balloons, bananas, and bubble gum
those are three things i spy with my little eye.
oh man, exactly. EXACTLY. you NAILED it. im not doing the thinking or deciding anymore. this demonic sickness, disease, THING is the be-all and end-all of every facet of my LIFE. every WAKING MOMENT OF MY LIFE i am thinking about HOW GODDAMN PROUD I AM FOR BEING SUCCESSFULLY SICK. my husband gives me a hug and i can tell hes being careful like i have these little bird bones that might snap if he squeezes too tight.
2 years and 20 pounds and a lifetime ago, he was picking me up and throwing me around and having tickle fights. now i am this ming vase that everyones scared to approach, lest i shatter into a million billion pieces. i understand the influence of the Guys that seem to swagger in and out of our lives with such ease too. EVERY SINGLE ONE IVE MET has extolled and waxed poetic on how oh god SKINNY girls are SCARY and models and actresses are SO THIN ITS SICK but media makes them liars. if it wasnt considered Beautiful, then it wouldnt be so sought after. if men really thought emaciation was so repulsive, then every superstar sexkitten female wouldnt be under 90lbs. somebodys fucking lying and sweetheart, it aint me. someone should begin marketing muzzles for men. that way when they start to spew forth venemous bullshit, we can effectively shut them up without starting some big fat draining he said she said fight which leaves nobody feeling better at all. some comments are innocent (maybe) and some are intentionally cruel (you bet your skinny ass) and the intentionally cruel ones are arguments for abortion, if you ask me. at the very least, public execution. if some asshole says the wrong thing and hurts me, i want to see him SUFFER.
wouldnt it be nice to starve your boyfriend or husband or mom or whoever for a week? just to see what happened to them? they could go back to eating normally afterward, of course..
if they could.
and somehow, i think maybe THEYD develop a little issue with food too.
and weve been pulling this shit and waking up, getting up, working, loving, functioning with this shit for YEARS. i want to throw a handful of razorblades at my psychiatrist and just scream HERE. when he asks how i am doing lately. i want to slap myself across the face. there are people in this world who are starving for lack of food rather than a lack of seratonin or whatever the hell causes this disease. THOSE people have a right to bitch and curse god, you know? who am i? a 26 year old walking suicide. a selfish, self-absorbed little pain in the ass.
im depressed.
oh christ annmarie, cry me a fucking river.
knowing i am sick doesnt cure the sickness. awareness is not a bandaid.
the fact that you, my little Scarlet (get it? a little name i made up for you) recovered, if only temporarily, is worth applause. i am serious. i havent been able to do that much after 3 shrinks, a rehab, an institution, and falling hopelessly in love with my husband, rockgod of chaos, demigod of my worshipfulness. bravo. you looked through the mirror and decided to grow wings and kick some ass and find your voice. you are so very correct. it is a difficult thing to fight off. it is a ceaseless war. i even throw up in my DREAMS.
we have been slamming our heads into walls for so long that even though we are bleeding, even though we are sobbing, we dont stop.
because if we stop, it will start to hurt. i will never laugh at you. god no. i probably understand better than your own mother and that may be weird considering weve never met, but there it is. you state your case well and i will never laugh.
but i cannot promise i wont cry.
-supervixen
oh man, exactly. EXACTLY. you NAILED it. im not doing the thinking or deciding anymore. this demonic sickness, disease, THING is the be-all and end-all of every facet of my LIFE. every WAKING MOMENT OF MY LIFE i am thinking about HOW GODDAMN PROUD I AM FOR BEING SUCCESSFULLY SICK. my husband gives me a hug and i can tell hes being careful like i have these little bird bones that might snap if he squeezes too tight.
2 years and 20 pounds and a lifetime ago, he was picking me up and throwing me around and having tickle fights. now i am this ming vase that everyones scared to approach, lest i shatter into a million billion pieces. i understand the influence of the Guys that seem to swagger in and out of our lives with such ease too. EVERY SINGLE ONE IVE MET has extolled and waxed poetic on how oh god SKINNY girls are SCARY and models and actresses are SO THIN ITS SICK but media makes them liars. if it wasnt considered Beautiful, then it wouldnt be so sought after. if men really thought emaciation was so repulsive, then every superstar sexkitten female wouldnt be under 90lbs. somebodys fucking lying and sweetheart, it aint me. someone should begin marketing muzzles for men. that way when they start to spew forth venemous bullshit, we can effectively shut them up without starting some big fat draining he said she said fight which leaves nobody feeling better at all. some comments are innocent (maybe) and some are intentionally cruel (you bet your skinny ass) and the intentionally cruel ones are arguments for abortion, if you ask me. at the very least, public execution. if some asshole says the wrong thing and hurts me, i want to see him SUFFER.
wouldnt it be nice to starve your boyfriend or husband or mom or whoever for a week? just to see what happened to them? they could go back to eating normally afterward, of course..
if they could.
and somehow, i think maybe THEYD develop a little issue with food too.
and weve been pulling this shit and waking up, getting up, working, loving, functioning with this shit for YEARS. i want to throw a handful of razorblades at my psychiatrist and just scream HERE. when he asks how i am doing lately. i want to slap myself across the face. there are people in this world who are starving for lack of food rather than a lack of seratonin or whatever the hell causes this disease. THOSE people have a right to bitch and curse god, you know? who am i? a 26 year old walking suicide. a selfish, self-absorbed little pain in the ass.
im depressed.
oh christ annmarie, cry me a fucking river.
knowing i am sick doesnt cure the sickness. awareness is not a bandaid.
the fact that you, my little Scarlet (get it? a little name i made up for you) recovered, if only temporarily, is worth applause. i am serious. i havent been able to do that much after 3 shrinks, a rehab, an institution, and falling hopelessly in love with my husband, rockgod of chaos, demigod of my worshipfulness. bravo. you looked through the mirror and decided to grow wings and kick some ass and find your voice. you are so very correct. it is a difficult thing to fight off. it is a ceaseless war. i even throw up in my DREAMS.
we have been slamming our heads into walls for so long that even though we are bleeding, even though we are sobbing, we dont stop.
because if we stop, it will start to hurt. i will never laugh at you. god no. i probably understand better than your own mother and that may be weird considering weve never met, but there it is. you state your case well and i will never laugh.
but i cannot promise i wont cry.
-supervixen