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.

067; Untitled.

I wrote this in December 2010, but it still holds true.

Lately I've been craving skin, affection, protection, safety, a warm-blooded body next to mine. But I can't, for several reasons, and I feel I might never have anyone. I might never be able to let someone in, let myself go, give in. I feel like there might be some trauma hidden beneath all this skin and neural tissue, in the marrow of my bone, the very core of me.

I have far too many insecurities--I might never be satisfied with myself.

066; Always.

I really fucked it up this time.

We tried and we lost. Maybe someday, but I'm not going to hope. Whatever happens, happens. My heart is broken, just like I knew it would be. I'm still not sure whether it was by his hands or mine. I wonder if it was worth it. My insides ache. I want to cry but I can't. You're the only one, and I know you know that. I don't know what I am to you - does it hurt when you think about me? Maybe this will never end. Some wounds never heal.

May she meet you half way on all the roads I made you walk alone.

065; Contradictions.

I don't care. I do not care. This is me not caring.

Be an asshole. Think you know everything. You know me too well. Keep playin'. I ain't gonna be part of your games any longer. You're so full of yourself. I love you. I hate you. You are poison. I'm better off without you. That's a lie. Think of me as a liar and a quitter. It doesn't matter what you think. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic (I don't know if I'm referring to you or me.) You make me hate myself. You make me smile. There's too much water under the bridge. We've been through too much. Forget me. Always remember me. You've given up. I've given up. I will never give up. It's over. It's over. I don't care. It's over. It's never over. Fuck you.

Be gone, be gone, be gone, be mine.

064;

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

(This did not make me feel any better.)

063; I'm still here.

Today I turned twenty-two. Getting old. It started out shaky, and I went back to bed and cried for a while, because everything just felt so dreary. Just like every other day. Then I tried to pull myself together and got up, and I finally did the final stitching on my Virgin Suicides dress (see picture) and it couldn't be more perfect now! I got it ages ago at a sale and it was an x-large but I sewed it in and today I fixed the top and straps. It's my dream dress.
When mother came home, I got some presents and we had cake and coffee. I mostly got graphic novels and books, and a pair of sheer lace curtains that I put up in my room, and a bouquet of pink roses, which I put in my window next to lots of candles. My room is completely dreamy now. Then I felt kind of inspired and I made a mix, and it's basically the soundtrack to a film I haven't written yet. I might be working on a story, though. Maybe. We'll see. In the end, my day's been rather lovely, and my friends have been extremely supportive and sweet. I love each and every one of you! You know who you are. ♥

062; Happy birthday to me (Feb 15th)

All eyes on the calendar
Another year I claim of total indifference
To here, the days pile up
With decisions to be made
I'm sure all of them were wrong

Into this song I send myself
And with these drinks I plan to collapse
And forget this wasted year, these wasted years
Devoted friends, they disappear

And I'm sorry about the phone call and needing you
Some decisions you don't make
I guess it's just like breathing and not wanting to
Yeah, there are some things you can't fake

Well, I guess that it's typical
To cling to memories you'll never get back again
And to sort through old photographs
Of a summer long ago
Or a friend that you used to know
And there below his frozen face
You wrote the name and that ancient date
And you can't believe that he's really gone
When all that's left is a fucking song

And I'm sorry about the phone call and waking you
I know that it is late
But thank you for talking, because I needed to
Some things just can't wait...

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.

060; That's just me, thinking of you.

You write "there's 'her' and then there's everyone else", and it brings tears to my eyes, makes me nauseous, and my heart flutters. And I think, why? Why do you get to me when no one else does? Why do I even think you're referring to me? WHY? It makes me sick, and I wish this would just stop, I hate you but I love you but I hate you but I love you but I hate you but I need you. You drive me fucking insane, and I hate that you're right, that you will always be right, and I am still your hostage, always will be, can never escape these chains. You came back, and I left. I ditched you because I can't handle rejection, I can't handle these feelings, I can't handle shit. It scares me to fucking death. I left you, and still I feel like you gave up on me. Everything is a contradiction, and I can't make heads or tails of anything.

