Monday, April 30, 2012

Random Journal Entry #2


   I honestly love the thought of going to college. It makes me enthusiastic and curious and everything.

  1. First of all, it is Vienna. The city of my dreams. I speak German very well, and the city is absolutely beautiful, especially around Christmas. I already know the names of some streets and places. It is full of Asians (and I have no problem with that). Also, the University there is one of the world's/Europe's best ones. I could choose to go to Germany, but it is too far away from home and I've never been there before.
  2. On my own. I will live in my very own apartment (I am already saving money for that, though it's early). I will go where I want, whenever I want, without having to tell anyone. I can go to the gym, take walks, eat when/IF I want to. I can have a boyfriend who can come at my place. I will have my own schedule and everything is going to be just perfect, or so I hope.
  3. Psychology. Yes, I want to study Psychology. I have already made a post on that. Because the University is a big, modern one, I wish I can study in English. It is easier for me and I like it much better. German is fine too, I am good at it, I study German since I was 2 years old -- but I am in love with the English language. I think in English, I write in English. Now I want to be able to actually speak in English.
  4. College Life articles. Another weird thing about me is that I love reading articles about college life. I am curious what it is like, how people handle it and so on. I will be the perfect student who will attend all classes, do all assignments and ace all courses. It fascinates me
   These are the fours first things I could come up with. Ahh, college.. away from home..

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Once broken; forever broken.

[I am in the backyard, lying on the swing, protected from the sun. I can not blog from my phone neither on blogspot nor on wordpress, so I am writing this on my e-mail.]

   Eat some M&M's, eat pistachio, chocolate, corn flakes. "Get out" I scream in my head, but it is so ignorable. I eat and eat and eat. Get some croissants, stick them in Finetti, shove them down your throat, quickly. Eat potatoes, tomatoes, cheese, some more chocolate, some more M&M's, energy drink. All these after a proper meal; an egg, green onion, tomatoes. Eat, eat, eat. Binge binge binge. 
   Not purging is out of the question. I have taken 13 laxatives before all this.

   I go upstairs, wait for the people to leave, let the water run. Close the door, get off my clothes, wash my hands, "fuck you", purge. Acid is burning my throat. Purge more. I pick at my skin while purging. Lots of solid food with barely any liquids. It looks like shit, real shit, not vomit. Black, thick. Disgusting. My hand is full of vomit, but I can't wash it - if it looks disgusting, I purge more easily. "Look at that. All that is inside you."

   Finish the purge, clean. Wash face, rinse mouth. Brother comes in. "Get out!" I am in my bra, thank God there is no vomit around. I purged with the door unlocked. It could have been the biggest mistake of my life.

   Get dressed, clean some more, get out. Acid burns my throat. My stomach is flatter, it is back to the desired size. Nearly almost kind of but not really the size it was before eating. Maybe flatter. Acid burns my throat. My head hurts. Acid burns my throat. I am in Wonderland. Acid burns my throat. No scratches on my hand. Acid burns my throat. I'm flying to a parallel universe; I'm going to sleep. Acid burns my throat. Laxative time soon. Acid fucks my throat. I'm not sleeping tonight. 

Saturday, April 28, 2012

"Tell everyone."

"I've seen B.'s blog."
"Do you like it?"
"Um.. yeah no.."
"Yes or no?"
"I don't know, the background is too simple, he only has 2 posts and grammar mistakes.."
"Yes or no?"
"I don't know!"
"Well, you're good at this. You used to have a blog too."
"I still have a blog. Another one."
"Yeah, sure."
"I do. Just because I don't show it to anyone I know doesn't mean I don't have one."
"Fine, then I have a blog too."
"You don't. And I just can't tell everyone that.."
"You don't have a blog."
"I do! Stop it! Why should I show it to everyone?"
"Why can't you be honest and tell people what you are feeling?!"
"Last time I did, it was bad!"

  This is one of the reasons I don't show this blog to other people. There is one single person who knows this blog and knows me.
   I don't show it because I don't want you 

  • to see how much you are hurting me
  • to know that I take Nurofen, hoping that something will happen to me
  • to know that I take laxatives every week
  • to know that I don't eat five days in a row
  • to know that I sometimes binge and purge
  • to see me writing about suicide and self-harm
  • to see that you (my bf) have, maybe, chosen the wrong girl to be with
  • to know I am counting calories sometimes
  • to see my poetry/other writing (because, last time you read my poems, you didn't get anything out of them)
  • to know what a mess I have become
  • to know me.
   And, anyways, you won't fucking believe a shit of what I'm writing. The surface is unbreakable, flawless, perfect, but don't you fucking try to look past that. Don't tell me to "tell the world everything."

