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.