"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.
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