I keep meaning to post something but it all feels so worthless.

Current weight: 99.6lbs.

While I'm asleep, she'll arrive at his place, and he'll smile and hug her and kiss her and then they'll spend the next three days together. And I am all alone.

And if you're in love, then you're the lucky one
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone
Setting fires to our insides for fun
To distract our hearts from ever missing them
But I am forever missing him

Fuck.

061; Failure.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

I don't even know what to do. I feel sick with myself. I ate and then I felt guilty, and because I felt guilty I binged, and then I purged, and then mother's baked fucking cake and it's chocolate, and I lost control and ate several slices, and then I felt even worse and I'm still fighting the urge to purge. Then I started crying, and I haven't stopped. I hate myself so much.

My birthday is in two days and I am utterly terrified. I hate birthdays, I hate celebrating them, and then of course there's the part where I get my favourite food/cake and I can't refuse; I just can't. They know how much I love food and it'd raise their suspicion. It's just all too much. I just wanna bury myself beneath the covers and sleep for months. I just want to not be me for a while.

053; Hjartað stoppar, hreyfist ekki.

The cold winter creates little crystals on my window, a mountain landscape painted on glass, and if you look hard enough, or perhaps long enough, there's a star shining in the sky, and I wish I could express how beautiful it is.

Words aren't enough anymore.

I'm just so tired.

051; (There are no words.)

All I do is lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, at the walls, through the windows, watch the light change and disappear, until there is only darkness. A car or two would pass, some birds might sing, children cry, but all I hear is the dull thump of my heartbeat, reminding me that I am still alive. My eyes are swollen and my throat is rough, as if I had been crying, and though I feel like it, the tears never come. I drag myself out of bed once or twice, to drink some water, take some pills, nibble on some bread, go to the bathroom, and of course, to have a cigarette (or fifteen.) His words are ringing in my ears and I repeat everything over and over again in my head until I'm not really sure what was ever said. Breathing hurts. My body aches. When I stand, I feel as though I'll fall, and several times, I do. I have been awake for less than six hours and I think my head will explode if I stay awake any longer. I curl up underneath my blankets once again.

(Now it's 11:11 and I'm trying not to wish for you.)

050; Anonymous poem.

There is a bottle of pills inside my stomach.

I should know; I put them there.

I put them there to make me die.

That way I won’t have to think.

About deadened silence.

And raging storms.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

Maybe the true answer lies buried,

hidden there,

amongst the things,

In the closet of my mind.

Full poem here.

049; Hold me, hold me tonight.

Lately I've been dreaming of being left behind--betrayed, abandoned, or simply just forgotten. I am easily forgettable. He hasn't been around lately; I'm alternating between hating him and needing him. Mostly I stay curled up in bed, crying and hitting the wall. My hand is covered in reds and blues and yellows and it's beautiful. I've also taken to smoking in my room again.. if mother finds out, she'll be furious. I burn incense to hide it. (I just want to escape.)

I'm eating less, but healthier. Today: a bowl of cereal (115) with milk (100), a handful of mixed nuts (116), one kiwi (46), two slices of rye bread (166) with butter (166 356), a diet shake (180) = 913 calories.

Songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
† Broken Brights by Angus Stone
† The Longest Day by Laura Gibson
† Colorblind by Counting Crows
† O' Sister by City & Colour
† Dead Deer by Lovers

048; (just leave me in the mess I've made)

nononononononononono you're wrong, you can't trust yourself because you, you only ever betray yourself and it doesn't matter what anyone says, because no one could ever convince the ghosts living in your mind. this time i'm certain that something's hidden inside my skin, that i need to cut the shapes of little red stars into it, that i need protection, and where are you? (you're probably off doing something more important, you don't have time for me, why would you, i bet you finally decided i wasn't worth it, i swear i'm a mess that you don't wanna clean up) but no, don't listen, don't fucking listen to yourself because you are your own worst enemy, trust anyone but yourself, you're a fucking mess and you shouldn't be allowed to make any decisions when you're in this state, but then, whatthefuckamisupposedtodoshitshitshitshitshit, because you're not around, you're never around, and fuck, i really need you to fix me right now, keep me steady, keep me strong, because without you, i am n o t h i n g.

047; I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe.

As the new year continues on and on, I am coming undone; every day is a blur of nauseahungeranxietystrangeachesbingingandpurgingandbingingandpurging. It hurts to breathe, and I never want to leave my bed. I don't care what tomorrow might have to offer, I don't care about a future, I don't care if it ever gets any better. I am just so tired. All I want to do is cry and cry, but I'm afraid that if I start, I won't ever stop. For now, I will just hide underneath the covers.

044; Like little flowers.

I want nebulae and little flowers on my skin, poison in my veins, aurora-like sleep, beautiful disaster, but there are no more "you're too good for that" and "promise you won't" and I think it's driving me off the edge, far off, I'm free-falling, can't you see? no one's there to catch me and I hope that the waves will carry me away and let me become a part of nature, those dull blues and grays, I dissolve into the air like a rain cloud. (from an old journal)

I don't want to sleep alone any more.

