I’m so desperate and lonely that I just want to bang my head against the wall because I’m an idiot child who never learned how to cope without analgesic self-abuse.
There are too many ways to accidentally spy my fat ass because there is a mirror on every wall. Mirrors everywhere. Mirrors for my thick thighs, my thick waist, my thick arms, my frizzy hair, my fucked up skin, my dry lips. No one is home. I am afraid to go outside because I don’t want anyone to see me. I am afraid of having to interact with people because I don’t know how to. I’m cold. I’m horrid. I’m eating pills instead of food because there is nothing else in this world that feels good right now.
I’ve been reading old diaries again lately. I found some entries about the boy I used to have a crush on as a little girl. We would run around the playground and pretend to suck each other’s blood. It was never easy to explain the marks on our necks, because adults would not understand our highly complicated fantasy world. He used to pull my hair, hit me, pin me down, and beat me up and I loved him for it because it was physical contact. Teachers didn’t want us to play together. He came to all of my birthday parties. We would talk about Star Wars and Lord of the Rings and call each other mean names. My name was “Minnow”. A minnow is a fish. A Minnow is also the last level I reached in swim class, before a girl drowned, a lifeguard was arrested for raping children, and the place closed. These events were all unrelated coincidences. The boy I had a crush on still lives in Cleveland. He added me on facebook not too long ago. His display image was him in head to toe leather with whip marks covering his body and I think I recall a ball gag. All of my childhood friends have grown up to be maladjusted or haven’t grown up at all.
Can’t call to mom, can’t say a word
You’re going to die screaming but you won’t be heard.This still is incredibly terrifying to me.
(via setyourcompass)
"The moment in The Bell Jar when Esther Greenwood realizes after thirty days in the same black turtleneck that she never wants to wash her hair again, that the repeated necessity of the act is too much trouble, that she wants to do it once and be done with it, seems like the book’s true epiphany. You know you’ve completely descended into madness when the matter of shampoo has ascended into philosophical heights."
- Prozac Nation, Elizabeth Wurtzel (via hypnobate)
(via lugosiundead)