   This is my world.

   Dear world, I am eating-disordered, depressed, sometimes suicidal, a cutter, pill-taker, and so much more.

   Why the fuck do you think I am blogging anonymously?
   Get the hell out and don't mess around with me after I have eaten.

   I have eaten after five days of non-eating. I screwed my best performance. I need to jump out the window, cut my damn aorta, be left with nothing. Because vegetables and fruits and a yogurt and a hot chocolate and whatever I've been drinking today will turn into hundreds of thousands of tones of fat and ugliness and disgust and rage.

   This is why I don't tell the people, because I am trying to protect whatever is left of me. I can't tell my classmates I am a cutter and ED'ed. I can't look anyone in the eye and tell them these things. Because "You told me you are not cutting anymore," well fuck you, I do, and if you can't handle that, if you can't handle me, I'm kindly asking you to forget that I exist. This is why I don't have a public blog. My other blog was not me. I did not know what to blog, I had to be cautious, because God forbid anyone suspects anything.

   I'm not going back to censoring myself. I am not doing that anymore, not here. 

   And you know what? You won't fucking believe me, anyways.
"Suuure, you sat on the window sill."
"Suuure, you have taken pills."
"Suuure, you have a blog."
"Suuure, you have been suicidal."
"Suuuure, you are not copying anyone."

   Don't talk to me after I have eaten unless you have anything good to say. For the good of our relationship.

I am free.

   I have not eaten anything on Monday. No gum, no coke, nothing. On the rest of the days, I had coke zero*, hot chocolate (~97 cals), Activia (~130?) and chewing gum (2 cals). I have not eaten solid foods. I am down four kilos - I am lighter than I was in May 2011, and all this because of five no-solid-food days. I feed myself with the smell of food, with watching food, hearing about food, touching it. But not putting it my mouth and consuming it.
*The coke zero can said that 330 ml is 0.7 calories. The 500 ml said it is 0.5. I do not know which one is accurate, because a smaller quantity of something can't have more calories than a bigger quantity of the same thing. I will suppose that 500 ml is one calorie and that's it.

   Someone said that my eyes were yellow.. because they are. My head is spinning every time I get up, I need to hold on to something when going up/downstairs, because I am afraid that I'll stumble and fall. I am exhausted.
But you know what?
I am good.

   The worse I feel physically, the better I feel mentally. I have only cut once, not binged/purged at all, not taken a single laxative. I only thought of taking Nurofen again because I felt depressed, but I just waited for it to pass. Same with hunger. Want to eat anything? Fine, you'll drink something later.. and the hunger/craving for food passes.

   It is Saturday afternoon, I just came from the gym. I have drunk Activia and some milk with cocoa. I have burned 600. I am nowhere near hungry, though my stomach started to make some noise earlier. I am not hungry. I am empty. After a while, you just stop being hungry. You open the fridge (which is full of crap) and all you can think is "Meh. Nothing to do here." and then you fly into your room. I was full of energy when I entered the gym. Five days without food and I was more energetic than ever, hypomanic, I tied my shoelaces faster than ever, quickly drunk some water, went on the elliptical and burned 200 calories in 19 minutes.
Maybe this is the "fasting-high." Even now I feel like reading and writing and playing The Sims 2 and watching Grey's Anatomy and I know that I'll make it through the day with little food (BBQ tonight).

   No food, no pain, no gain. I weighed 54.9 kg in the morning. Down three-four kilos.

   I am good, I am happy. I feel on top of the world, I have done something I have not done in ages. I am back to what I want to be. All the mess has gone, the eating, the purging, the pain. I even look in the mirror and see a difference, though it's not enough. And this time I know I can do so much better. I know that I can break any limit, be it physical or mental/emotional. I can do it, I can make myself feel good without using food.

   But I am never actually free. Of anything.

Thursday, April 26, 2012


It is almost four o'clock
And my heart is beating
It's okay to be awake
There's no time for quitting.
My eyes are tired and so is my head
But today I won't sleep
I'm not going to bed.

