

Lately I've begun to realize how insignificant I am.
It's a strange thing to feel so useless.
There's this part of me that still hopes I could be the person I have always wished to be.
So I keep standing here contemplating moving forward but still rooted to this spot.
My muscles are deteriorating and my legs will give out before I can even begin to imagine a better life.

There is a certain degree of shock that comes with being told that no one wants you.
Almost like you never believed everything you told yourself in the first place.
Worthless takes on a new meaning when it sits on someone else's lips.
Because maybe you knew you'd never live up to your own expectations but there was always someone; at least one person, who could make you feel like your life had meaning.
Everywhere you turn though it seems all you can hear is everything you've ever told yourself but this time in foreign voices.
These were supposed to be the people that love you but now you suddenly don't recognize them; their faces twisted in disgust.
In pity.
So you start to feel like you never meant anything.
You were never wanted.
And your parents fight over who has to deal with you this time because maybe you're just too much of a hassle.
But I guess the real question here:
Is what am I supposed to do now that I know they never cared.

I graduated high school.
What a scary feeling this is.

A collection of suicide notes

There's this feeling you get when you finish a really great book, you know the one?
It's like time stopped while you were reading and now it's all rushed to catch up with you.
So you are watching your life on fast forward like a horror film and it hits you.
All of the things you regret and everything you wish you could change but can't.
Everything feels so hollow like all the hopes and dreams you've ever had were just decorated lies.
You feel like you can't breathe and to pick up another book feels as if it would be a massive betrayal.
To ever read another word would be like swallowing needles.

It's a heavy feeling.
Not unlike the feeling of missing a love you never knew; remembering things that never happened.
Floating peacefully in an acid vat.
You have suddenly realized you are going to die and it feels like it will be very soon.
And now you have so many adieus to bid.
Its all so terrifying.
Because I'm not afraid or anxious.
I'm relieved.
After so long of thinking that I could get better whenever I felt like it I realized that its no longer possible.
That these little whispers of future have been all for appearances sake and I never truly believed I'd be going to art school.
Or France.
Now I have to tally up all the things I owe and every broken promise.
Somehow I have to make it okay for everyone else or at the very least give them assurance that nothing is their fault.
I've written so many undelivered suicide notes that I find them hiding in every notebook I own.
Remembering that I'm not supposed to be alive is a little strange for me.
Realizing that I might die this time doesn't bother me as much as it probably should but then again I guess that is the point isn't it?
I have a few promises I have to make good on but when they are gone I keep wondering what will be left?
There could always be more if I decide on that; if I allowed myself to believe I was entertaining the notion of a different possible outcome.
But I'm not and that will be the end of it.
It feels nice actually.
Like maybe this is as inevitable as it seems and I only have to worry about little things I want to do before.
Unlike the last (3) time(s) this one isn't spontaneous.
I am not making an impulse decision here.
This is planned.
Mind you I haven't thought of when or how but for some reason it feels like four times the charm.
I feel like this has been creeping up on me for a very long time.
Don't worry this isn't goodbye, at least not yet it isn't.
But soon maybe.

I'm tired.
I can't tell what I'm feeling or if that's a good thing or a really bad thing.
I have to make some serious decisions about my life.
Decisions I'm incapable of making in any state let alone my current one.
Things are either going to get really awful or better.
I'm betting on the former.
Which ever it is I guess I need to say thank you.
Thanks for sticking through it with me.

Currently participating in the I fucking hate myself diet.
I think everyone should do it the only down side is you have to eat everything in sight and hate yourself for it and you'll probably gain 200lbs.

How can you be so self righteous as to think no one else can suffer as you do?

I get so tired of hearing people screaming their negativity claiming that it helps their cause. Because fixating on the abuser will somehow bring back the innocence of your voice. Its frustrating when you see people set back their own movement with words of cynical hatred of the people who push them down. As if you aren't giving them exactly what they look for when they hit you. Rather than fight to ease the pain of our fellow suffers we scream retribution for the people who are burning themselves at the stake. As if revenge could ever be satisfying. You can inject them with arsenic baby doll but that won't ever win you your self respect. How can we presume to call ourselves survivors if we are drowning in the quest to punish? You can spend your whole life looking for someone to blame and trying to make them pay their dues but it will never give you the satisfaction. Point your fingers and scream until your lungs give out but try not to pay attention to the shackles you have helped them fasten to your wrists. I am tired of hearing the words "Check your privilege". People have decided that because I have a sum of crumpled green paper to my name I am somehow exempt from the suffrage of humanity. Because the amount of dollars or pounds or euros are assumed to determine whether or not you get raped. Or contract an eating disorder. Or get diagnosed with cancer. Or suffer indescribable agonizing pain. It's a disgusting world we live in where we can't even talk about our pain without fear of mockery or accusation of fabrication for sympathy.

