(no subject)
Dear diary.
I don’t feel so good.
I probably need to start taking my Wellbutrin and Seroquil again. It’s been months since I’ve taken them, and my parents just assume I am. Thanks guys, for butting out, I’m glad they weren’t up in my face about it.
My fingertips are ashamed. They are such liars. I can lie without letting a word pass through my lips. Just what would you have done if I had been honest? Would you have been my superman, and flown to my house, and rescued a girl already bleeding on the inside?
Many things must change, now. I’m going to lose 50 pounds. Seriously. 50 pounds. It will look like I cut myself in half, but I’ll be beautiful and thin and no one will be able to touch me. Even if some days I’ll have to eat fucking cotton balls, I will do this. I’ll be untouchable. I’ll be beautiful. I’ll be proud to be me, and proud of every piece of clothing in my closet, and proud to maybe wear something a bit tighter.
And once I’m on my medication, I’ll feel right again. I won’t be so repulsed, I won’t be so disinterested. I won’t be such a bitch.
I want to be lifted above this, taken above and let free. I want to soar through the clouds, feel the moisture mist on my skin, watch it freeze into little crystals on my arms as I fly into the heavens, and watch it evaporate as I plummet towards the ground and the gravity that begs to hold me in place.
No breakdown for me, I can’t. I already had one earlier this week. No, don’t be a bad girl.
I will be so thin, when I draw my knees up to my chest, it will look like a beach chair folding in half.
I’m going to go draw and clean and write letters and clean and draw more.
I don’t feel so good.
I probably need to start taking my Wellbutrin and Seroquil again. It’s been months since I’ve taken them, and my parents just assume I am. Thanks guys, for butting out, I’m glad they weren’t up in my face about it.
My fingertips are ashamed. They are such liars. I can lie without letting a word pass through my lips. Just what would you have done if I had been honest? Would you have been my superman, and flown to my house, and rescued a girl already bleeding on the inside?
Many things must change, now. I’m going to lose 50 pounds. Seriously. 50 pounds. It will look like I cut myself in half, but I’ll be beautiful and thin and no one will be able to touch me. Even if some days I’ll have to eat fucking cotton balls, I will do this. I’ll be untouchable. I’ll be beautiful. I’ll be proud to be me, and proud of every piece of clothing in my closet, and proud to maybe wear something a bit tighter.
And once I’m on my medication, I’ll feel right again. I won’t be so repulsed, I won’t be so disinterested. I won’t be such a bitch.
I want to be lifted above this, taken above and let free. I want to soar through the clouds, feel the moisture mist on my skin, watch it freeze into little crystals on my arms as I fly into the heavens, and watch it evaporate as I plummet towards the ground and the gravity that begs to hold me in place.
No breakdown for me, I can’t. I already had one earlier this week. No, don’t be a bad girl.
I will be so thin, when I draw my knees up to my chest, it will look like a beach chair folding in half.
I’m going to go draw and clean and write letters and clean and draw more.