Today I'll watch the sunrise
I'm not closing my eyes.

I will stay up,
Why should I be asleep?
Why should I be in bed,
When it's nothing like being dead?
I won't waste my hours sleeping
I will stay awake,
I'll feign being alive.

Today I'll watch the sunrise
I'm not closing my eyes.

Soon, in morning's loneliness
The wind my tired face will caress
I'll be gone, I'll be nowhere
I'll fly away,
None of us should care.

Monday, April 23, 2012


            Do you know that awesome feeling people usually get after purchasing something they wanted to buy for a long time? Something they had never thought they would have, but now, they finally have it! It's a feeling of excitement and euphoria, and you can't wait to use said object.
            That's how I feel about, I'll let you guess, not a car, not a mansion, not even a dress (a rhyme!), but a small, little, try-not-to-chew-it, pencil! I can write the letters in whatever shape, form, size and curliness I desire. Isn't it amazing? I find myself writing more and more with pencils. Any word can be easily erased, only allowing the world to see the perfect – because everything has to be perfect - handwriting.
            Oh, and the paper! These words have been first written in my squared Chemistry notebook, on a random page and with lots of words being crossed over. But then, as I'll write them on my laptop, everything will be clean and neat, no crossovers, all the letters will look exactly the same (of course, a's will look like a's, b's like b's and so on), without any personality, without a story ("... and because I was in such a hurry, I accidentally made the 'a' look like an 'o'! It's so annoying when it happens!").
            In fact, that's what the world wants, anyways. They want everyone to be the same, and if you're not like them (yes, I am aware of the fact that people are all unique. See that? They are ALL UNIQUE) then you are considered mad and crazy and, God forbid, different! Being tall or short makes you different, having any other color but brown eyes makes you different, reading ("We got a nerd over here!"), writing ("Bring it on, Shakespeare!"), singing ("Who do you think you are, Madonna?"), being smart ("How come you don't know that, Einstein?" And by the way, Einstein was not a "smart" guy, he was a physicist), everything makes you different. Even I, who wrote this long sentence with lots of commas and brackets, am different from the people who only write short, four-word sentences, not to mention the excess of punctuation marks or lack thereof (I always wanted to say that. "Lack thereof").
            Back to pencils now.
            I could easily associate them with people. They have good days (when they are sharp and nice) and bad days (which are, obviously, the opposite of the good days). They break - mine just did – they get lost and then found, they live in groups and have different appearances. But, as opposed to human beings, no pencil can be considered "average".
            "The average person drinks around seven glasses of water a day, though it is strongly advised that you drink eight," one might say. This does not work with pencils. "The average pencil has the length of approximately fifteen centimeters," really? Yes, they might have that length at the beginning, but then you sharpen them and they get smaller. People drink seven glasses (or whichever quantity) of water without even caring or counting, they just DO IT. It is something general, a need. Pencils are different.
            Why must everyone be "average" to be accepted by the society? What does average mean, anyway? If you ask me (I know you have not, but I have the urge to share this), the term is pretty vague. How many people called Mohammed do you now? (This is where you say "none" or "one". Follow the script, please) I thought so. Well, if you are from Europe, at least. Still, most men on this planet have that name. It is the most common male name, or so I have heard. You draw the conclusion. (For the lazier ones: The average man is called Mohammed. Funny enough?)
            The Ultimate Conclusion: Pencils have more fun. They don't have the possibility to have so many theories...

Saturday, April 21, 2012

The 20th of April.

   The 20th of April represents an important day for me, since a lot of things happened on this day.

   First of all, Adolf Hitler was born on this day, in the year of 1889. I am obviously not a Nazi, and honestly, I do not know much about him. But I am studying at a German school; therefore, I know who he was, when he was born, when he died, and that he wrote a book, "Mein Kampf."

   Second, the Columbine High School Massacre, about which I have written in the previous post. This is important for me, maybe because it is the first, let's call it "bloody event", that has ever interested me that much. Another one would be the Mary Bell case, which I also find fascinating.

