Tuesday, May 29, 2012

One - zero - zero - zero

   Please, Dad, bring me there at four. And you take ma at seven.
   Sure.. I'm not doing that.
   Come one, I won't exercise for three hours straight. I'll take breaks.
   Three hours is too much.
   But I WILL take breaks!
   You know what.. I don't care. I'll bring&take you then.

   This was the day I have been waiting for, for such a long time. Three hours at the gym, that must be enough to burn one thousand calories, one damn thousand.

    A few minutes past 4: I arrive. I go into the locker room, it is empty. Thank God. I take my eight laxatives, "I hope I won't be shitting around here. Wait until home, just wait until you get home."

Elliptical:  300 kcal, 3.6 km
               300 kcal, 3.6 km
Bike:       100 kcal, 6.0 km
               100 kcal, 6.0 km
                70  kcal, 4.3 km
Treadmill: 105 kcal, 1.45 km
                 25  kcal, 0.45 km.
           1000 calories, 25.4 km

   Then I breathe relieved.

   Seven o'clock, Dad picks me up. We go home, I eat, bathe, eat, the laxatives are not kicking in. If they don't kick in during the night, I will have to skip school. I would rather stay awake he entire night in awful pain and sweat than go to school and have those symptoms there. This can't happen. I have drunk lots of liquids, but I do not even have cramps yet. I hate the human body.

    Finally, one thousand.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Random Journal Entry #4

This is a picture of Chanelle.
Pick up a random object that has a special meaning to you and describe it in as much detail as possible. I have picked a picture of myself.

Nostalgia: A monologue

   I remember the way I felt when I first touched this picture, after a long period of not having seen it. I remember you. At the age of one, you had an honest smile; shiny, glowing eyes; a round, chubby, childlike face and body. You were small and light as a feather.

   You were the first child in the family. Your mother, father, your four grandparents, your aunts, your great-grandmother and her family, your godparents, the neighbors: everyone's attention was focused on you, little girl, little old me, fair-haired doll. You were loved.

   How did you change through all these years? What has changed you, what has made you what you are now? Was it all the love you received, all the attention that was thrown at you, was it the eyes constantly watching you? Was it the loneliness? Was it the fact that you were smart, a lot smarter than all the kids your age? Was it your grown-up mind? What could it have been, that has made your life take a 180° turn, that has turned you against the world, against yourself?

It was you.

   Look at those hands. Really, look at them now. Look at your hands and tell me what you see. You see two hands which played with toys, which hugged family and friends, which turned the pages of picture books and which got dirty. What I see is two hands that go down my throat, that make me vomit; I see a right hand that takes a razor and cuts the wrist of the left hand; I see hands that touch the body of a person who rarely touches back; I see the hands that shove food in the mouth; I see hands that take pills into the mouth; I see hands that clean up vomit. I see hands that are always cold.

These hands are not mine
   Also, I invite you to look at the face. The joyful eyes, the happy smile. What I see? Teeth chewing a ridiculous amount of food, vomit coming out, teeth hurting, throat bleeding, nose running, eyes crying, mascara spreading all over my face, vomit and toilet water splashing my entire face. I see the lips and tongue that lick the blood from my cuts. I see the yellow eyes, exhausted because the body did not receive food. I see the lips that kissed boys and girls, the lips that have only kissed one other pair of lips for an entire year -- a pair of lips  whose words have metaphorically killed, murdered. All I see is black.

That face is not mine.

Dare you look at the body? Look how tiny you were, look at the almost non-existing hair, look at the short legs, the chubby body frame, you could fit into a box. The metamorphosed version is tall (long), slim, like a snake. The long, blonde hair is falling out, there are cuts on your wrists, arms, chest, abdomen, hips, legs, calves, ankles. I tried to cut you into tiny, little pieces. I cut you. I took your hand, led you to my bathroom, sliced your skin, cleaned. It hurt you a bit, but I did not care.

Would you dare hurt a child?

   We are two different people. I am here; older than you, typing our story -- together; and each on her own. I know more about you than anyone knows. I know more about myself than anyone knows. I live in a house with my parents and brother, go to a German school, have an ED. I have a passion for writing, I enjoy reading, especially in the English language. I have many friends. They think they know me, but they are wrong. Despite that, I never tell them anything. This is me. You are...


