I am so done with thinking that how I look defines who I am.

IT DOESNT.

And you know what I’m still going to have bad days, and some good days.

But that’s life.

I’m going to deal with my feelings.

Not just starve myself, vomit, or cut.

But listen to myself.

Talk to people.

And live my life.

I used to think I liked being alone.

I still do now and again.

I am an introvert.

I need my “me” time.

I’ve noticed as of late that it isn’t good for me.

I get buried alive by my thoughts.

Overwhelmed with feeling.

Lost in the present.

Thinking about the past.

Not imagining a future.

And as the clock continues ticking,

I fall further into my own abyss.

Thoughts creep inside.

I start agreeing with the voice I try to fight.

I believe truths that others tell me are lies.

It all seems somehow easier to accept,

That life is coming to an end.

I have no one beside me.

No one willing to fight with me.

I am too weak to fight anymore.

I was always too weak.

I oddly start to feel warm.

Comforted by my imminent end.

I start to think of happy times.

Yes there were some.

But I’m tired of trying.

I just can’t.

I’ve pushed everyone away.

Protecting them.

Because somehow,

I knew I’d never last.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like that.

That you wanted to sleep for a thousand years.

Or just not exist.

Or just not be aware that you do exist.”

- Perks of Being a Wallflower 

Throwing up in a popcorn bag whilst at the theater with friends…

I’ve hit a new low.

And despite throwing my organs up last night, having a massive headache this morning, and making my friends deal with me…

I’m happy because I lost 2 lbs.

I’m fucked up.

I like to drink, drink, drink..

So I don’t have to think, think, think…

Or else I’ll sink, sink, sink into

Depression, anorexia, and bulimia.

One 90 cal. granola bar

X amount of wine…

And I’m feeling goooood

New plan.

I’ll just be drunk 24/7.

So I don’t give a fuck what I eat!

Let’s see how long this lasts…

I’m always telling myself I’m not perfect.

I fuck up all the damn time.

I do not need you my “friend” telling me I fail at life too.

Trust me, I make myself feel like shit just fine without you.

So fuck you.

21st birthday was this past Saturday.

Meaning I was wasted basically the whole weekend.

Got on the scale this morning, I gained 4 bloody pounds.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

Time to fast and workout.