   I might have spoken of an old, ex-friend of mine, whom I have met on the internet. Yes, she was my best friend for around three years. I didn't tell her my real age at the beginning, because I was pretty young and was afraid of being judged and treated as a child - thing which I fear today, too. Exactly two years ago, on the 20th of April, I told her my real age. She said it was okay, and that is was better that I didn't tell her my age from the beginning - she said, things would have been different. We first met on the 12th of August, a few months later. She gave me my first kiss. We are not best friends anymore. We haven't spoken this year, she didn't wish me a happy birthday, she is now some kind of "very good friends" with my boyfriend. Cool girl, keep it up.

   The last thing that I want to talk about is my first date with my ex. I remember that my parents gave me "the talk" before that. They did not know that we were together, and I hated the fact that they even thought about that. The "date" was a disaster - none of us spoke a word for three hours. The only things he said were something about ants and their ability to carry things heavier than them; something about Bear Grylls and I don't know what else. We did not kiss. Or hug. Or look at each other. That was a sunny, hot day.

   I have been dizzy all day from the 10 laxatives and 10 Nurofen pills I took - silly me, I thought they would kill me.

   It rained this year. It rained on the 20th of April and I can see why.

Friday, April 20, 2012

The Columbine High School Massacre

   It happened thirteen years ago. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold killed 12 students, one teacher and then committed suicide.

   This event has fascinated me for many years now. I have read the diaries of Eric and Dylan (on the internet). The massacre was indeed a sad thing, brutal and violent. I never blamed anyone for what happened. Okay, maybe one year ago, I was blaming the people who bullied them. Maybe I also blamed the shooters 3 years ago. If you want more information, here are two sites:

   I think you can also find the journals of the two boys on the last site.

   Of course, there are many more sites, books, songs, etc dedicated to the victims; such as Cassie Bernall, Rachel Scott and so on.

   This post is written in the memory of the students:
Cassie Bernall
Steve Curnow
Corey DePooter
Kelly Fleming
Matt Kechter
Daniel Mauser
Daniel Rohrbough
Rachel Scott
Isaiah Shoels
John Tomlin
Lauren Townsend
Kyle Velasquez;
the teacher: Dave Sanders;

and last but not least, the gunmen, who were also victims of the world, of themselves and their own actions: Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris.

   May all of you rest in peace - you won't be forgotten.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Take the bloody pill and make it quick.

   I enter the pharmacy.
"One Dulcolax and one Nurofen box, please."
"Nurofen - simple or Forte?"
("Which one is cheaper?") "Simple."
   She grabs a box and comes back to me.
"Who is the Dulcolax for?"
"Oh, um, for my mother."
"She could use some detox pills instead, with fiber." ["So willing to help, these pharmacists.."]
"I don't know, she just told me to buy Dulcolax."
"Okay, sure."
   She takes the box.
"That would be 30 (RON*)."
   Fuck, I have exactly 31. Thank God it didn't cost any more. I leave the pharmacy stumbling over the stairs.

*RON = the currency in my country.

   It is 10 pm now, I have already taken 10 laxatives. I take the box of Nurofen, read the little paper inside it: Do not take more than six pills a day. Six, you say? Cool, I take six pills, put them in my mouth (they filled it) and swallowed with water. The rest will come later, the night is long.. Maybe I'll sleep much, maybe I'll feel sick and dizzy and nauseated, maybe I'll have to be taken to the hospital, or who knows, I might die! No way, you can't die from a few pills, but still. They say you can hallucinate or have blurry vision, oh how I can't wait.

   I want to watch the sunrise in the morning. I will watch the sunrise.

And no, of course I didn't plan killing myself for the last two days. I am just fine.

Random Journal Entry #1

Name one thing that has always fascinated you.

   I can not think of something that has always fascinated me, but I can tell you that psychology is the subject I am most interested in, lately. I already have plans of going to college in Vienna, at the University of Vienna and studying psychology.
   Clinical Psychology, to be more precise. It deals with mental illnesses, and I suppose that you can already tell why I find it so fascinating. Eating Disorders, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Depression (self harm, suicide attempts) and all those amazing, abnormal stuff. How could one not like them? Okay, okay. My friends would totally NOT deal with such things.

   There is this friend of mine, a classmate, who wanted to be a psychologist. A counselor. Let me tell you, she is the most judgmental, gossiping, bitchy and I-am-so-stupid-but-think-I-am-smart person I have ever known. Of course, saying this will also make me look judgmental, but seriously, just having a diploma won't make you a good counselor. You need empathy, you have to learn to see things objectively, too.
"Seriously, you cut your veins and become emo if your parents divorce?" is not going to get you anywhere, regardless if you want to work in the psychology field or not. Just saying.

