oat bar- 360
hot dog, ketchup -125
Total - 485
no workout today :(

I feel like I belong in a mental institution

After months of being 'numb', it crashes back down with a vengeance.
I thought the numbness was a good sign. It's at least better than the depression/anxiety that has plagued my adolescence. I thought it was my bridge to happiness. At least there were times I could feel happy and enjoy what I have.
But now it's back and I don't feel relatively sane anymore. To say I hate this feeling is the worst. This feeling truly makes me want to claw my stomach apart, scratch my face, rip my hair out..jump off a bridge. Anything. Anything to make the feeling go away.
I can't even describe the constant feeling that doesn't go away, doesn't weaken.
It's almost like a strong anxiety; like vicious butterflies attacking my insides, the unsettling feeling strong in my stomach and builds all the way up to my chest, where my heart races and feels like it's thumping hard in my chest. A choking feeling in my throat, like I'm trying to hold back tears all the time. Nothing's happened that has made me want to cry, yet the feeling has been there all day, without a break. My head hurts. Probably from all the racing thoughts that fleet through my head, so brief that I can't even put into a sentence what I'm thinking about. But all of them are bad. All of them feel like some evil force inside my head trying to bring me down.
I can't eat, and I don't know if it's because I don't want to eat, or if I actually can't. I want to stand on the highest rooftop and just scream. Liberate the demons inside me.
Too many thoughts. Too much racing inside me. I can't even decide what to do. I want Zach here, or do I? I DON'T EVEN KNOW. And it breaks my heart that I can't explain the reason to him. Not that he wouldn't understand; explaining all this is just way too difficult for me. It's hard to put such a feeling into words.
I feel like the only way to make it all stop is to release it. The only way to do that is to cut...
But Zach would be sad. and I don't want to make him sad.
Ugh, I don't know what to do :/

DO NOT CALL

He's waiting for ME to call HIM. But I just have to remember that if I do, it's just going to come crashing down again in a matter of weeks...
There will be more lying, pretending, talking behind my back. There will be more pain--not the good kind.
If he doesn't want to try, then neither do I. He gives up just as easily as I do, so maybe that's reason enough to call it quits.
must think of new blog name....

"You feel the tingling below your flesh, are saturated by the screaming thoughts in your mind, listen to your strange reflection’s persuasive words. Do it. Just once. It will make it all go away. It will make you feel better. Burns at first because you are too terrified by what you are doing to yourself. A curling iron, a lighter, cigarettes. Your trembling hand then the bite of the heat and goosebumps racing over your skin. Then you embrace the behavior and move on to cutting. It is a beautiful transition, as if you had been a cutter all your life. Your hands quiver until you fall into that heavy trance. The world falls silent except for your thumping heart. The sharp knife twitches in your hand. An awkward, tentative cut then another – deeper, deeper, always in a line. Your body disappears; you feel nothing but the slice and the thick tranquility to follow, letting the blood escape in front of the other in the mirror. She always smiles.

You need to lie to disguise all of these distractions. Tell your parents you’re working or staying at a friend’s house when you are out drinking or having meaningless sex. The cigarettes and the smell are your friend’s, not yours. The burns are from the popcorn popper at work. You convince yourself that your lies are true in front of your parents. If they question you, you get so enraged that they simply believe you. You learn to lie fluently; it becomes easier than the truth.

Cradle all the consequences of your destructive behaviors close to you. You need to dwell on every one, turn it on yourself, blame yourself completely. Make decisions that you can torture yourself over for years. They are excuses to hate yourself, reasons to be fucked up. You go back to bed with the same men or always the same type of men. They don’t care about you, and you feel dead inside. It must be because you’re worthless; it must be because you’re not good enough for better. You miscarry a child before you know you are pregnant. You must have drank it to death; it must have rejected your body. You take the wrong drink from a guy and are too drunk to fight back when he pushes himself on you. You must have drank too much; you must have let him. It all has to be your fault. Perpetuate your self-loathing, and dive deeper into your disease. "
http://bipolarswirl.blogspot.ca/2006/08/writing-how-to-kill-yourself-slowly.html


This is me. This is who I am, have always been, and will always be. To convince myself I'm fixed, better, is to convince a maggot he is a butterfly. It would be a lie. And I hate being lied to, by anybody.
I can't be fixed. I can only numb what's lingering inside me for a short period of time. It isn't long before a thought--an ideation-- comes clambering upwards. I could try to repress it; I have been doing that for months. But it's just so exhausting. Hiding myself deep down in dark crevices of myself.. that's not me. I'm not me.. This is who I am.


And you, you are nothing but a distraction.. or perhaps I am the distraction. I think we're using each other as such.. you to distract yourself from everything in your life that has told you you're inadequate. Especially she-who-shall-not-be-named. Me, well, perhaps I've used you too. To cling to someone who might actually care about me. But pain is my pleasure, and I can't kid myself for a second to believe I'm happy when I'm happy.