Again

All of the sudden I forgot that I was breathing.
I forgot that I was living and feeling okay.
Maybe I just didn't realize that's what stable meant at least I didn't until now.
Now when it's beyond too late and everything has crumbled to nothing on my fingertips.
I keep finding myself wondering what if what if.
And in that question there is such a profound sense of romance; a disgusting amount of want.
What if this is the last time they ever see me?
Will this be the last drawing I ever make?
If I succeed will he hate me?
All of these wicked little questions probing and prodding feelings I haven't recognized in over a year.
It feels like such a long time.
Considering my history with subject of suicide this shouldn't feel like a shock.
I should have gotten used to the random onsets of impulsive behaviors.
Fantasizing about my own death is nothing new by any means.
It's just not common for me anymore.
I am not happy and I don't think I properly understand that feeling but for a moment; a precious few seconds, I got a taste of pure blissful neutral.
Not actively suicidal- not actively recovering.
A little limbo of not-quite-almost-sick-but-no-where-near-well.
And with all things considered it wasn't nearly as pleasant as healthy would seem to have been.
But comparatively I think I would rather go back to that.
I wished for this though so I guess now is the time to shut the fuck up and reap what I have sown.
But maybe I forgot what constant agony felt like.
Maybe I thought it wouldn't hurt quite so much this time and I would get used to- maybe eventually appreciate the misery.
But who can see any kind of beauty in their own torment?
How could this possibly provide any kind of enjoyment?
There is no justification in mental illness.
There is no glamour or glory.
Nothing comes from this.
I wish I could say that my suffrage brought out the best in me.
That perhaps it made me more kind or creative.
If I could spin my martyrdom into majestic works of art then I probably wouldn't be so repulsively bitter.
I can't turn pain into poetry or stitch patchwork paintings with my scarred flesh.
I have smoked away a pack of cigarettes in less than four days.
I picked up my old habit of grinding out my frustrations into my skin with every cigarette I light.
I keep trying to find some semblance of apathy or maybe just a moment of peaceful stability but nothing.
It all feels so empty and I'm getting tired of counting the friends I don't have and the people who stopped caring.
I've run out of hands and honestly I'd rather find the numerical value of my pill stash.
At least that feels a little more gratifying.

Pretty much the only reason I haven't tried to kill myself yet is because I haven't finished school.
I feel like I owe it to my mother to at least graduate first.

I went to prom

So I figure before I tell you all how fucked up things got I'll upload pictures from prom.
Lets not talk about how much weight I gained20fuckingpoundshahahkillme.

Sam, Me, Ben

Hunter, Rachel, Juanita, Caleb, Sammi, Rebecca, Me, Amber

Hunter, Rachel, Juanita, Caleb, Sammi, Rebecca, Me, Amber

Rebecca, Me, Amber

Rachel and Hunter looked so fucking cute

Rebecca and Sammi are the prettiest

Amber and fatfat Me

Who let the whale wear a dress now that's the question

Sam is great

I love my brothers a lot okay

Sammi, Rebecca, Rachel, Hunter, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber

Rachel, Hunter, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber 

Rebecca, Sammi, Rachel, Hunter, Erin, WeJustDon'tKnow, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber

Rebecca, Sammi, Rachel, Hunter, Erin, PrettySureHisNameStartsWithN??, Caleb, Juanita, Mutest e, Amber

SomeDude, Caleb, Juanita, Ew, Amber

So Hunter is the cutest cutie and so are the rest of my adorable friendswhoInevertalktohahahahfuck. Okay yes now that's over we won't ever talk about it againImisshavingfriendsandbeingabletohangoutwithpeoplewithoutbeingafuckeduppieceofshitwowdone.