   I can tell you the diagnosis criteria for the most common eating disorders, I have almost learned that by heart. I can tell you that people with Borderline usually self-harm and those with Bipolar are not "moody". I always correct my friends when they are talking about mental illnesses. "She's so skinny, she's almost anorexic." Dude, thin does not mean anorexic. Thin is the opposite of fat, it is a physical trait. Anorexia is a mental illness, Anorexia Nervosa, and there are several criteria one must meet to be diagnosed as anorexic, not just "being thin."

   I do not know if my current state of mind will be helpful or not in my (hopefully) future psychology career, or if it will break everything because, in the end, who will want to hire a mentally ill psychologist? Anyways, I will try my best to be a good clinical psychologist. That is my passion. My fascination.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Random Journal Entries

   Before I say what I wanted to say, I have changed the blog design. I hope you - if there is anyone out there reading this - like it.

   I have been StumbleUpon-ing a lot these days, since I am at home and have absolutely nothing to do. I found some nice blogs/sites which had lists of journal writing prompts. There is usually a sentence or question that tells you to describe something about yourself (usually). This means, every now and then I'll be randomly picking one of them and turn it into a blog post.

   I wish you have a good day/night and I'll see you later. :)

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I quit.

   I figured out something today: whatever I'd do, I'm never going to be happy. The people I love most will disappoint me, my friends will leave me, I will leave my parents. I am never going to be the way I was before. Things will never be the same again. All I want now is a dozen cans of beer or maybe some pills or some shit to kill me quick. The rain won't keep falling forever, the kisses won't last forever. My smile will never appear on my face again, my eyes won't look happy, my face will stay swollen, I will have abdominal pains for the rest of my life or maybe I will need surgery.

   There will always be food, I will regularly ingest food and be too tired to get rid of it. I will never have enough time for exercising - one hour, two hours, three, a lifetime - because there's just not enough time. I will always yell at myself,  fat fuck you are!, even if I'll weigh 200 kilograms or 23. I want to die, to disappear, to vanish quickly and all memories of me to be forgotten. I am angry at what I have become.

   I have cut an "x" on my chest, right between my breasts. It is the cut that will keep people away from my heart, that will keep all the bad things away. It's my protection, my warm blanket, my armor. I need to cut again and again and again - one thousand times, with the scissors - see the blood, smear it on my body in an artistic way. It brings pleasure as intense as an orgasm, the blood between my lips, on the bathroom floor, on my body. The taste of iron. The bright color. The pain I feign, because there is really nothing except the burn in my heart. It's like a dagger sculpting my heart, digging deeper and deeper into it.

   Why keep a person who makes me angry, sad, who made me cut and cry and who never believes me? The last person I trusted, the only person who knows that I'm more than an average girl. He knows I am a cutter and pill taker and whatever you can come up with. He is supposed to always be there for me and take care of me. I feel exposed, unprotected, the only think that is safe for me is also destroying me. I feel safe when cutting, taking pills, being in pain. That's what I am used to and what feels "normal" for me. And what is he doing, making jokes and exposing me even more to what I am terrified of? I am terrified of animals with too many or too few legs, I am terrified of him leaving me, of people knowing who I am.. I am terrified of being myself. It takes him one fucking hour and a half to finally touch me and give me a five-seconds kiss, after not having seen me for three weeks.

   I am the romantic type who'd like to be kissed in the rain, who'd say "I love you", who could spend hours in a boy's arms, listening to the silence, feeling the wind in my hair. He just doesn't provide that for me, but still, one of my biggest fears is losing him. I am afraid of stopping the self-destruction. I am afraid of not feeling pain, because if there's no pain, there's only nothing -- and the "nothing" feeling is what brought me into the deepest, darkest sides of existence.

   Why bother living if I don't have anything to live for? I need something to live for, but I do not want it. I do not want anything.

   I'll take some Nurofen pills and put them in a small box. I will take them when I have enough of them to kill me.

   Being me is too complicated,

   I quit.

The night is white..

