Poem time

Lately, I've been obsessed with "Song to say goodbye" by Placebo and "Falling Again" by Lacuna Coil.  I should add them to my already depressing track list on my blog, but until then, I highly recommend them.  Good songs.  I also wrote a lot of poems yesterday in my sleepless stupor, so I thought I'd post one while I contemplate whether going out and meeting with friends or wallowing about last night (a night of bingeing, purging, taking lots of laxatives, and other abusive things)...I'm in a better mood today, though, because I'm wearing a pretty, new sweater.  Now for the poem:


Clouds roll by in the moonlight sky,
passing shadows where the darkness lies.
Hidden creatures watching the figure,
a black cloak that keeps getting nearer.
The pale skin glows alabaster white,
eerily vibrant in the dimming light.
A chill falls upon the sumer land,
as the ghostly being raises its hand.
An omen so dark that the owls cry,
and all that is passed, left to shrivel to die.
The world has tasted a piece of hell,
the figure serving as its warning bell.
A caution to all of the future still,
where all will be food for the devil's fill.


Creepy, I know...

Sleepless nights

I decided not to sleep again last night, choosing to listen to music, drink red bull, and put off my homework.  I also binged earlier in the night and didn't purge because I'm trying not to get caught (my roommate was home).  The guilt definitely was weighing down on me, which was why I chose not to sleep.  I will be living off of exorbitant amounts of caffeine to make up for it.  Finishing chugging my black coffee now, then grabbing a huge sugar free red bull, some diet pills, and heading off to class.

Also when I put in my contacts, they burned my eyes and I had to take them out and throw them away.  Fortunately I had an extra set, but not how I like to start my day...although technically yesterday never really ended since I didn't go to bed.  I'm idly wondering how long I can go without sleeping, but I know I tend to start semi hallucinating when I go for too long.  My roommate is going home tonight so I'm hoping to do my personal self destruction in peace for once.  Pathetic.

Oh and side note, I randomly took a knife and carved "fat" into my forearm...I keep staring at it and am sickly proud of my little brand.  I shouldn't be, but I can't help it.  As if I needed more reminding of my overly large size anyway...but maybe I will finally get back on track so I don't need that reminder.  Thank god the weather is cooling off, too (ish), so it's easy to cover.

F***ed Up?

Sometimes I wish I could just be a complete and under disaster.  I'm jealous of fallen starlets, people with legit problems, past abuse...terrible of me, I know.  I'm sure that those people all wish they could restart and will their problems away, but here I am beckoning trouble.  I think part of the problem is that I already feel like a waste but yet I'm still failing at that; I can't do anything right.  What's the point of being a little fucked up?  I'm definitely a person of extremes, easily addicted, and full of contradictions.  I want to be in chaos, I want to be a wreck, and I want to fall.  I feel like I've been on the edge for so many years, faking things too well and sashaying through life with a phony smile plastered on my face.  If someone found out about the things I do in my own personal time, then they would be shocked.  When I had a complete mental breakdown this summer over my birthday weekend, my parents were floored.  They'd never seen me in such a state, (they think I'm fine now and that it only happened because I was living alone this summer), but the only reason they haven't seen me like that is because I choose not to let them.  I just lost my control that time.

I guess I'm just tired of having minor problems.  I obviously have eating problems, but I'm not full fledged bulimic and clearly not anorexic since I'm too fat anyway.  And I may be depressed and slightly suicidal, but I've never cut (although I think about doing it all the time) and I'd never have the guts to actually kill myself.  I may be inwardly satisfied when I'm in pain, try not to sleep so I can feel more miserable, and have these strange fantasies of being tortured...it all sounds so wrong, but I just don't think I deserve any better.  And to top it all off, it never ceases to confuse me how I got this way in the first place.  No one raped me, no one in my family does drugs, my parents are happily married...so what happened?  Not having any trauma or reason for my problems makes me feel worthless and like a pointless tragedy.  Maybe that's why I tend to create problems on my own.  Is it wrong for me to wish such harm upon myself?  I think I'm just desperately seeking a reason, but logically hoping for something to happen now is a little ridiculous and belated.  But that just goes to show how fucked up I am anyway.

I'm sorry for anyone who has had such dealings in the past and please don't be mad at me for this post.  My mind is just very screwed up, I think.  And I love you all and thank you for all your comments.  I don't know if you understand just how much it really does mean to me.

Stressed

I'm stressing myself out for no particular reason.  I have a lot of homework, a lot of things I need to be doing, etc., but the only thing I can focus on is my fatness.  Sometimes it feels so overwhelming that I just wish everything would go away...like, life in general.  But while I have rampant raging thoughts of how great it would be for my life to finally end, I could never actually sum up the courage to do that myself.  I know that people always say it's a "permanent solution to a temporary problem," but this doesn't feel very "temporary" to me.  Regardless, I agree with them.  But my reasons for not taking action into my own hands is more out of cowardice; my fear of what happens when after you die is greater than my resentment of the life I am living.  Between you and me, that fear and that resentment are pretty high.

I just wish that I could live life like other, normal people.  I wish I could walk outside and not search for clues that I'm alive.  I wish I could eat something without thinking about how many calories are in every bite or worrying that my bite or nibble is too big.  I wish that when people look at me I don't automatically assume they're thinking about how disgusting I am because that's what I think of myself.  I wish I could look in the mirror and not cringe or want to shatter it.  And I wish that when people tell me I'm beautiful I could actually see what they see...for once.

But I don't, and I don't think I ever will.  My disdain for myself is so ingrained and has been growing at an exponential rate every year so that I can't even remember the last time I was truly happy, if ever happy about myself.  I went to a mary kay thing with a friend, where they taught us about skincare.  There was a mirror before us, and we had to apply the products, look at ourselves in the mirror, and smile.  I really struggled because I didn't want to look at my reflection.  It amazed me how other people can just smile at themselves, say they're beautiful, and be happy.  And all I could think was how I wanted to make a mad dash (to some unknown destination).  Why can't I be like them?