"But you still feel me like I'm right there at your side."

You told me I was the most difficult woman you ever met.

Fuck.

059; You'll be positive though it hurts.

I woke up and spent the longest time underneath the covers, just grasping my hip bone, the skinniest part of me, working up the courage to face another day. As soon as I got up, dad started yelling, and everyone was tense because my brother was leaving, and I felt like a failure, like I was in the way, so I got a cup of coffee and went back to my room and stayed there for hours. Then it was time for my brother to leave, so I went downstairs and kept my mask on, faked a smile, said goodbye, made it easy on him. More coffee, and back to my room again. It's snowing, and I wish it would stop. Today fucking sucks, and I hate everything.

I'm trying to remain positive, to think about how Josie's coming home in four days and I'm getting my hair dip-dyed and good things, but it's hard.

This is exactly what I needed.

058; Fuck everything.

My turtle died and it's the saddest goddamn thing in the world because that was no fucking life for a turtle, they should have space and freedom and fuck, we used to have two but the other one passed away like five years ago and she was just so lonely and depressed and she never ate, and some days I would just sit down on the floor and stare at her, thinking about how much worse her life must be compared to mine, feeling so fucking sorry for her, and now she's dead, and I know I should be thinkin' it's about damn time and she's better off, but I just feel so sorry and sad. Her life was fucking tragic. Most days I just didn't even think about her because it always made me sad. I had her for eleven fucking years and I don't even have a picture of her. How fucking sad is that? And now she's.. gone. And we can't even fucking bury her because it's too fucking cold outside.

Daddy told me and I went downstairs and just sat on the floor for the longest time staring at her dead body. Then I threw up and I cried and cried and then proceeded to drink half a bottle of wine on an empty stomach, and I feel like fucking shit.

I'm so sorry, Lollipop. I'm so fucking sorry. Rest in peace.

057; Always.

I told him everything and I hoped that it would hurt. (It must've, I heard him crying.) I read him old journal entries out loud while he held his head in his hands and trembled. I told him about my scars. He kept asking why and when, as if that mattered. I told him I hated him, and he told me I was a bad liar. Minutes dragged on for hours, days. He begged for forgiveness, and I said I needed time. I told him that I'd been waiting for him for eight years and it needed to stop. He told me I hadn't been the only one waiting, and I asked him if he meant it. I told him I didn't know if I could trust him. He told me he'd wait. I told him that if he fucking lied to me, I would make him regret it. He told me he loved me. I told him to give me time.

We still love each other even though it's more like a knife fight.

056; "Without you, I am nothing."

I need to be strong. I need to be okay with being alone. I need to be able to face myself. I need to be able to look in the mirror and not flinch at the sight of my reflection. I need to be the best I can be, all I can be. I've been restricting myself for weeks now, and today I ate so much, too much, and my body feels heavy and I feel sick, I want to purge, but I won't. I won't. You are better than this. For anyone else, it would've been a normal meal. It is not the end of the world. I'm afraid to weigh myself. I am afraid to look in the mirror. You are not fat. I hate my body. I hate myself. Think positive. No.

No. I am going to go to bed, and in the morning I will wake up early, and begin a new day. I will take a walk, have some coffee and cigarettes, maybe draw or write, talk to my friends, and feel as though anything is possible. I will look at myself in the mirror for five minutes without judging myself. I will not be afraid. I will be strong.

055; I'm better without you.

You're gone and my heart feels lighter. I feel free.

Sometimes when you fall, you fly.

Maybe now I can finally begin a new life.
Time to do all the things I've always wanted to.

054; Nail in my coffin.

You know what? Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you fuck, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you fuck.

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.

052; (Falling in love just makes me blue.)

Love is a universal migraine.