And I'm sorry for murdering you, little baby.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

The quiet place

   Three days of eating normally. Three days with no binge, no throwing up (or attempting to), only laxatives on Friday and gym on Friday and Saturday morning (today). It has been so different. I planned what to eat. I stuck to my plans and everything went well.
   I lost weight while eating, which seemed totally impossible until now. I knew it was possible for everyone else, just not for me. I have eaten more today, since it is a weekend-day and I am home. But I went to the gym, burned 600 calories and first ate at four o'clock in the afternoon. I came home and ate a little more, then had a proper dinner. I feel full now, but not a "God, I could explode anytime now," but more like "It is okay, I have eaten, and even if the scale shows a major gain, I know it is food weight and even more water weight. I will not eat anything else, not because I feel I have eaten too much* binged, but because I feel satiated."

*I feel I have eaten too much. First, in the "anything-above-zero-is-too-much" way, but I can live with that for now. Secondly, I feel bloated and uncomfortable, but I pray to God it will pass and that I won't wake up and freak out because the scale shows too much.

   I weighed 57.3 this morning, after the laxatives. Since laxative loss quickly comes back, I should be around 57.5, and because I have eaten more today, maybe somewhere around 57.7-.8, because right after eating I weighed 58.9, but I hope I will lose at least one kilo overnight.. That's how it works when I don't binge. One thing I always thought, but never actually said: Eating disorders help you practice Maths.

   I want to play World of Warcraft. I played for an hour at school, it is exactly the same as The Age of Empires (the version I used to play in 2004-2005.. such a long time ago), but instead of humans, it has monsters. I don't like the creatures so much, but I'd love to try something new.

   I should also write some more Random Journal Entries. Just.. not now.

    Check out the quiet place.

Thursday, May 24, 2012


   These days have been awful. There is this promise that you make after every single binge, every single purge: I hate myself, I fucking swear I'm never eating anything again in my entire life, I want to die.

   The next day, you have some food, then some more and a little bit more. You are still okay, but then you think "a little more won't do any harm," so you eat a bit more. Soon, you realize what you have just done: You have eaten food. So you start to binge and binge, because you will purge anyways. You make the weirdest mixtures ever, croissants with cheese, toast with cheese, cheese with ketchup, some cereals, some chips, a yogurt, strawberries, tomatoes, some Sprite and Coke, some water, some bread, chocolate, corn flakes, musli, green onion, cucumber, three types of ice cream, croissants with finetti, M&M's, waffles, energy drink: a bit of everything, but it only looks real after you write it down and see it has taken you three rows, all of which is food you eat during one single binge. It is funny enough if you manage to throw it up (though you never get to throw up everything). But wait a minute! It is hilarious when you eat that much food without managing to purge it. Then you cry and cut and are desperate because you only ate that much food because you knew you were going to throw up, but failed.

   That's when I lose control. Because I can't control my body, I can only control my thoughts. Or the other way around. Sometimes I can control my body (hunger/throw up) but can't control my thoughts (eat eat eat, fat fat fat). Sometimes I can't control my body (I can't make myself purge), but I can always control my thoughts (eat eat eat). Thing is, I do not control my thoughts and my body starts listening to them.
   Today was an exception. My first plan was, obviously, this: No fucking food. Everything went well until I entered the house and lost control: I ate the top layer of a plate with cream of wheat. Thoughts: I broke my promise. I lost control. Next thought: Let's lose control again, but this time, control how much you lose control.

   Which I did. I planned it clearly: Eat the plate with the cream. Then milk with cereal. Then strawberries. 
I changed my mind after that: Cream of wheat. Salad (onions, tomatoes, cucumber, cheese). Strawberries.

   And it went alright. I had some vanilla milk after, because that was planned longer ago. It is 10 pm, I have eaten, I did not motherfucking binge, I am alright. I want to see some results in the morning. This is the first "normal" night in such a long time. I do not want to purge. I know I would not be able to, either.

   Today was a perfect chaos.

