Be free.

Sometimes I wonder.

I wonder why I’m so messed up. And then I look back on my life. Like just now I found out my father beat up his father. My family is so incredibly broken. I don’t think that’s why, though, because even when I was young and saw the world as it isn’t, I was abnormal. Different. Strange. It’s like this has always been me.

I’m back.

I’ve been normal. But after starving that means I gained weight. Fast and a lot. Then I read something triggering. So now I have a two day caffiene fast planned and then I’m going back to dieting.

I fucking look pregnant.

I’m thinking of moving in with my dad.

I should. My mom made a good point saying that she needs to care for herself. I’m a  huge burden and I have secrets that will tear her apart. I feel like I’m so depersonalized-like my body has this large void where I’m stuck far back away from the world. I’m locked there, frozen-but I burn everyone I touch. I should just go be alone.

I’m slipping away.

My mom just threatened to send me to my dad’s and I’m considering it. I’m irresponsible and a horrible person. She has enough stress and a daughter who can’t even wash dishes and wake up for school on time is horrible. As if I didn’t need enough of a trigger to slip away again. Maybe I’ll go to my dad’s. I’m also considering leaving when I turn 18 and not coming back. I know I’ll get worse and that’s a burden my mother can’t handle. At least if I run away it’ll be less worry than knowing her daughter is wasting away.

I just cut myself again for the first time in so long and my stomach is so closed off I want to vomit. I’m shaking from all the emotions, and that also makes me want to vomit. If only my gag reflex was stronger but then I’d have more problems. Like I’m not a big enough mess already. I think I’ll go for a run.

I wish I had a friend in real life who is also suffering from an eating disorder.

It’s a terrible thing to wish, but it would make this burden so much easier to have someone who understands and I don’t have to lie to so much.

My mom made me pick a day to set my year.

It’s a little thing that she does along with some people from her time in her country. I chose March 4th, and she likes to tell me that it was just like me-changing weather every second like I change moods. That statement hit me harder then it should. If only she really knew the lows I get.