I. Tomorrow Is A Long Time, by Bob Dylan.
II. Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down), by Nancy Sinatra.
III. I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You, by Tom Waits.
IV. You Will Miss Me When I Burn, by Palace Brothers.
V. Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown), by The Beatles.
VI. Still Got The Blues, by Gary Moore.
VII. Since I've Been Loving You, by Led Zeppelin.
VIII. Love Her Madly, by The Doors.
IX. Hallelujah, by Leonard Cohen.
X. Ruby Tuesday, by The Rolling Stones.
XI. Kentucky Avenue, by Tom Waits.
XII. It Ain't Me, Babe, by Bob Dylan.
XIII. Say You Love Me, by Fleetwood Mac.
XIV. Wild World, by Cat Stevens.

(Fourteen songs because that's how old I was when I first fell for you.)

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.

046; You make me break all my rules.

I'm tired; of the past I can't leave behind, of all this back and forth, of the way you act, of how you make me feel, of my insecurities and my sudden mood swings (one day I'm afraid I'll give myself whiplash.) All I want is to lay in your arms, your body surrounding me--a safe haven, somewhere to rest, and for you to whisper in my ear that you care, you care and you love me, that you won't let anything harm me (not even myself), that I need to stay with you or you'll die, that I'm too good for this, that you want to keep me safe. Keep me in your arms, and in your heart.
If I could have this, then maybe nothing else would matter. Maybe the self-hatred would simply fall away, fall off the edge of the world, like the sun beyond the horizon. Maybe you could heal these scars with your fingers and lips. Maybe your embrace would keep my nightmares away. Maybe your voice could still my demons. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

(Maybe I'll never stop hating myself for feeling this way.)

045; I am too pure for you or anyone.

If all I have to do to keep you is to say yes then I will say it again and again and again, if it means you will hold me together, if it means you'll stay in my life, if it means that when you sing, you sing for me, then yes. Believe me when I tell you that I will never say no to you, I will do anything to keep you, and I will let you unwrap me like a present, revealing layer after layer, until I am all bare, all porcelain skin and Japanese paper, underneath your roughened hands.

A sacrifice.

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.

043; I'm not the best thing for you.

Two nosebleeds, a hospital, and lots of Tom Waits.
The taste of blood makes me hungry (but I can't keep anything down.)

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?

040; A promise of a new year.

“I want to taste and glory in each day, and never be afraid to experience pain; and never shut myself up in a numb core of non-feeling, or stop questioning and criticizing life and take the easy way out. To learn and think: to think and live; to live and learn: this always, with new insight, new understanding, and new love.”
—Sylvia Plath

It's a new year and I am not going to fool myself into thinking it's a fresh start because nothing ever is, because the past will always still be there, and there is nothing you can do about it. This past year was a year of self-discovery, of broken glass, of strength, of hopelessness, of dreams, of escape. There were more bad days than good, but without the darkness the light wouldn't have been nearly as bright. I travelled, I met new people and saw new places, and though I always returned, I went somewhere. It might not be much, but it was enough then.

There was a moment when I was in Camden, London and I was sitting down with a couple of friends when this beautiful stranger walked past and I was captivated; I couldn't look away. The stranger noticed, smiled and blew me a kiss, and for a moment, everything was beautiful. It wasn't love or lust or anything; I was just completely floored by the radiance of this person. It felt like I could see their heart glowing. I keep this moment in a box that stays in my secret drawer; a wooden box carved with flowers and words, a box meant only to contain the brightest of things. So far, it doesn't contain much. (Another thing I keep in it is the way I light up whenever he calls me 'jerk'.)

But this I take with me from two-thousand and eleven; that strangers are beautiful, that you should cherish fleeting moments and try not to hold on too long, that if a person makes you smile they are worth keeping around, that it's okay to make mistakes, that it might not be your year but that doesn't mean it's all bad, and that you have to learn to accept yourself, and not try to be someone you're not. Be true to yourself. Trust your heart, and never give up hope.

List of desires:
† Be more myself, and to be okay with that.
† To be open, to show myself vulnerable, to let new light in.
† To lose weight and work out.
† To be happy with myself, if I can.
† A pair of Doc Martens.
† To hang out (and go to Gothenburg) with Layla.
† To dye my hair lilac.
† To read new books, see new places and make new friends.
† To do something, even if it's not much.
† To exist in the best terms I can.
† To dream, to hope, to let go.
† To be in his arms.

(It was also the end of an era.)