042; We're like fire and gasoline.

when you play, I search for clues
in the way you move your fingers across the strings
or the way you close your eyes
when you hit certain notes
and I wish I could see inside, but
you're a mystery to me

when you play, I can feel my heart
breaking inside my chest
and I find myself wondering if your heart is
breaking too (is it?)
and I wish you would
tell me
(whisper
in my ear)

when you play, I want to
close my fingers around your wrist
to count your pulse and see if it matches the melody
that you're playing (are you playing for me?)
and I can only wish
that your fingers were tracing my spine
vertebrae by vertebrae
instead

and when your lips mouth along
to the lines of a song,
I wish I could feel them moving against mine
mylipsmycheeksmyjawmyneckmyspine
across every single bone in my body
and I wish that you knew
that I'm really no good for you
(I know I'm no good for you)

(I will only ever let you down)

041; It's really bursting at the seams.

I'll take a rusty nail and scratch your initials on my arm.

I'm falling apart and you're not here to hold me together, though you've told me you're constantly afraid I'll hurt myself, that you'll wake up one day and I'll be dead, and if you'd just lay with me and whisper that in my ear for the rest of my life, I would probably be content, but you're not here and I'm not there, and the bottle's only an arm's length away, the knife in my pocket, the pills in my bag, and it's so easy to just forget for a while; forget the fear, the anxiety, the emotions, the highs and lows, the fall and rise (if only it was the fall and rise of your chest), and my fingers are growing numb, the wine blacks my lips while the smoke blacks my insides, wash away my sins, wash away my sorrows, and tomorrow might be better though I know it won't be, it never is, and I know I'm not doing myself any favours, only making it worse, only making it harder, but I don't want to listen, because this is easy, cutyourselftakethepillsdrinkandrepeat and oh, will you still be here to be the one to save me from myself?

039; I need to be cared for, like a potted plant.

“I know exactly how that is. To love somebody who doesn’t deserve it. Because they are all you have. Because any attention is better than no attention. For exactly the same reason, it is sometimes satisfying to cut yourself and bleed. On those gray days where eight in the morning looks no different from noon and nothing has happened and nothing is going to happen and you are washing a glass in the sink and it breaks accidentally and punctures your skin. And then there is this shocking red, the brightest thing in the day, so vibrant it buzzes, this blood of yours. That is okay sometimes because at least you know you’re alive.”
—Augusten Burroughs, Running With Scissors

This is what you reduce me to; a lovesick creature, always craving your attention. I would do anything to be the centre of your world, yet you can never convince me that I am. Always two sides to everything, never enough. To see myself through your eyes; you tell me I'm beautiful, that you love me, despite all my flaws, despite my manic freak-outs and self-destructive behaviour. Despite that I am who I am. I ask you, time and time again: why? Why me? What could you possibly see in me? Why do you love me? You answer, "I always have and I always will" and how can you know that? All I can think is whywhywhy.

All I know is that there's an end.

035; Through the looking-glass.

Sleepless nights and bruises blossoming and exploding into tiny nebulae underneath my pale skin, winter is taking a stronger hold on me, overcoming me, and I feel like I am made of ice; I will crack at the slightest touch. My mind is full of mirrors, threatening to break and cast bad luck over me, but I've always been cursed and the only thing you can see inside is sharp edges and a darkness, a flat surface with much more depth than you thought possible, an endless abyss, and you better be careful or you might fall, because if you do, you'll never reach the bottom. You will fall and fall and fall. It never ends.

Trust me, I know; I am the girl made of glass.

033; Come on, I know myself by now.

There's a degree of difficulty in dealing with me.
"'Cause I don't trust that there won't be another string of manic freak-outs if I stick around. Come on, I know myself by now. It's not an easy realization to come to. I'm not the best thing for you. I'm not the best thing for you."

I. Goodbye England (Covered In Snow), by Laura Marling.
II. Seven Years, by Lovers.
III. You Will Miss Me When I Burn, by Palace Brothers.
IV. Lua, by Conor Oberst & Gillian Welch.
V. Hug Me Tight, by En Kopp & En Knapp.
VI. About Today, by The National.
VII. Walk It Off, by Angus & Julia Stone.
VIII. Heavy In Your Arms, by Florence + The Machine.
IX. O' Sister, by City & Colour.
X. Wintering, by Laura Gibson.
XI. Enchanting Ghost, by Sufjan Stevens.
XII. Chocolate & Cigarettes, by Angus & Julia Stone.
XIII. Stephanie Says, by Emiliana Torrini.
XIV. Possibility, by Lykke Li.
XV. Dead Deer, by Lovers.
XVI. Love Will Tear Us Apart, by Broken Social Scene.
XVII. Little Hell, by City & Colour.
XVII. All Alright, by Sigur Rós.

032; Living on a diet of chocolate and cigarettes.

"I did not like to be touched, but it was a strange dislike. Even now, when people lean down to touch me, or hug me, to put a hand on my shoulder, I hold my breath. I turn my face. I want to cry."