I have four days until prom and the biggest issue I have is whether or not I should kill myself afterwards or just skip it and forget the wasted money in favor of another hospital trip.
Decisions, decisions.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
One moment everything is fine and the next I've lapsed back two years in my mental stability.
I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss feeling like this but bouncing back and forth is getting kind of old you know?
It would be nice if it was just one or the other but it never is.
Honestly I don't even think I'd mind being completely fucked up again I just hate this wishy washy feeling.
School work should be my top priority since I have until the end of the month to graduate or redo senior year.
But at this point I honestly don't care.
I should because my friends and family do but I just give the fuck up.
Samantha is graduating in June.
I need to finish or I can't go see her graduate.
The worst thing is that I don't think I care.
I just want to stay and bed and not exist for a year.
Not like I'm going to college in the fall anyways.
What's the point?

Sweetheart can bargain half price mistakes

I scare more easily these days.
It makes me feel unsure of myself and my feelings.
One moment I'll feel wonderful through-the-roof-great and then I think that maybe I'm too happy and find myself plummeting straight into a panic attack.
I binged and purged last night and it felt bizarre.
Like maybe it wasn't happening to me but someone else.
It's weird now that I have started to equate food with calm or numbness.
Food has always been closely associated with my emotions but lately things have lost their taste and shape.
I just feel the temperature and the solidness; no texture.
Been talking to some old faces.
Distant far-away friends of a few or so years ago and each voice leaves an unsavory lump in my throat.
They knew someone else from a time that doesn't really exist to me anymore.
Maybe its so hard because I hate to face what I did to them; how I treated them.
Or maybe it has to do with who I am now and facing how fucked up everything got.
My memory is in tatters.
I feel like every minute that passes is another snapshot gone- just another voice I can't attach to a pair of lips.
Everything feels so disconnected, or maybe that's just me?
I can't seem to fit myself into any picture not even the ones of my face.
Is it just that I see the change?
That the shift in personality, behaviour, thought, and feeling is so evident so prominent in the glassy brown eyes that I can't identify with my reflection?
Or is it that I never really did in the first place?
I have so many questions and none of them has or will have any type of answer.

Ignore them tonight you'll be alright

I never claimed to be a good person.
If help is available I will readily refuse it.
My self destruction is automatically infinitely more important than anything else in my life: little to no exceptions.
If I feel that my life style is in danger I will do everything in my power to ensure its security: if that means dropping a friend or all of them I will do so.
Hypocritical; narcissistic; cowardly; unintelligible; indefinitely bitchy- so don't expect to much.
I have a tendency to get so depressed I forgo all semblance of humanity in favor of an eight day nap (that includes hygiene  try waking up after a 19 hours of sleep face covered in grime and smelling like that moldy strawberry at the back of the fridge that seems to have grow its own forms of sentient life).
My stash of pills, expired food, bloody and vomit covered towels, angsty suicide notes, and rusty razor blades are more important than school work or relationships so don't be surprised if I blow you off to count and arrange them for hours on end- nothing personal except yeah it actually is.
I can't make plans even a day ahead because I will wind up stressing so much over it that either my head will implode or I will take all of the pills I can find around the house (I have actually done this several times and now that I have a stash of 217 pills I think it'll probably be fatal this time).
I feel more at home in the psych ward than I do anywhere else which kind of makes me want to give up on life in general.
If you are close to me at all you will be hurt- and by hurt I mean I will probably rip your heart out of your chest put it through a meat grinder and probably let my dog shit on it a few times.
It'll be completely unintentional I swear.
Don't ever be my friend because I will tell you how wonderful and important you are and then drop off the face of the earth for weeks on end only returning when you threaten to leave my sorry ass.
I am obviously the most classy person you'll ever meet and on a good day my clothes will be covered in vomit, blood, snot, sweat, and probably little bits of food from six weeks ago (if it's a particularly wonderful day some of that vomit won't even be mine).
Procrastination is an art and I'm goddamn Da Vinci who else can say they haven't done any school work in three months (to be fair I go to a digital academy which has some of the lowest scores in the state so just logging into the homepage is considered attendance)?
I'm really vain and the way I feel about my appearance has the ability to dictate my mood on any given day and/ or drive me to suicide.
My ability to self destruct determines my self worth so telling me I'm looking better or healthy is basically saying I am a failure and a waste and I should probably just off myself already.
If you ever feel the need to comment on my weight or the shape of my body you can deep throat a chainsaw because I honestly don't want to hear it.
I have attached a positive connotation to all things negative so if you tell me I look sick or that my scars are severe I will instantly feel pride in myself for being ill enough for you to notice.
I am not anywhere near a good partner but insult my significant other and you might find your intestines wrapped around your throat.
The only time your opinion actually has an effect on me is if it's a negative one.
Insult my art and I will set myself on fire same goes if you compliment it because I do not believe you no exceptions.
I am only good at giving hugs and if you ever give me a half hearted hug I will never trust you again (but touch me without my consent and you will lose your goddamn torso).
I have a tendency to try to kill myself when my Mom is planning a surprise visit (it's actually really distressing).
I envy people I've never spoken to before.
A lot of the time I spend wishing to be someone other than myself.
Life is just really hard sometimes and I can't really cope.
This is dumb.

