I'm feeling quite strange. I talked to my mom for awhile, she tries to make me feel better, and I love her for it. But there is no consoling my lost soul. I hurt. I am literally damaging myself. And for what? To be thin. What will that do for me? Shall I consider this, I will be more confident in my skin, I will be less self conscious. I will be able to wear all of my clothes. There are so many shorts, jeans, tank tops, and shirts that I just can't wear. I look to fat in them. They don't fit right. It is sad to say but the last six months or so I definitely gained weight. It is a fact. It is not in my head. Early this year, when I was dating B., I was so skinny. I wanted him to feel my bones and he liked it. He would cup my hip bones, rub my ribs and shoulders. Ugh, but I can't think about his touch. I am horrified that we dated, but that is another story for a different time. The memories of that time in my life are jagged and sharp; they hurt my brain, they hurt my heart.
Onward. I truly need to do so much. I think about it all, and it weighs on my mind so heavily. I am moving tomorrow. I have barely packed; all my posters are still hanging, all my drawers are full, and my clothes are folded in my dresser and hanging in my closet. Ha. Sigh. Pause in thought, a quick look up. I can't believe this whole b/p thing. It only started a couple of months ago. It is seriously gross, but I kind of like it. I don't like when I can't fully do it. I do like when it happens fast, it is relieving. How fucked up is that?
I think I need to quit smoking pot for awhile. I have no money anyway. It is out of hand as well. I smoke all day every day. I just smoked my last bowl. I have no more, and no cash. I am going to take a quick resin hit, hold on. That was so not worth it. Ahh. This blog is a weird thing. I share more here than I would ever share with anyone. I do feel quirky urges to tell people I throw up my food, almost as if I were proud of such a horrendous act. Like they would be worried for me or something. Lol.
I am listening to Hanson on YouTube. "Thinking of You" to be exact. Talk about a throwback band. I used to looove those boys. I was constantly made fun of for it. Come to think of it, looking back, I was always getting picked on. No wonder I have mental issues and an eating disorder. No wonder I am an anti-social, pot-addicted hermit. No wonder when I get someone one on one I start babbling away as a desperate way to impress and/or make a friend.
I hurt. My heart is inside me, I can't feel it beating right now. But it is, it is keeping me alive for some reason. I have anxiety-ridden dreams and fears that today or tomorrow will be the day that I die. You guys reading won't know. This blog could just be another unfinished work of non-fiction floating through the world wide web. But I will be gone. All of my stuff will be looked through, wow this is getting depressing, I can't even finish that thought.
I need to get off my ass and pack. At least I haven't eaten anything since earlier's b/p session. My stomach aches. This is kind of a long post, oh well, at least I am "writing". I don't work again until Friday, which sucks. Note to self: remember how bored I feel when there is nothing to do. Come next Monday, when college starts back up, I will be frantic and busy every day. I need to stay on top of it, therefore I need to cut back hardcore on the pot smoking.
I also need to do the dishes, fuck. There are all of these stupid fruit flies swarming me that just want to feast on the congealed and soggy food in the sink drain cap. Well fuck you flies, I will windex your ass. It feels good to kill those fucks. Wow, violent?? If you have read all of this, then God bless you. These rambling antics of mine are out of order and nonrelevant to my "pro ana/mia" blog. Good night to you!