Monday, May 21, 2012

Just a cold

   I met toothbrush yesterday. We started playing and all that, but then we had to stop because she was bleeding. Poor toothbrush ;(

   I have had a cold over the weekend. Fever and all that. But yesterday, a binge/purge session kept me from functioning today, so I stayed at home. Fever, coughing, runny nose, fucked throat (toothbrush!), fucked back of the tongue, pain in the bottom left of my abdomen. Since I wasn't going to school anyway, I took eight laxatives and slept 11 hours. I didn't eat anything until tonight, because I couldn't taste/smell/swallow food.

   Funniest thing ever happened when I went to theater. They all saw I was sick to hell and back, wore no make up, etc. I told one girl I felt like throwing up (laxative nausea). We've known each other for almost ten years now. She asks,
"Have you ever thrown up? I can't imagine you like that."
   No. Of course not. I just want see if I can touch my stomach with my fingers, or am occasionally playing with my toothbrush in my throat to see if I can taste the toothpaste down there. Silly you, why would I throw up?
"Of course I did," I answer and laugh.

   I arrived home just in time to not shit my pants. I don't do it without laxatives, anyway. I could go a lifetime without shitting if I didn't have lax. Even funnier thing! I took Nurofen. One or two pills each day. Hello, my old friends, looks like I'll be swallowing you for other reasons than killing myself. Silly me. You won't ever kill me. I dare you. I double-dare you.

   I could have gone to school, of course. I would not have been able to talk, breathe, stay awake or anything for that matter, but I would have ended up alright. Maybe some falling down the stairs or something like that (like last time I felt sick and went to school), but nothing more.

   I didn't go because, after a week of eating, I feel awful.  I feel disgusting. The laxatives and this "cold" brought my weight down, but I don't know if it will stay stat way. Miss, you are not allowed to go up over night. You should stay down. Down down down, not any higher than 57.5, it can't be that much. I won't gain so much over night, because I weighed 56.8 in the evening after drinking a liter of liquids. I have eaten, but people lose weight over night, so hopefully my body will act like a human body, at least tonight.

   Conclusion: I love being sick. I enjoy it, because it makes you lose weight and you have no appetite. I didn't binge today. I took laxatives today. I should be fine. My nose still runs, my eyes hurt, my throat is numb but still hurts like hell, the abdominal pain will stay there forever (because of the throwing up). I refused seeing a doctor for obvious reasons.

   Because my cold is an eating disorder. My eating disorder is just a cold.

Saturday, May 19, 2012


  • from Greekκρυπτός kryptos "the hidden one"
  • a colorless, odorless, tasteless noble gas
  • it [...] is useful in photography as a brilliant white light source.
  • it is considered to be a non-toxic asphyxiant
  • breathing a gas containing 50% krypton and 50% air would cause narcosis [...] and potentially could affect anyone breathing it. Nevertheless, that mixture would contain only 10% oxygen and hypoxia would be a greater concern.

   I am officially in love with krypton.

Four o'clock, never let me sleep

   I am shivering, I am burning. I am in awful laxative pain, 9 or 10 laxatives I've taken at almost 10 PM last night, while walking down the narrow streets between the blocks. Phone in my right hand, left hand fingers moving around quickly. I watch every stranger's hand that passes by, "Maybe he has a knife and will attack me," or the dark, suspicious cars. The mysterios bushes that whisper terrifying words, that make slow moves.. That watch you and every step you make.

   Then there is me, the girl who desperately takes pills from her wallet, wondering where the fuck the 10th pill is, or if I had already taken it.

  Now I am lying awake, freezing. My very "delicate" blood-and-shit shitting obviously woke up grandma, because she is waken by each and every sound in the house. I feel bad, because she has many more problems and don't want her to worry. On the other hand, I do not want to be questioned, either.

   I'll close my tired eyes, bury my freezing body under this thin blanket and my thoughts underneath my skin.

   It's 4:29 AM.

Friday, May 18, 2012

The lake and the willows

   I choose the route which is more beautiful. I do not like the populated roads, so I choose to go through the blocks. There are trees, there is much shadow and the birds are singing, there are no people.