   I look at the clock: 2:28 AM. My heart is beating a bit faster than usual: I've been exercising since 2 AM, my legs and arms are shaking, you are fat!, I failed to purge after a binge* and now my thoughts are racing.. I waited for my parents to go to sleep, the rain has stopped. I am tired and sweaty. In nine hours I'll be at the gym, on an elliptical, throwing my lungs out. I have experienced an awful pain on the upper right abdominal side a few hours ago, my mother said it could be the gallbladder. I couldn't move due to the pain, but I didn't want any medication my parents have offered. Meh.

*I do not really.. binge. I mean, I do eat an amount of food that is, in my opinion, enormous. But what is that, a few pieces of cake and grapes and chocolate and cheese? I do not eat thousands of calories, but what I eat feels very much to me, which is why I call it a binge. Maybe it is. Maybe it is not. I say it is.

   Back to what I was saying. I feel nauseated now, dizzy, my thoughts are spinning around in my head. I'll soon do the third round of exercises, then at 3 and something the fourth round, and maybe I will finish the fifth round until the sun rises. And after that I might go take a nap, then get up and meet with my friend at the gym. After that, I'll go take a shower and, if the weather is fine, I'll go out with my friend ("yay, more calz," well. it's true). Oh! And if I am lucky, I will make it through the day without a gram of food, maybe a drink or two, but not more. Pretty please?

   I want to die, have a nice day, I'm going back to exercising. Clock shows 2:40.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

One year

   One year has passed. Last year, on the 15th of April, I thought I was entering a world I'd want to be in forever. A world full of joy and happiness and love, or so it seemed. A world where nothing would matter and the sky would always be blue, the birds would sing and we'd watch the sunset everyday. The world of my dreams, but which shortly turned into a nightmare. It was your world.

   It was one or two o'clock, school was over. The weather was cool-ish, just like it is now. The sky was grey. We were heading home.
"I only came to school today for one class.. and to go home with you," you say.
"Well," I stutter, "Thanks."
   We hardly ever spoke. I was shy and afraid. You were.. Well, I don't know what you were. You never opened up. I never opened up. Soon we arrived in front of my grandma's block. We kissed. We hugged.
"I'm going to miss you," I said. You answered, "Me too."

   The kiss was not what I expected. You pressed your lips against mine without opening your mouth. It was short. I did not like the kiss itself, but the feeling it gave me. I thought I was in love. I wasn't. I was just.. blinded by the world, by you.

   You were the person who made me feel insecure, scared, self-conscious, worthless, useless, helpless. You were the one who failed to understand and take care of me. You were the one who made me cry. You were the one whose behavior and actions made me stop eating.

   You, dearest, are the cause of my cuts (which re-appeared after a 6-month non-cutting period), my scratches, my hair that is falling, my tears, the days I don't eat, the binges, the purges, the money I waste for laxatives, the suicide notes, the poems, all my insecurities, therapy, shivering in the hot sun, exercising until I feel sick, dead.. You are guilty for everything. Thank God you didn't come to know me.

   Also, if I hadn't become what I am now, I might have never had the opportunity to be with him, the guy who held my hand through all, who endured all the nights when I screamed at him (even though he wasn't guilty of anything), the one who had to see my cuts, who had to feel my bones each time he hugged me, the one who found my laxatives, who threw away a blade of mine, who heard me crying and saying "I want to get better, I want this to be over", the one who has been here for almost a year and who I hope will never leave. So yes, thank you for bringing me here, on the darkest path of life.. At least I have someone now who I can be myself with. Because depressed and disordered girls are hotter. [To quote Emilie Autumn, "They're hot! They're nuts! They're suicidal!"]

   Who cares that I couldn't listen to a lot of great music (especially Simple Plan) because it reminded me of you? Who cares that I started having nightmares with you? Who cares that, after we broke up, I started scratching my head and pulling my hair each time I mentally saw your face? Who gives a damn fuck? Who cares that, because of you, I threw up last night and will take laxatives in a few hours? I am sure that, if this day had never existed, the chances of me being here would have been dramatically lower. If that kiss never existed, if one of us would have been sick on that day, I would not have been here: eating disordered, having experienced depression, and so, so many more things that I would not list now.

   I could write a novel about you, despite that our "relationship" only lasted for three weeks. Three weeks of hell for me. Should I regret? The consequences of those three weeks taught me a lot. I am a whole new person, and I won't say I am better now. No, I am worse, physically and mentally. But you know what? I am glad to be here.

   In the end, I'd like to post this song by Emilie Autumn. Pure awesomeness.

