There’s really only a certain amount of “bad” you can put into your body this way. It’s simpler. But I miss when I had the willpower I used to. I was staring longingly at old pictures of myself today. And I spent hours comparing myself to the gorgeous women in the world. Hating myself. And I felt hungry all night and didn’t eat a thing. I’m proud. But also sad. I wish someone would just hand me $100,000 for plastic surgery and a personal trainer. Even if I starve again, there’s just nothing I can do to fix this face.
I’m mentally ill. I’m chemically dependent. I’m eating disordered. I’m culpable. I’m contentious. I’m a vestige. I’m a ghost that has amnesia. I’m a nomad that can’t remember how she got here. I’m the stone you lay flowers before as some sad form of proof that you remember those that are gone. I’m bills that go unpaid on purpose. I’m the standard definition of spoiled/good girl gone bad/wasted potential/a parent’s disappointment. I am incoherent alibis and increasingly poor excuses. I am empty bodies/empty wallets/empty promises/empty plastic bags. I am the prescriptions we pray for. I am the addictions we pay for. I’m the year you don’t remember and the pain you can’t forget. I’m every cliche reason you have for hating yourself. I’m eighteen wasted years; All spent preparing to leave the nest, only to break my own wing at the last minute. I’m ashamed to say I think I may have done this on purpose.
It was an exceptionally bad day. Got some horrible medical news. This made me feel better. Until I stopped. And now I feel like even more of a fucking failure. Fuck. I’m too old for this shit.
I don’t want to eat this week.
Liquid diet is technically done, though I’ve decided to do all liquids every other day and keep my total intake around 500 cals a day.
I just want fat to fall off of me.
I want to be frail.
I’m getting sick anyway, so I might as well kill myself with malnourishment instead of taking in a certain amount of food to avoid getting sick.
I feel disgusting.
I can’t help it…le forever sigh.
Edit: this is a crap line of thinking. It sucks, and, as usual, I don’t condone it. But I feel it, anyway, so I might as well be honest about it.
My boyfriend and I for Self Harm Awareness Day.
I cannot express how lucky I feel to have someone to heal my scars with, inside and out.
Stay Strong, everyone.