   Suddenly, I feel pain in my abdomen, I have tears in my eyes and a runny nose. I walk and walk, not knowing where I am, but only the destination. Then I arrive, 20 minutes earlier. I walk down the road and meet a classmate, shortly greet him and walk further. I reach the lake -- I stop by, find a place to sit and watch the water, the willow trees. The wind blows through my hair.

   Twelve minutes left.

   I have ten laxatives in my wallet. Looking forward to 9 PM. I want to drown myself, not because I am depressed but because it sounds fun. Death sounds fun, too.

   I should go.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

How I comfort myself

   It is okay, you will be dead someday. It is going to be over someday, everyone you know is going to be dead and no one will know of you anymore. You will be forgotten. Get over it, it is going to be fine someday, you will be dead.. you will be gone.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012


   Today I was oscillating between "no food", "liquids only" and "let's eat normally." I ended up choosing the last one, because my metabolism maybe needs some food to keep working well, and I want it to work well. So I ate and ate, not much, but still too much. I went home and tried to throw up for a few minutes, panicking after failing. I drank water - loads of it, and vomited hands-free. For the first time in my life, without even meaning to. Then I threw up in the sink. Then in the bathtub. It came up so easily. 
   It was the first time ever in my life, that vomiting felt like vomiting, not purging. 

   If you know what I mean. It was so liquid and splashed around in the bathtub, I saw the spaghetti and God knows what brownish thing.. I felt sick, like "car-sick"-sick. It felt natural. It felt real. 

   It is 8:30 and I am home alone. I have a semester paper tomorrow. I want to go to college abroad, far away from my parents. I don't want to see them anymore. I haven't spoken to her since yesterday, neither have I seen her. It feels so quiet and peaceful. All I need is to be left alone. I am getting along well with my dad. I can't be upset with him, despite having fought for and hour with him yesterday. And I can't stand her, despite what I said above. I want her gone. It's me or her.

Monday, May 14, 2012

A hell of an evening.

   I tried to eat without throwing up. And I succeeded. For two days.
   I enter the house, leave my backpack on the stairs and go get some musli. I have been planning to eat them for hours. This and  some other super-delicious food made by dad. All is good. Dad comes in.
Me: Hey, is 8,000 euros per semester much? For a private college, I mean..
And the discussion goes on normally. Then, bang. She starts yelling and screaming that I never told her about that, that I never tell her about anything and that I avoid her. I am like are you fucking kidding me. She starts crying and says she is dying, says she should have stayed at home (while I was a kid) instead of working. Blah blah, then I fight with Dad, I can see in his eyes that he wants to beat me up, slap me. Kick me. But he does not dare. I go upstairs, quickly hide a blade somewhere near. He comes in, we talk, I cry, the woman who says she is my mother cried, my brother cries because the fucking bitch cries. (should I go downstairs and cut right in front of her? Yes! No.. lil brother is there. No need to traumatize him. I'll cut in silence) My dad is desperate, he asks me what my problem is, he yells at me, tells me to go talk to her. I give him my usual smart answers, not letting him win this argument. ("Well, if she has problems, she has to find a way to cope. She is an adult, it is not my job to make sure she is okay. If I have problems, I cope." He says, "Let's not talk about your ways to cope." -- cutting) He leaves, I cut, slice slice slice, I pull down my sleeve, the sleeve (thank God it is black) is full of blood. He comes back, we fight, "Maybe you should not have had kids," he leaves. I get out of my room, go into the bathroom. Where is the key? He says he took it away. Why? Caution. Fine. (I can cut in my room too, right? Right.) So I go back and cut some more. He comes in. We talk, blah blah, I might have touched something with my index and left blood on it. Dad gives me a look.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing." He leaves. I obviously know he has seen the blood. Should I go and put my bleeding wrist in front of his face, or..? Neah, I don't want to look attention-seeking. Psychotherapist calls. We talk. Dad has called her. Then I cut some more. Then we talk again.
   Now I am fine, ready to do some homework and studying. There is no reason to give a fuck. The world would be a totally different place if I gave a fuck. Go on, smile, shine, succeed, excel. Be the best, hide, ignore without being ignored. Listen to your friends' stories, help everyone, pretend all is fine, and it's going to be fine in the end.

   This evening was so disgusting that not eating won't be an effort from now on. I do not know if I want to sleep tonight. Maybe I don't. But maybe I will.