I'll spit my soul on a canvas.

Words are flooding my head
This thing I'm lying on,
This used to be a bed.
I wish the light's weren't on
I'd rather be out in the rain.

I'd love to be there,
Out in the rainy weather
Where my actions no longer matter
If I told them, would anyone care
That I flushed my feelings?

I took them out with my own fingers
The water's flowing, a rain drop lingers
On the cold and dirty window
I can barely see my writing
I'm just a shadow.

Should I write of love or fate,
Of guilt, or maybe about hate?
A car is slowly passing by
There's too much light, I want to cry
I'm running out of time.

Somewhere, far away, I clearly hear a plane
I'll quit fighting, I've lost this game
The rain has almost stopped – come back!
Give me back the heart I lack
I'll spit my soul on a canvas.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Visiting Grandma

   Of course I couldn't burn 1000 calories yesterday. I got sick twice every minute and constantly felt dead and tired. I felt blood in my mouth. I spent 2 and a half hours at the gym and only burnt 600 calories. I suppose it is fine, since I hadn't eaten on that day and the day before. At least it was more than last time I felt sick at the gym. I only burnt 400 calories then.
   After I got home, I took a shower and ate: strawberries (without sugar), a banana, an apple cut in 240. I think I've drunk an Activia with fiber, too. I had a salad (tomato, cucumber, green onion, cheese) in the evening and some pistachio nuts and then I screwed up with chocolate.. so I took seven or eight laxatives.
   Me and my family are going to my grandma's tomorrow. It's the grandma I don't really get along with, and we only see each other on Easter and Christmas and maybe some birthdays, but that's it. She's my dad's mother.
I already know what we'll be eating: eggs, salad with extra green onion for me, then mashed potatoes with schnitzel. I will say "No, thank you, I don't eat the schnitzel," then she'll ask why, I'll say I don't eat meat anymore, and from then on we're going to have fun!
"But meat is good for you!"
"But it won't make you fat!"
"Oh, so you're dieting?"
"Please eat some meat, just a bit?"
And so on and so forth.

   I'll go back to watching Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice now.. that's all I've been doing lately, anyways.

Friday, April 13, 2012


   Pure water for more than 24 hours. No chewing gum, no mentos, nothing. The exhaustion kicks me down at 8 pm and I sleep until 8:44 am. I am now getting ready for the gym, despite barely being able to move. But who cares? Two and a half hours in the gym should be more than enough to burn 1000 calories -- I have never done it, but I know I can. The most I've burned was 800 calories in less than 2 hours, I think.

   Hopefully I won't fall on the kitchen floor again, for there will be no one to hold me and take me upstairs.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Pretending I'm like them

   We played lots of games and had fun, and ate.. chips, chocolate, nachos, more chips, half a pizza each of us. 5 o'clock in the morning, a Milka with biscuits is being finished; I ignore the fact that I've eaten "bad" foods and tell myself it's going to be fine -- once I get home, the laxatives and fingers down my throat are going to make up for it all.
   My stomach is aching and I want to cry. I am the only one in pain, a girl tells me "It's okay, this is how people normally eat." "I can't fucking understand you," I answer. My belly is a thousand times bigger than it should be, I need to suck it in but I can't - it hurts too much. I want to cry and the dog won't sit on my lap. I feel unloved and hated and ugly and FULL. I need to cut my fucking veins and paint my room with the blood, I need to break something, scream and cry.
   I get home, eat, throw up, take 10 laxatives, eat again, wish I could throw up but then realize that, hey!, what if I throw up the laxatives? Then I remember that I've eaten cheese and drunk milk, which will result into a fucked up me tomorrow. "Never eat milk products when taking laxatives" they said, "Doesn't matter, had lax," I said. I always ignore the pain because, in the end, it is just pain, right? After that I'll be empty and dead and tired and emptier, so a little bit of I-want-to-die-it-hurts-so-much pain won't do me any bad.

It's always the same and it will never stop,

Sunday, April 8, 2012

It's funny because it really happened

Thursday: Come back home from a long trip. First thing you do after entering the house: Eat. Wait until dad leaves. Throw up, all the food. No food coming anymore? Doesn't matter, attack throat violently. Hit your throat. Stick your fingers until you reach your stomach. Clean. Take nine laxatives, two Nurofen. Later in the evening, eat.

