Through the Looking-Glass

Randoms thoughts tonight, again.

I’m constantly having this feeling of lack. It seems like I miss something, but I don’t know what. It distresses me so much, it’s like a hole in my mind. And maybe I try to fill it by eating a terrifiying amount of food, and not necessarily with foods I like. It can be anything. I remember one day, there were only pasta sauce and a big jar of gherkins in the fridge. I ate them. Once or twice, I ate raw meat and frozen dough. When I binge, I become completely insane. I can’t even quantify what I eat, it’s just crazy and scary. I hate this, God I hate this so much. Sometimes,  I eat until my body vomit by itself. 

Everyday, I am divided by that urge to fill that hole, that lack, and the desire to be skeletal. It’s a constant battle in my mind, and I never know which side will win. 

It’s almost the same thing when I cut or burn myself. I need to see the blood, I need to feel the pain, as if I miss her. I need to damage this body that I don’t want. I just want to puke when I look at the mirror. 

But, seriously, what the fuck is that shit ? I need something, I miss something but I’m not able to say what it is.

My mind is just completely fucked up. 

Randoms thoughts…

As usual tonight, my head is full of questions without answers, and I am arguing with that part of myself who spends her time trying to bring me down, trying to kill me slowly. You know, that voice who whispers that you are fat, worthless, good for nothing, that voice who whispers that you cannot be happy, no girl, not today, not tomorrow, never. That voice, she locks me up into my sadness and obsessive thoughts. That voice alienates me. Everything I perceive, everything I remember, everything I love, everything I learn is automatically ruined, wasted, tingued with pain and hate. Like a black and white filter. 

And here again, these 2 voices cannot shut the fuck up and I am sitting on my bed, looking like an idiot. 

I am wondering why do I think it is wrong to love oneself, why do I think it is a form of pretentiousness, why cannot I just be kind to myself ? Why cannot I just do it ? Everytime I try, the other voice is here, and reminds me that I am fucking disgusting and selfish. Everytime, I just feel the urge to cut. 

I am wondering why I cannot say I am not fine. I mean, not write it, but actually say it. Say I need help, I need support, I need a human presence. Why do the words stay in my head (when I find them…) ? Everything is so confused. I am acting like I don’t give a fuck and everyone thinks I have no feelings at all even though I am anxious and sad. I don’t know how to be authentic with others. I only know how to pretend and lie. 

I try to understand myself. I try to understand what is happening in my mind when I want to binge. I try to understand why do I want to be so scrawny, why do I want to cut, why do I hate this body so much ? And the more I damage it, the more I hate it. It’s a vircious circle. It never ends. 

Well, that’s done, I am terribly annoyed myself with these thoughts. The final question could be “why can’t I just shut up and be a normal girl ?”.

I am sorry, this post is nonsense. 

That’s why I cannot watch or read the news.

Everyone in the whole world is talking about these poor women from Cleveland, who were raped and tortured during ten years by a fucking psychopath. 

And I am just here, being depressed, anxious and shit, having an eating disorder, cutting myself. I am totally self centred. 

Seriously, I do not deserve to live. I disgust myself. 

Some questions…

Do your parents, friends or boyfriends know about your self harm ? How did they react ? 

I cut so much these last months that I’m scared everyone understand what I do. I’m scared they reject me, or becoming the “awkward friend”. 

I don’t dare to have a relationship with a guy because he will surely run away…  So I don’t even talk to men at all. 

If some of you have a story to tell, I’m here… 

They say life is too short. Well, when you hate yourself, life is really too long.

Time is an anvil. Time crushes me. 

I will not post stuffs on my blog anymore. Or at least, for a long time.

There are too many triggering posts on Tumblr. 

And, like I wrote yesterday, I feel like a complete parody. I was a sort of anorexic few years ago. Now I am a sort of bulimic, but who does not purge. I have still the desire to be thin and skeletal, but I know I will never have this body. Sometimes I cut myself, or burn myself, but it is not really serious. I am depressed one day, and the other one, I feel a bit better. So I am not really a depressive person. 

That’s me : I am fake. I am a cliché. I am a joke. I am a moron who have nothing better to do than to hate herself and create her own fake disorders. I am an attention whore. I am no one. I am nothing. I have no excuse. My family loves me. I have some friends. My life could be great if I was not weak, selfish and self-centred.

That’s the last word : I am just a complete idiot and a dull girl. 

Goodbye everyone.

Take care of yourselves.  

My scars are so ridiculous.

I feel like a parody of a self harmer. 

And I’m having an eating disoder but still fat.

Congratulations to me, I’m even a fail at being depressed.