   I need to learn how to cut, because my cuts have never been serious enough. I need to end up in hospital. I need to end up dead.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Random Journal Entry #3

If you knew you were dying in 60 seconds, what would your last words be?

   I have not been an average person. I know I have been different than many of you; and I know many of you did not believe in me. I did not believe in myself, either.
   If I am to go now, then so be it. There are not many I have loved, but I truly hope the ones I did love, felt it. It would be a disappointment to know I have not given everything I could. I know it has not been enough.
   Nothing is ever going to be enough.
   Now, as you watch me go, don't be sad. Smile for me, because I couldn't. Bury me with my poems. I am glad to go.
   I have been set free; unchained.

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Funny joke, you can't miss it..

   There was this little, pretty girl. She was feeling well because she had not eaten anything for three days, and the fact that she ate on Friday without gaining 100 kilos over night made her feel even better. Then she went home and said to herself, "I will only eat a salad, take some laxatives and everything is going to be fine."
   Here comes the funny part. She started eating more than she wanted to. Ice cream, cake, grapes, cheese and so on. It was not much - but it was there. She went into her bathroom to throw up. She was excited, because her parents were not at home, so there was nothing to worry about. and she vomited and vomited, until she accidentally scratched the roof of her mouth and vomited blood. After she was done, she went into the other bathroom, because the laxatives started to kick in. She had a hard time "getting the thing out," because the overuse of laxatives had, perhaps, irritated the pretty little hole. After she was done, there was blood there, too. She looked in the mirror and grinned. She stepped on the scale - 54.9, the lowest weight she's had since last summer.
   Back into the other bathroom, she started cleaning the vomit and the WC - just like a good girl that she is. She thought that would be all for the day, and that she could either stop eating or eat and keep it down. It didn't work this time, either. She ate and ate and ate, then she threw up. there was no blood anymore, but her throat started to hurt her like hell.
   Then her parents came home and her father cooked something very delicious. She ate it carefully, bite by bite. After finishing her portion, our pretty little girl went downstairs to have some more. "I have to take a bath," she thought. She always threw up before taking a bath. The girl went into the bathroom and bent down next to the toilet. She brutally hit her throat, sticking her fingers deeper an deeper, but it would not come out. Something in the upper-left side of her abdomen started to hurt, right below her ribs. She ignored it, because that always happened to her. Her throat hurt more and more, but she ignored that too: she wanted the food out. The food refused to come out, so there was only a little bit of vomit in the toilet. the girl cleaned it and took the bath. After finishing, she went to eat some strawberries. Yummy, delicious strawberries.
   And you know what? She could not possibly feel depressed and suicidal, because she had thrown up three times that day, and had not eaten for three days before that. She thought it was quite an accomplishment.

   Then she wrote the entire story on her blog and told everyone that is was a funny joke they couldn't miss. Because it was; and they just couldn't.

Back home.

   I had more than a hot chocolate yesterday. I had some cake, a tomato, some onion and God knows what, but thanks Lord in Heaven, I have not binged. I came back from my grandmother a few hours ago. First thing I did - get on the scale. 55.2 That is good, it is around 120.5 lbs. BMI 18.7, almost underweight.. Almost. The secind thing I did was take all the laxatives I had, eleven. Then I ate ice cream and cake and grapes. nobinge-nobinge-nobinge. I will make myself a salad (tomatoes, green onion, cucumber, cheese) for lunch and eat it while watching Grey's Anatomy. So damn good.

    There is a semester paper next week, in Romanian. Then one in Maths on the 28th. I have not written the paper in German, for reasons I am not going to write here, because I want to keep my anonymity. But it is a good thing, so there is no reason for anyone to worry.

