It’s only the third week of the new year and I’m sitting here contemplating just how bad things might get this year before I’ll just explode and be tired of it. I feel like I hate myself more and more each day but I can’t tell anyone, oh no, because then I’ll be put into a situation where people have to act like they care, where word will eventually get back to my mom and she’ll bother me with what’s wrong, tell me it’ll all get better once I loose weight, and put me into group therapy again.

I haven’t cut in months but the urge is still there, stronger than ever. It seems like every single time I get even a little bit upset my mind instantly thinks back to how blissful it felt to just feel it all drain away, and I’ll be stuck with yet another disgusting scar on my already dreadfully disgusting body. 

I just can’t help but think that if I feel this lost and tired at the age of seventeen, what will it be like once I graduate? When I turn twenty? Or thirty? Will I ever get married? Probably not, I can’t even love and tolerate myself- how can I expect someone else too? Will I ever have kids? Hah, would you look at me? I see all these people just wasting their lives away drinking and doing drugs and being their typical mundane, boring selves and I judge them, but I’m not doing anything remotely different (though I don’t do drugs or drink- I hate them both equally).

Recently I’ve felt like all I really do is sit and my bed and try and remember a time when nothing hurt, and I don’t find anything. It’s days like this where I don’t want to die, I want to see how good I could possibly get in the future and what I decide to do with my talents, but then I laugh and realize that the only thing keeping me here are my handful of best friends and my dog. It’s been enough for the last three years, I’m just fearing the day when it won’t be anymore.

Thanks for the birthday card, Dad. I just got around to burning it today.

verycopacetic:

This is Elizabeth, one of my best friends, wearing my swim cap when we went to the gym last Wednesday. Yep.

Liz, look what I posted the other day.

This is Elizabeth, one of my best friends, wearing my swim cap when we went to the gym last Wednesday. Yep.

The little girl I babysit drew me “Rapunzel.”

I did this to all the mugs in the Disney store in the mall by my house.

I just re-dyed my hair the other day, and while I was babysitting this afternoon one of the girls said that they really liked my hair. After going into the bathroom to check it out, I noticed how cool and wavy it looked, and had to take a picture.

Hair like this doesn’t come all that often for me.

There is no one in the world that can handle my obsessions, my fears, my faults, my weaknesses, my strengths, my mood swings, my ego, my talent, my entire lack-there-of… It just sucks, because I know if I ever want to be in a decent relationship, I’m going to have to change. And I’m afraid of change.

I really dislike sleeping alone.

I always sleep better when I’m sharing a bed with someone, which is why I tend to sleep over at my friend Elizabeth’s house quite often, because she doesn’t really have that big of a boundary when it comes to personal space, and I feel more secure with my surroundings when I can wake up, hear the noises of the person next to me sleeping, and know it’s okay.

It’s weird, I mean… I can sleep alone. I do every night at my house. It’s boring. I don’t really care for it, I guess, there’s no purpose. If I didn’t have to sleep, I wouldn’t. If I have to sleep, I’d wish it was with someone else, in their bed, rather than me alone in mine, just because sleeping alone is incredibly tedious, dull, and emotionally draining.

I slept in Victoria’s bed last night. Shit that bed was comfy.