Wallflower

So I threw up blood for the first time ever tonight. That was mildly terrifying. 

I’m going to have the worst heartburn when I wake up. 

I can feel it starting already. 

Also, there’s a blister on my hand from where my teeth rub against it. I guess it’s time to restrict for a while.

A friend of mine had a severe panic attack today. I had to put him on a plane back to his parents house. He knows about ana and mia, and he knows how long it’s been, and that I was in treatment for a while until I quit,  and it made him feel less crazy which I think is the only good thing to ever come out of this disorder.

I don’t know why I don’t want to recover.  

drpatientconfidentiality:

I tell myself it doesn’t matter

it doesn’t matter

until apathy becomes a mantra

and depression a bulwark against

the normalcy of other people

going home feels like retreating

when socializing is a battle

and eye contact is horror

when you don’t know what they see

"Suicide is just a moment. This is how she described it to me. For just a moment, it doesn’t matter that you’ve got people who love you and the sun is shining and there’s a movie coming out this weekend that you’ve been dying to see. It hits you all of a sudden that nothing is ever going to be okay, ever, and you kind of dare yourself. You pick up a knife and press it gently to your skin, you look out a nineteenth-story window and you think, I could just do it. I could just do it. And most of the time, you look at the height and you get scared - You think about how sad it would’ve been if you never got to see that movie, and you look at your dog and wonder who would’ve taken care of her if you had gone. And you go back to normal. But you keep it there in your mind. Even if you never take yourself up on it, it gives you a kind of comfort to know that the day is yours to choose. You tuck it away in your brain like sour candy tucked in your cheek, and the puckering memory it leaves behind, the rough pleasure of running your tongue over its strange terrain, is exactly the same. The day was hers to choose, and perhaps in that treetop moment when she looked down and saw the yard, the world, her life, spread out below her, perhaps she chose to plunge toward it headlong. Perhaps she saw before her a lifetime of walking on the ruined earth and chose instead a single moment in the air."

Carolyn Parkhurst, The Dogs of Babel (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via sorryforthescars)

I saw a ghost of my past today.

likeafieldmouse:

Alyson Provax - Time Wasting Experiment (2011)

(via rionhunter)

chea-cliatt:

i hate myself.

i hate the choices i make.

i hate the people i let in. i hate the people that escaped.
all of them, as they say, have flown the coop.

i hate indecision.

i hate knowing
that I am me
and you are you
and that is the problem.

I hate goodbyes, especially.

I miss sex.

I miss pursuing and being pursued. 

This disorder has ruined everything. It’s stolen my life from me, and yet I cling onto it as if though it’s done nothing but help.

I know how fucked up everything I do is, and yet I don’t want to stop.