   I have not written a post like this in ages. All of them were full of blood and cuts and food and vomit and anger. Today I am better. I feel hypomanic and kind of happy, I want to do many things and even now, I am typing very fast. I have to study for my semester paper and for a test in Physics (God, I don't like that subject), I have to read a book which I dislike even more until the 4th of June. I am home alone until evening, when my parents come back from Bucharest. I almost feel the laxes kicking in, but I don't feel sick yet, which is fine. and which is why I'll go back to studying now. Then, maybe I'll write a Random Journal Entry, I feel like writing pages and pages and pages. I've been like that for a few days.. look what not eating makes you do. :)

   It has been a year since I broke up with my ex. Since I thought everything was going to be fine once I do it. I hope I am not going to fool myself again. I can't let that happen.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Rainbow in hell

My grandmother started touching my hipbones and saying I was thin.
My classmates said my eyes were yellow and that I should really go home.
I didn't go to my theatre group yesterday.
I can't walk.
My psychotherapist tried to convince me to eat "negcal" foods. I told her THERE IS NO SUCH THING.
My eyes hurt and burn like hell.
I skipped two classes today.
I can't breathe; breathing is a struggle.
I get dizzier than ever.
I'm dead.

I have been cooking and baking with my grandmother for an hour, mixing and adding water and melting. Once the cake was done, I smelled it. I touched it. I even kissed it, and then got the crumbles out of my mouth. I could not eat any of it. And honestly, it smells and looks better than it could ever taste. I caress food, smell it, watch it, talk about it, I love it and plan how to eat/not eat it. I imagine the taste while drinking water, and the water automatically gets the taste of food.

My eyes, my yellow eyes burn.
They started joking that I am anaemic.

I will eat tomorrow. I want to eat tomorrow. I'm afraid to eat tomorrow. I'm thrilled, terrified, horrified, anxious, I already feel guilty, even though this is the fourth zero-calorie food and tomorrow I'll be taking laxatives anyway.

And there's no alternative.

I am so damn cold. But I am empty. There is nothing inside me. It's not only about losing weight. It's more about the strength and will power to not even touch food, to feed yourself with its smell. It is my thing and no one knows about it, no one else I know can do it. They are eaters. I am not.

Sometimes I think it's so pathetic. Not eating, seriously? I think I have talked about that before. But I don't care how pointless it might seem to others. It means everything to me and that is not going to change.

I'll stay like this until there's nnothing left inside me.

Until I see a rainbow in hell.

Later edit: Fine, I'll have a hot chocolate. 97 calories. Liquid. Three days with nothing, it's been better than ever.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

No limits

She hugs me.

"God, you are so thin!! Why are you like this?!"

She looks at a classmate.

"Come hug her, look, she's so thin!"

I tell her to let me go, which she does, staring at me.

I'll never be able to see myself through her eyes. I know, I'm not fat, I'm tall, I'm blonde and have a pretty face. Fine. But still, I'm the one who does not eat for days and throws up and takes lax, simply because thin is never thin enough, neither is "too thin". It will never be enough.

Two days, zero cals, first to consecutive zero-cal days ever. Push yourself, break the limits. There are no limits.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012


   It has been one year. The 8th of May was the first food without food. Well, it was not really the very first -- just the first I tracked. There were days when I was 9 years old, 10 years old when I used not to eat for one day or eat very little, like "allowing" myself this and that, because hey, it is normal to eat, right?
   8 May 2011 was not a zero-calorie day, because I used to drink milk or Activia and chew gum to keep myself away from food. I've been chewing lots of gum during this year, until the point where gum made me sick. The same happened with the pills. The laxatives were fine. Three at a time, four at a time, they had a sweet, pleasant taste. Now? Ten-thirteen at a time, swallow them quickly because the taste brings nausea, drink lots of water to wash away the taste. But it has not been a year yet. Laxaversary is in September.

   I have not eaten today, nor have I drunk anything but two sips of water. It has been a year, and a lot has has changed. I have changed. This is the behavior I wanted to have, these are the things I wished I was able to do. Not eating anything, resisting the urge to do so, being strong, but heck, I am weaker than ever. Mentally speaking, I am weaker than ever.

   Looking back, I see that the reason I had not eaten was not the "not eating/restricting" itself. It was because I was with him, the other him. I was with him and hated everything about it, so I lay in my bed, dirty and lazy, and talked on the phone with my best male friend. And that best friend kept talking to me and asking what was wrong, and I eventually told him. I can clearly recall that day - it was dark outside, the lights were on in my room, the windows were open. The bed was unmade, I was walking around angrily, desperately, what the fuck am I going to do? It was a Sunday. I always eat on weekends, so maybe the 8th of May was the first time I felt (I almost wrote feeled) depressed. Not the suicidal, "let's-take-12-Nurofen", "let's-jump", "let's-cut-until-I-bleed" kind of depressed. But it was awful.