I give up.

Really unimportant

My thigh is killing me.
I have a three inch long gash that's fair in depth.
Definitely not my worst but considering I was finally two months (give or take a few days) into recovery this is a huge fucking blow.
But:
I have decided I don't give a shit.
I chewed a small hole in my lip and because I purged yesterday I'm afraid it'll get infected or at the very least continue to hurt like a goddamn bitch.
Amber is mad at me and I can't really say I blame her all that much.
She's upset because I never answer my phone or her skype or facebook messages and she says she won't come to me for help if she needs someone and its kinda fucking insulting?
Like I know I'm a shit friend I stopped priding myself on my friendship skills when I lost basically all of them but to insinuate that I don't care is hurtful.
She forgets that I'm human and that socializing in general for me is very hard considering stepping outside has literally sent me into panic attacks.
So although I'd like to be her pseudo-therapist it's impossible.
There's only so much I can take before her problems all become my problems and wind up triggering me or cause me to relapse so terribly that I get hospitalized again.
That's sort of a terrifying thought considering it'll be an adult psych ward this time and rather than filled with ignorant suicidal children it'll be filled with people who suffer from severely debilitating mental illnesses: people who obviously deserve help more than myself.

Anyways.
I restarted my private-ish secondary blog if anyone wants to join the reading list just comment or send me a message.
I haven't bothered to weigh myself for a while and it's starting to bug me so tomorrow I'm going to jump on the scale.
I've been having weird dreams lately and all of them in some way relate to food. They can't really be called night terrors at this point but they are getting more vivid and morbid so I expect a 72+ hour day coming up shortly.
I woke up at 2:15 amish and I'll probably wind up falling asleep at 3:00 pm again.
More later maybe?

I haven't purged in so long that I can't even get half of it up and so completely disgusted with myself.

Up two pounds

And instead of freaking out I decided to dance all day.
I feel okayish despite the fact that I ate ice cream this morning.
I am slightly (ridiculously) ashamed of myself?
But really good workout day and I think I'll try to dance everyday now.
This is a shitty post but I've been really shitty for the passed few days.
Really sorry.
Possibly more later?

I felt almost normal yesterday

I actually got out of the house and socialized yesterday.
My friend Amber took me to hang out with her group of friends ( which also use to be my group of friends).
I had so much fun.
It was great we went to Ambiance for one of their birthdays and then we got smoothies (and I had a minor freak out because it wasn't the right size smoothie and had too many calories).
Then we all went to another friends house and there were like seven of us in the basement.
It got awkward at some points though.
I have a really hard time trying to talk with people who are normal or not disordered??
And one of the friends Caleb is or was a self harmer?
For some reason every time I got a glance at the scars on his legs I felt really triggered.
It was just hard for me to be around all of them while they ate and laughed and talked about college and jobs.
I'm exhausted and I can't go to college in the fall I'm too busy being a fuck up.
I don't have a job because I'm too unstable.
I can't eat because I have several debilitating mental illnesses that make it impossible to touch pizza without some sort of panic attack ensuing.
I hate being reminded that I'm just another mentally ill kid surrounded by people who can handle their problems with ease.
And the best part?
Four of them are going to art school next year.
I can't go to art school or even apply because I'm too fucked up to do anything like follow my dreams.

Pictures oops

It's really nice to know that some of you are still breathing.
I like to go through my followers every once in a while and see if they are doing okay so it's really nice to know some of you started new blogs and doing well enough to post every once in a while.
I feel like I should make a realistic update?
I've been holding onto my illnesses like a life raft but despite the fact that I'm restricting again and I lost 7.8 lbs this week:
I'm actually doing well.<
I haven't self harmed in over a month and I haven't purged in a little over a month and a half.
So! Pictures I guess,,

Amber

REALLY CUTE PICTURE OF LUKAS AHHHHHHHH

these are my worst scars and they are healing so nicely

I'm still ugly

PLEASE IGNORE THE BATHROOM OMG

I was really afraid that I would be triggered when these turned white and I am but it's not as bad as I thought.

