Your lips taste of poison

I’m doing it again, running in circles and returning to bad habits I’ve kept myself from for weeks now. Well, starving has been there all the time but I’ve stayed off that bathroom floor at least. But there’s always something or someone there to make you stumble and fall back into that place where you think you belong. For me that place is a prison where I’m not good enough for him, for myself or for anyone.

 

All mixed up

So Penny finally found her Desmond and Desmond’s longing and waiting for years ended. Love always wins in movies and fairytales always have happy endings; and maybe they’re all made up to keep us believing that faith necessarily isn’t always fucking with us, it’s just keeping us on a very long leash. After cruising seas for ages, she finally found what she was searching for, and as I was crying my eyes out in front of the tv set, I couldn’t help but wondering when my longing and waiting will be over. Me, I’m both Penny and Desmond forged into one. I’m both searching and waiting at the same time.

 

Leftovers of the night

I haven’t been writing lately because my head is spinning from all kinds of things happening lately, way back and right now. I’ll have to admit that I’m lost and that I don’t know where I’m going from here. Everything lacks a purpose, everything lacks meaning and reason. It’s like I’m just floating along waiting for something to burst for good so I can just give up. Giving up. In many ways I’m already there. I’m tired of standing up, I’m tired of fighting something that just won’t go away; I’m tired of this never-ending battle that’s just lining up round after round. I’m out of breath.

 

Pissing in the wind

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about this phenomenon called life quality. Life quality. I guess it’s something that should taste sweet, and not bitter as it does to me. Pretty quickly I come to conclusion that I lack this. The more I read up on what’s happening to me and my body, and the more I stay awake through nights thinking about it I realise life quality is something that doesn’t come easy for most people. It’s something that can probably be defined in billions of different ways; probably as many as there are people in this world and everyone wants different things to achieve quality in their lives. Me, I’m not sure what I need nor want to get there. The only thing I really know is what sort of things around me are turning it into something rather opposite.

 

Bodysnatcher

Be quicker, be stronger; carry the team on your shoulders. Score more goals, cause more havoc, get them out of balance; come on, you can do it. You’re the captain of the team for Christ sake, do it. I can’t, I’m not good enough, I’m not perfect; in fact, I never was good enough. No matter how many times I score in this game, no matter how many times I’ve scored during the whole season. No matter how many awards I’ve won, no matter what they say. I’ll never be good enough. Dad says I can always get better, there’s always some little detail I can practice and correct until I reach perfection. There’s always something. Heads down now, time for face off. There’s still some things left to prove, like always.

 

With or without you

I’m thinking about giving it up. It’s adding too much tension to my life, too many things I can’t cope with; like being apart, like longing for someone not here, like fighting silent wars for no use. It’s getting more obvious for each day, the fact that I can’t handle it, and that I’m clinging onto something even more fragile than myself. It’s an impossible equation, it’s something already bound to break before it even started and it’s complicating my life in a way I’m not sure I can handle anymore.

 

Long way home

Fuck it, I ate too much again and the anxiety is throwing itself over me like a starved tiger, clawing my back until it’s bleeding red in the darkness in my bathroom. It’s got to go but I’m afraid of doing it, of giving in, because it’s something I never had the guts to do before. It’s like if I give up and surrender to this feeling I’ll never be able to stop it again. I close my eyes and I stick my whole hand down my throat but nothing is happening besides my guts are twisting from cramps. I keep trying but it’s useless. It’s got to go, now, and my head is spinning with ideas and ways to let it go. After thinking for a bit I head out to the kitchen and I find a bottle of vodka in the fridge. I guess this will have to do.

 

Pacemaker

It’s hard to admit to myself that if I want to get well you’re a big part of my healing procedure. I don’t mean it as harsh as it sounds, but for example; above all the things I try to kill or deafen by eating/not eating/throwing up/self punishment are my feelings for you and the fact that you’re obviously missing for the time being. Next to that, comes self resent and self disgust, but first, every single time, comes the fact that you can’t be here to hug me, hold me and tell me everything is going to be alright.

 

I don’t worry cos everything’s gonna be alright

Questions, a million of them, and I don’t blame him. I feel like the meanest bitch from hell for both telling him and not telling him earlier. Decisions. He called me up today and we spent a lot of time talking about the illness. He’s worried, and I feel bad about it. He’s on the adventure of his life and he’s paralysed with worry, I’m not sure I think it’s fair. I don’t know what to say when he tells me he can hardly sleep at nights because he’s thinking of me and this or that it makes him want to come home. Of course I wouldn’t allow it, and he made me a promise; not to worry. He’s not doing any good.

 

Still I’m dying with every step I take

It arrived today, the letter I’ve been waiting for. Didn’t state much though, only that I’ve been put in queue for an initial examination to see how deep down in shit I am. It’s weird, I haven’t been seeing my therapist in weeks now just waiting for this letter and I’m starting to feel a bit unstable again. Been better with the bad habits, but it’s on my mind all the time. So I started a diet, and at least that’s better than doing the other things I usually do. Yesterday I managed on 200 calories. Well, until someone decided to pour 2 bottles of wine down my throat.