   And so the time has passed and the time has brought me here. And here I am, writing because I am frustrated, writing because writing is the only cure, writing because I love to write, and I can write and damn, writing is beautiful. I'm writing because it is the only thing I can do without destroying myself.

   I'm not destroying myself. Everything is fine. I can go one more year with this. And one more and one more until there's nothing more left.

Monday, May 7, 2012

A mess

My head is spinning and my thoughts are racing; actually, my mind is idle, there is nothing left inside. I want to vanish, to be gone, to turn to ashes. I do not know how, I don't even know if this world is real. What if it's just another stupid joke? What if it's all just a nightmare where you can do anything, and nothing will happen to you? People are afraid to jump from buildings in their dreams, because they do not know it's a dream. Maybe life is a dream, maybe we should jump to wake up, to be really awake. To make the nightmare stop and what is real to begin.

And so I lose my mind somewhere in between binge and purge and vomit on my face and undone homework and God knows what.

And so I wait for my breath to magically kill me, because everything else has failed.

I'd be glad to go.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Peace, sure..

   Hate hate hate. Hate is flowing through my body, I can't think, I want to slit my wrists so many times that the razor breaks, I want to break my bones, cut off my head, jump out a thousand windows, beat up everyone I see, make them bleed, get a dagger and make myself bleed to death, take out my eyes and squeeze them, take my limbs and break them in a million pieces. I want to eat all the food in the world until I can't anymore, then throw it up, throw up everything, throw up my intestines and stomach and throat and esophagus and lungs and spline and bladder, make everything come out through my throat then cut off my fucking neck and eat all my organs again, then throw them back up. I want to smell death, ants and spiders and snakes crawling up my corpse, eating me. Birds, black crows eating from my flesh, hungry vultures devouring me, the acid turning my skin green, a putrid green, like a zombie. I want to take out my heart and pour the blood down my throat, wash my teeth with it then again - throw it up. I want to take each and every person and do the same thing with them - devour them and let them be devoured by mad animals. Everyone except for one person, one damn person who won't even give a shit.

   I want to turn to ashes and be blown away by the wind. I want to be dead, motherfucking dead. Eat nothing for the rest of my life, become a skeleton, a real skeleton, then be broken and burnt until I'm just ashes, ashes, ashes. Then I'll be gone and I'll find peace. I'll find peace..

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Free tickets to Wonderland

Start on Sunday. Go to sleep at 1 AM, wake up at seven. Go on with your day. In the afternoon, take a nap on the swing in the backyard. Try to ignore the headache and the acid that is filling your mouth. Your mood has to be fucked up, or else it won't work. Sleep from 3 to 5. Get up and go on with your day.
At night, get on your laptop and keep yourself busy, mostly by playing Sims. Three oclock, four, five, six, seven. No damn sleep, it's already Monday. Go on with the day. Despite not having slept, you do not feel even a bit tired. Your phone will soon show seven PM. You will lie on the floor of your bedroom, talking on the phone, swirling around and moving your feet along the wall. Watch the stars. Try to get up, fail, crawl a bit, get up. It is not tiredness -- but laziness. So you go on with the day until ten o'clock. You start getting paranoid.
"Why is the curtain like that?"
"what did I just hear?"
"DAMN what is that shadow?"
"What about that light?"
And on and on.
At eleven o'clock, go and take a bath. You will fall asleep for two seconds. When you'll wake up, you will feel as if you had clothes on. Wet clothes. It will feel unusual. Then you will blink and think that the lights went out and then quickly came back again. After that, you get into your room and dry your hair, get dressed in pajamas. It is midnight. 31 hours with no sleep. Take some laxatives. Lie on the bed with the lights on. Unwillingly fall asleep, wake up later.
"What time is it?" Room is blurry. You get up, get dizzy, turn off the lights ans sleep on the bed, on the towels and clothes.

Voila, this is how you get to Wonderland, where everything is possible. Enjoy yourselves.