Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels…

“I guess it’s ok. I wouldn’t choose me either.”

- always the second choice

Selfharm:

You see it as them hurting themselves too much. They see it as never hurting enough.

Anorexia:

You see it as them just being skin and bones. They see it as a huge number on the scale.

Bulimia:

You see it as too many trips to the bathroom. They see it as “I ate too much”.

Suicide:

You see it as unexpected and surprising. They see it as the only option.

I told you I felt like dying and you did nothing.

Society taught me that no matter what size I am, I will never be good enough. I’ll always be too skinny, too fat, too short, too tall, too this, too that…

„And one thing that I love and hate the most is people always change, but the memories don‘t. And lately I can‘t even eat. Lately I‘ve been feeling ill. When you cannot sleep at night, that‘s when you know shit is real. You don’t even need a gun, you don’t even need a pill. If you ever wanna die, fall in love and you‘ll get killed.

- Hello | Anth

I‘m not suicidal, I don‘t wanna fucking die. Just wanna be able to close my eyes and feel alright. But every day I feel like dying.

I’m dead inside.

What are your best talents?

• Pretend to be happy
• Pretend to be okay
• Pretend to be strong
• Pretend like I can do it
• Pretend like I’m not in pain
• Pretend like it’s not a big deal

Shy people notice everything but they don’t get noticed.

Stop trying to make everyone happy, you’re not tequila.

I wonder how many times we forgive someone just because we don’t want to lose them even if they don’t deserve our forgiveness.

i hope i go to sleep tonight and don’t wake up

Fuck trauma work

My loves

I’m back in rehab. I’m sorry. I love you all and I’ll be back soon.

still haven’t gone to bed

have you?

I really like this guy but all I can think of is how embarrassing it would be for him if we actually got together

I’m trying, I really am. But I feel like I’m such a failure at life and that’s all people see.

I went to take something from my sister and as I was walking away, I heard my mother tell my sister how big I am and they started talking about my size and I know it seems petty but that’s all it takes for me to want to skip dinner and cry. It’s not like skipping dinner will make me smaller but it fills me with some sort of satisfaction.

I Remember

I still remember my first breakdown. Skin hot, eyes swollen, gasping on the floor feeling like every other breath would be my last. I didn’t mean to explode. Emotions pouring out like a pressurised bottle filled with water. Rivulets of tears running down my face like a river of flowing water. The lump in my throat growing until I was choking on my own skin, like my body wanted to kill me.

Maybe it should have.

I don’t remember how long I lay there. It could have been 5 minutes, 10, 15, an hour, who knows? What I do remember is how I picked myself up, wiped my tears, blew my nose and promised myself it would be my first and my last.

How foolish and naïve I was. Gullible enough to belive my own lie.

If you were to ask me, how many more times I allowed my emotions to control me, force me to my knees, with my eyes squeezed shut, like a sinner begging for forgiveness, and I did feel like a sinner, but the crimes to me were unknown, I would not be able to tell you.

I still remember the first time I was exposed to suicide personally. I wondered; why would someone take their own life? What could force you to commit such a crime. Who could have hurt you so badly?

But then I learnt. I learnt that their reason wouldn’t matter to me because to me that person’s problem may seem insignificant to me but to them, it was worth dying for. For me, it was the words shot at me from the mouths of classmates, family and even strangers. The words leaving their mouths like bullets firing out of a gun, striking its target, fast and true. Breaking down the walls of my confidence and self worth that took years to build. 13 to be exact. Broken down in the span of what, 3 days for the most. They left me vulnerable to the voice in my head. That’s the “who”. The one who hurts you the most. The one who haunts you day and night. Laying dormant in your mind until you are stripped bare, with no protection, no way of fighting. It eats you up alive, from the inside until you feel like an imposter in your own skin. Like a corpse, donning a body to fit in the smiling crowds and happy faces. And when you are are alone and you remove that mask, all you are left is feeling broken and lifeless. You then proceed to wishing someone would see how you’ve changed, how you have lost the twinkle in your eyes, that sparkle in your smile. Days begin blurring together, forming one big dark cloud. Time slips from your fingertips, taunting you, until you just need it to stop. You need the feelings to stop, the stares, the voices.

Everything.

Stop.

Please?

It is not death you crave but silence from the harsh tormenting voice, driving you to the point of madness. Outlining each and every one of your flaws from the scar on your face, to the stretch marks on your back, causing your lack of trust in people to the cuts on your thighs…

We all have a different story, some not as extreme and others ten times ass worse. But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t feel what you feel. Your feelings are yours, don’t let anybody tell you how to feel.

I may not remember everything in my life, but I remember many of my firsts that began to destroy me. I remember how young I was, so little I understood.

I dont know which is better, knowing and understanding another’s pain or being oblivious to what would have been mine.