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