Friday: Wake up early. You can't stand up, you can't see anything after standing up, you have to wait until the dizziness goes away.. and then you can finally walk. Go downstairs. Muscles are hurting. Dizziness.  Try to go upstairs.. why can't you? Why are you so helpless and unable to move? You mentally push yourself harder and harder, and after a while you have reached the end of the stairs. Laxatives have not kicked in yet. Let's hope they will kick in soon or never, because you have to go to the church in the evening. Noon: Meet with your psychotherapist. Tell her how you've cried a few hours ago because you were angry. You start having cramps. They are fine, not so bad yet. You walk fifteen minutes to meet with your mother at the coiffeur. You get there and start having bad cramps. Should you ask where the toilet is? No, no. Wait.. 30 more minutes in hell. You want to cry. Your mother is finally done and you get to the car. You tell her to get home fast.  You look at the traffic lights. Be green, be green, you beg them. Your mind shouts at them to be green, because you can't stand the pain anymore. You are almost home. You start scratching the seat, the pain is unbearable. You call your dad to open the door house and the gate. In front of the house, you jump out and run inside, drop your shoes and run upstairs. Into the bathroom: relief. You ignore the blood. Get into your room, head is heavy, you go to sleep. You wake up after a few hours, get dressed for church. You feel nauseated, sick and tired. Mother tells you she's going to wait for 20 more minutes. You fall asleep on the bed. She wakes you and says you better stay home. You fall asleep in your street clothes. A few hours later, you are awake and dad tells you he has come to you while you were sleeping but you told him to leave you alone; you don't remember a thing. Later in the evening:  You are home alone with your brother, eat, throw up. Go to sleep at 1 AM.

Saturday: Wake up early. Tell yourself you are going to go the gym and burn 1000-fucking-calories. Eventually, you get there and get on the elliptical. 100. 200. 230. You can't breathe, muscles are hurting, lungs burn, you are dizzy, you are sick, you want to cry. You are sweaty, tired, dead. Push yourself. The more it hurts, the faster you move. More pain. Less air. 295. Voices are screaming in your head, you ignore them. They start screaming louder. 298. 299. Die!, die!, die! 300 calories in 28:30 minutes. You get down and slowly walk to the locker room. You sit for two minutes, take your pulse. 141 beats per minute. Give your empty stomach two sips of water combined with lemon juice. Wash your face. Back on the elliptical, you barely take a 100-calorie-worth walk in 20 minutes. Your parents pick you up, you almost fall asleep in the car. In front of the house you have to wait a few minutes before you can get out of the car - you can't move a muscle, not even your eyes. In the house, you go into the kitchen and fall on the cold floor. You wait, and wait, and your parents see you. You tell yourself to get up, but you just can't. You can't do anything but lie there and wait. Your dad gets you up and then holds you on his back. He takes you upstairs because you can't move by yourself. Mother thinks it is very funny. Like a drunk person, she says. She takes a picture. Two, three. Hilarious! Your dad puts you on your bed.

You feel dead.

Friday, April 6, 2012


So many things to say
About tonight, so gray
Will I live, or will I die?
Is it time to say "Goodbye"?

For I've no reason to stay
And I've nothing left to pay
I slit my wrists too many times and cried
Too many times I wished I had died.

Please be strong, don't cry no tear
And smile for me when I'm no longer here
When you'll see my coffin, don't think of me
You have to be stronger than I could ever be.

Now the time has come
What I had to, I have done.
I am ready to die
But I won't say Goodbye.

Sunday, April 1, 2012


   I finished reading "Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia" by Marya Hornbacher. The book was very good, so well written, so honest. I loved the absence of the "revelation" that made her seek recovery. There was no "finding Christ" and things like that.
   She tells her story from the beginning to the present, describing the scenes and feelings and all. I could relate to a lot of what she wrote. The book is sad, but it tells the truth about the things that eating disorders bring.

   I consider Marya Hornbacher a very strong woman. Deciding to recover and be healthier and just.. escape from the ED cage is a brave thing to do. She says she is still underweight (or was by the time the book was published -- she went from 50 pounds to 100). There is no "100% recovery", in my opinion, because there will always be this little part of us, deep inside, that will not be cured.

   If any of you want to read the book, and I totally recommend it, you can find a free PDF if you google the title and author.