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I don't want to know. |
June 19th, 2007 @ 12:00am |
Listening to: Motion City Soundtrack
I am bleeding through
my bandaids.
I called my therapist to
reschedule my first ever
appointment that my
parents made because
I
have
an
eating
disorder
and they think I need help.
I called her and left this
long-winded, long-stated,
all-over-the-place message
on her answering machine,
so now she thinks I'm insane
without even talking to me.
And when I was done with that,
I sat on the grass outside of
my mom's work, on a playground
meant for kindergarten kids,
and cut my side with scissors,
then locked myself in the faculty
bathroom and cut myself again
and again and again.
And now I am bleeding through
my bandaids and freaking out
a little because I have never
been more empassioned about
anything than I am when I'm
carving lines into my skin or
when I'm starving myself or
when I'm spilling the contents
of my stomach inside a perfect
porcelain bowl.
Welcome back. |
| 100 hit(s) |
(1 comments) |
Failure by design.
|