Tell me; am I very far?

I'm scared all the time now.
I can't be alone but the company of other people is too painful and foreign.
There's this weight that sits on my chest.
Everything is too hard, too loud, too much, too intense, too big, and never manageable enough.
Sometimes I can't wake up.
I'm aware of my wakefulness but my body won't move; my heart pitter patters too slow and I feel like I'm drowning in my own body.
Other times I wake up in a cold sweat anxiety seeping from my pore there is a horrid dream sitting on the tip of my tongue and for some reason I can only remember the fear.
I find myself staring off into space and tuning whole days out.
Walking without being aware of it.
My own thoughts are screeching sirens.
I've been here before.
Something is different this time.
There's this huge detail I refuse to look at.
A knife that is plunged deep into my back: I can feel it but if I don't look at it it doesn't exist.
I smile smile smile and everything just seems to get worse worse worse.
My own terror; the thing that is killing me, seems to be the only thing driving me.
I'm not ready for this-
I can't grow up yet please don't make me.
I'm terrified.

PSA

If you see that I have unfollowed you please don't be alarmed.
Message me about it so I know which blog you own.
It could have been an accident but I have unfollowed a lot of blogs.
If I unfollowed you purposefully it is because your blog was either very triggering or I do not share the same views as you.
I sincerely apologize if my unfollowing has offended you in any way.

Neutral?

Sam sweetheart I sent it so you should get a notification in that email soon!

This other blog
I'm running will have daily food and exercise logs and pictures of the food I'm eating.
I have a page for my weigh ins and a list of the food I eat.
Really it's meant for me to be able to keep track of my weight loss in a clear organized way but if people are interested in reading they can.
I'll probably put other mundane things like what I'm reading and what I do on a daily basis.
Again it's really just a way for me to document whats going on in my life right now.
This blog stands more for my emotions and how I am feeling mentally which is really helpful and will be for when I look back on it but it doesn't help me remember things well??
I have been experiencing little memory holes,, like I'll try to think of a year or two ago but I only have little snap shots.
So I feel like if I become more diligent with keeping up with my blogs I can help fill some of the gaps.
It's not really special but this other blog will be really triggering and I'll probably post before and after pictures and maybe if I'm feeling really adventurous I'll do vlogs???
I probably won't make it public because of how triggering it is for me and the last thing I want to do is trigger other people so again just leave a comment or message me an email address you use so I can add you to the reading list.
I'll probably post more later.

new blog

I have a new blog to record my weight loss and such.
Its private because its incredibly triggering but if you wish to have daily updates on how I'm doing just send me an email adress I can have the notification sent to.*

* I do reserve the right to say I don't feel comfortable giving it to a user. I probably will only allow a select amount of people read it as it will be highly personal.

I am the biggest coward of all

I need to make certain decisions pertaining to how I want my life to play out.
For a long time now I have been putting it off content to live in my limbo of not too sick but not recovered either.
Its almost like a fake stability.
Not entirely ready to face life but also not ready to let go of my dreams.
I feel very torn between two halves of myself.
On the one hand I am very ready to get back to my life.
I have been living a sort of non existence for a very long time ago and a very large part of me is ready to experience life again.
But then another enormous piece of myself is screaming for the justification; some semblance of achievement as a disordered person.
Which if I'm being honest is bullshit and I'm just afraid that if I get better I'll stop meaning anything.
I will go through a huge identity crisis because holy shit I contracted these disorders during a key time in my developing a personality.
But in hind sight that is obviously better than the amount of suffrage I will have to go through to feel some sort of accomplishment.
If I'm being completely truthful I know that I will never in my life experience a feeling of satisfaction in my illness.
I will never gain anything but horrifying agony and I won't ever feel sick enough to warrant any type of help.
But rather than allow myself to be rational about this I will throw all logical thinking out the window.
I'd rather throw more years of my life away before admitting that I'm just a coward who doesn't know how to properly convey how I feel about myself.
Please do not ever mistake my cowardice for bravery.
It isn't courage you see written here.
It is a lie.
A pretty lie that a scared little girl tells herself so she won't have to own up to the mistakes she's made or face the consequences of her actions.

