Each pang of need stifles the mind
The idea of food feels like failure
You want to be the skeleton in your closet
Thin-eternal and full of righteousness
Greasy, filthy, succulent, disgusting
Your plate is heaped with fat and disease
So you don’t eat anything
You can’t. You have to reach nirvana.
But eventually you get hungry enough
That you start to consume your own heart
The warm sticky ideas and feelings
It bleeds emotion and you were so numb before
You eat your own heart out and feel sorrow
A deep longing – a grief you never knew existed
They say when you are hungry enough
When you have denied yourself any kind of pleasure
You begin to eat out your heart,
But you will never be satisfied, never be full
The pain and loss overwhelms you
And the mirror shows a skeleton.
by me, xXx
i like to think that no one knows what i am but i can’t hide forever. i want to be a teacher eventually – i think. it could just be the line i’ve been fed for so long that i believe its what i actually want. whatever. it’s not like i can ever even be that – one look at my medical records and i’d be fucked. the hospitalizations, the rehab, the (prescribed) drugs alone – it paints a picture of sickness that i can’t ever escape. i can’t ever escape it because it’s true. i am a mess.
i lost my boyfriend, the good boy that loved me once. i’m not sure if he does anymore – i don’t even know if he still thinks about me. he won’t answer my calls but the last thing he said to me was that if i finished rehab then we would be able to talk about “the possibility of getting back together.” but who knows, it’s probably a ploy to give me hope so i don’t kill myself on the spot. he probably thinks that me going to rehab will fix me and my dark thoughts but it wont. ill make sure of that. i have it all planned. as soon as we talk and it goes south, as it probably will – that’s it. i’m done.
i’d like to have hope but i just don’t. i’m going to rehab to check it off the list. i still smoke cigarettes but i have been clean since i ODed two or three weeks ago. i want to say i almost died, but i don’t think i did. i just lost my boyfriend and scared everyone. but next time won’t be a fuck up. the next time i go for suicide – i’m not going to fail. i’m sick of failures. it needs to be perfect, and it will be. gah i wish i had some acid and a locked colorful room for the rest of my life. i don’t want to go on without escape and i don’t think i can. someone at rehab is bound to have connections, they always do. if there is a time to do drugs its now, while steve is out of my life. now is the time. there is no salvation but there is escapism and that’s all i can go on for now.
i can’t even put into words how much i despise myself. i am worse than an addict, bipolar, ocd, rape-victim, eating disordered individual who probably has daddy issues. i am a girl who hurts literally everything in her path. i want to change that, but i fear it’s too late for me. one last desperate act will seal the deal and show the world the ugly little child i am and always have been. i just need a way out of this mess i call my life. i need to get out.