— Marya Hornbacher

I am alive. For better or for worse. I woke up in a feverish state several times last night. There's a storm raging outside and all I want to do is cry. I binged and I wanted to purge but I didn't and I feel so fucking fat. I've stayed in my room, in bed, avoiding everyone and anything. I just want to sleep. It's all too much. The littlest things set me off. Everything's too loud, there are too many people around, it's too bright. Both mother and brother tried to hug me, and my mask slipped, and I snapped. It evoked so much rage that it scared even me. I hate being touched. And I shy away, but really, all I want is to be held; I long for an embrace to fold myself into. Someone to disappear into. I just want to be not me for a while. I want someone to care. I need you to notice, but you probably forgot to remember me. (Did you?) And yet I hate this; being so vulnerable, so needy, so dependent. (I just want to hear your voice. Where are you?)

How do you continue living when you hate the very bones of yourself, the simple fact that you exist, in this world, today?

031; (Just last the year.)

Christmas is the worst time of the year for me. This one in particular marks my five year anniversary of.. survival? staying alive? I don't know what to call it, but five years ago I was at an all-time low; no hope, no future, just darkness, and on Christmas Eve, I was going to kill myself. I remember having Death Cab's Transatlanticism on repeat and looking at myself in the mirror, thinking fuckyoufuckthisyouareuglynoonewilleverwantyouthereisnopointtostayalivebecauseyouwillneveramounttoanythingandyouareuglyuglyfatfatuglyuglyfatuglyhopelessuglyuglyfatfatfat and I sank to the floor crying, clutching this jagged piece of glass I was going to use to slit my wrists, to escape this hell, to die. And then, I don't know. I don't know why I didn't. Maybe someone called my name, maybe I thought there was something else that I wanted to do before I died, maybe there was a spark of hope somewhere inside me. I'll never know. And now, five years later, I am in that same place. I've come to a crossroads, and I don't know which path to choose. I know you can never go back, and you will never have another chance, and it's better to try and lose than to never have tried at all. If you fall, pick yourself up again. Time heals all wounds (but not really.) Lose your hunger, and you lose your way. Stay true to yourself. Don't let anyone tell you what to do or think. Don't change for anyone. Don't depend on anyone. Give and you'll receive. (These are all clichés, but there is truth in them.) Trust yourself. Trust your dreams, and chase them, no matter where they might take you. These are the things I've learnt. And yet.

My stomach is full of whiskey, painkillers and sleeping pills. There are fresh cuts on my thighs. I am here, but not really. I am disconnected. (My mind is arguing the pros and cons of living and there is nothing I can do about it. I am constantly at war with myself.)

And should I still be alive come morning, I will probably delete this.

030; Oh, my love, you must be tired (of me).

Today I woke up and the sky was coloured dust and peach. Winter is all around, and inside of me. I grabbed my cigarettes and made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed to read poetry and listen to City & Colour.

Another mix for you.

029; What she was wearing.

“This is my suicide dress,” she told him. “I only wear it on days when I’m afraid I might kill myself if I don’t wear it.”

“You’ve been wearing it every day since we met,” he said.

— Denver Butson

Today hasn't been a good day.
Or maybe it has, but either way,
It doesn't matter now.

A mix for you: it's a very very mad world.

028; Will we get out of this little hell?

There's a degree of difficulty in dealing with me.

I wish my moods wouldn't rise and fall so quickly; my world turns from pleasant to black in the matter of seconds. Like Jenny Lewis sings, The lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap. And all I can see is darkness. An infinite, starless night. And I wish to god I could tell him, I do, but I.. I can think of a hundred reasons not to. "He's busy" or "he'll get worried" or "I'd be bothering him". He says he accepts me, flaws and all, but there's only so much he can take. I flip so easily. I turn on myself. I fall. And everything hurts, and there's nothing anyone can do to make it better. I fall, and then I dig myself deeper and deeper, and I feel like maybe one of these days I'll fall out of a hole at the opposite corner of the world. And there's nothing I can do about it.

(And then Dallas sings that the blackness in my heart is a storm I can weather, and I curl up underneath my blankets, and cry myself to sleep.)

Songs I've been listening to a lot lately:
† Little Hell by City & Colour
† Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones
† Wasted by Angus & Julia Stone
† Li'l Red Riding Hood by Amanda Seyfried
† You Will Miss Me When I Burn by Palace Brothers

025; Unfold me..

Psychiatric finally called back regarding the DBT treatment. I've been waiting for over a year now. I really need this, now more than ever, because I'm at my breaking point. Now I only have to stick it out for two more weeks.. Then the process will begin. At least there is a bit of hope.

Sindri, my oldest brother, comes down here this weekend; he's only staying briefly for a job interview, but it coincides with my birthday and I could really use the company. (I don't have any plans for my birthday--I see no reason to celebrate.)

Ouch, I have lost myself again
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,
Yeah, I think that I might break
I've lost myself again and I feel unsafe