I know better.
I should never let it have happen.
Now I'm going to suffer for it.
There isn't anything worse than hope and don't you let anyone try to tell you otherwise.
Hoping for something better than you have; something more.
The strength to grind your demons into sparkly dust or maybe just enough courage to get through the day.
Well eventually the days get longer and the hours stretch into the wastelands you will perish in.
Your flesh is going to slough off your bones and the very essence of your being will be reduced to petrified goop.
I'd take nothing over this.
Apathy is beyond blissful after you've experienced the agony of your own mental atrophy.
Pitiful though isn't it?
To have actually gone so far only to slit your throat at the finish line; the fear of failing so overbearing that it crushes your very last hope of getting there.
Of getting better.
I was hoping I could recover even if it was half-hearted and for the sake of others.
It was an idiotic feat and I was foolish for ever believing it would work.
I have only succeeded in sabotaging my every attempt to feel even remotely okay.
Enough.
I am done and to be quite honest I don't think I can do it anymore.

Inhale to the top of my lungs, I'll be dying for this

My entire life I have been filing all the things I want out of life into little boxes and putting them on a shelf for later.
But later never comes.
All of the things I have every wished for or dreamed of withered away with my ability to function.
And for what?
So I can hide in my own self loathing and pretend I'm living a life I actually like?
I hate it.
I hate every aspect of my not-really life.
Hiding that's what I'm doing.
I shut myself away in these four walls and tell myself it's normal.
Normal to fear relationships and people.
It is 100% normal in my world to cower from expectations and responsibilities.
And you know what?
That's totally fucked up.
I have a panic attack and then give up on whatever it is that scares me.
I'm not going to recover anytime soon because I'm not ready.
But telling myself that the day will never come is a stupid pointless lie.
I have hopes and dreams and I won't abandon them in favor of a life viewed through a computer monitor.

I just finished a 75 minute work out and now I'm going to shower and make myself a cup of coffee.
I'm going to then go on an hour long walk and smoke my cigarettes.
I won't quit making bad decisions today or maybe even tomorrow.
It might take fifteen years for me to get truly better.
But it won't be because I'm running or hiding.
I just want to savor the feeling for a little while longer.

Love of mine some day you will die

I was outside smoking a cigarette and I thought that maybe death isn't such a scary thing.
The wind is really bad tonight and the trees looked like they could topple over at any second.
Storms never usually scare me but if any of them would this one would be it.
I kept thinking that it should scare me but for once I wasn't scared.
My whole life revolves around my fears.
I can't even go to school because I'm so terrified of people.
I can never be truly intimate with someone I love because I'm afraid of being hurt.
I hurt myself because I'm afraid I'll hurt others.
My future is looming over my head like a sword and it petrifies me.
Recovery is impossible for me because I'm afraid of not being sick.
I can't even feel my own heart beating because I'm so scared of being alive.
Death has always been a frightening concept for me.
Anything that is inevitable and unknown sends me into a panic.
I'm so terrified of everything happening around me that I shut myself into different books or movies and pretend that I don't really exist.
But for this one moment when the world looked like it was falling down around me and I should be crippled with fear I wasn't.
Dying isn't scary anymore.

I'm never going to be strong enough to recover from the things I put myself through.

I need everyone in my life way more than they need me.
I just feel like all the crumpled up cigarette filters that are piling up in the storm drains.
I get to experience the feel of a million beautiful lips but in the end it doesn't matter.
I wind up tossed away to rot on the side of a road collecting the dirt from everyone's abused footwear.
I'm not okay.
I'm not fine with any of the things going on in my life but I don't have the courage to change it.

Helpless

I feel like I'm just remembering a place I've never been.
Everything is wonderful and painful.
It's like the rush of adrenaline that pulls at your seams after you've torn holes in your paper heart.
Nothing here makes any sense.
There is an odd feeling of nostalgia accompanying the excitement of experiencing something new.
But none of this is new and the memories of it don't bring comfort but searing agony.
My head is confusing sadness for love and exhaustion as happy.
Up is across and down is diagonal and side ways is parallel.
All of my angles have rearranged and my head hurts trying to figure out how any of this could be possible.
How did it get like this?
When did my life crumble to metallic dust and why did I never notice it before?
I get so lonely and my head feels too big but entirely too minuscule.
It all hurts so much and I don't know how to think or feel or who the fuck I am anymore.
I feel so tired.
I don't know what to do and I fear that I'm getting too close to the edge of my world.
Too close to nothing and it's going to swallow me alive.
It's all so terrifying but relieving and I don't know how that is.
I am so lonely.