note to self: don’t listen to Bon Iver.

too many memories, too many painful memories of beautiful moments of sunsets in cars of your hand intertwined with mine, or from holding that same hand as we passed the drugs back and forth on your balcony, ten stories up

secluded and secretive

happy and insulated

high from the smoke, high from the pure bliss from just sitting next to you.

jesus christ, tim, I miss you.

dont you love waking up after dreaming of your ex boyfriend cheating on you for months with ugly bitches?

i do.

it’s fucking fantastic.

where the FUCK is my weed.

today I’m on autopilot. I’m broken and I don’t have the willingness to keep feeling it. so I’m numbing it.

i keep going from one extreme thought to another about being destructive and reclusive and reckless until my anorexia takes over, or trying my best to get better but still hurting and crying all the damn time.

I don’t know what to do. Well, I do. I just don’t know which one will win.

broke up with Tim on Friday.

I’m heartbroken.

I’ll manage, and I can make myself eat but it’s so so so much harder to do when I don’t want to do anything but smoke and sit.

I ache. Every inch of me aches with knowing he doesn’t love me like I love him. He still loves me, but he doesn’t want the romantic aspect. I don’t know what this means, I don’t want to think about it. I want to smoke, and smoke, and smoke, and smoke. And NOT let it make me relapse. I’m stronger than that. I deserve that.

yesterday I wore a tank top, and looked like a starving child, and my friends stared and my boyfriend didn’t bat an eye.

my arms are emaciated. my chest is sunken. i look good with clothes, i look like hell without them. my veins stick out.

i can’t go for a hike in woods without almost passing out, then napping all afternoon, and my fucking ocd medication makes my stomach twist and turn in knots, which doesn’t make me want to eat.

but I did eat ice cream last night. It was some girl scout kind, and delicious. and I don’t feel bad about it. I do, however, wish I wanted real food. I can manage to eat ice cream. I’ve got no problem with it, but real food? no way. only vegetables. i need to maintain, i need to probably put on about 10lb. 95 is not healthy.

I hate my eating disorder. I hate how gross I look. I hate that it has taken so many things from me.

i don’t want to fall into self pity today, but I’m not going to lie, I’m sad.

(via lolaloww)

at this point, i’m really terrified of my disorder. Maybe this is a good thing. I’m scared I’m going to push away my family, my friends, and any possibility for a normal healthy relationship. I already lost my boyfriend, and I don’t know how to tell the new boy that I’m interested in that I’ve got a sometimes debilitating but for right now functioning mental disease. When I think about how much this has taken from me, I realize how much I want to get better. But at the same time, I realize how much fucking control it has, and no matter how much I want a happy life, I’ve got this nagging voice telling me to lose ten pounds because I’m a fat bitch who doesn’t deserve food. I’m terrified of gaining, and I’m terrified of maintaining this disorder. I. hate. anorexia.

why can’t I eat over 250 anymore??????

I’m really really good today. But, I still want nothing beside the pumpkin oatmeal I already ate.

it’s nice that I’m taking the self worth pain and dealing with it and processing and it leaves me feeling relaxed and destressed. BUT, I’m still feeling not hungry, repulsed by food, disgusted by everything that’s not oatmeal (and even that sometimes)….I’m really scared, like… I will die. I will die from this if I don’t get it together and I can’t get it together. I get a little better, I get a lot worse. It’s this terrible cycle that’s leaving me wanting absolutely nothing. I have to force myself to eat something, anything, and it’s only the very safe foods (limited vegetables, strawberries, coffee, tea, diet coke, fat free fake as shit butter, lots of spices, oatmeal). That’s what I’ve been living on for months and I’m still cutting the safe list down, this. is. scary.

i don’t wanna die.

but I don’t wanna eat.


since when did i give permission to be weighed and for these people to TELL me to eat a certain amount. no thank you to recovery.

i just WANT to be normal.

i want to beat up that bitch who liked bo’s “is now single” status.

i want to never eat.

i want my boyfriend back.

i want drugs.

i want to not worry about money anymore.

i want a lot of things that i can’t have. but i can have food, and i don’t want it.

my whole fucking body and mind and heart and insides hurt.

i do not want to eat. i don not want to eat after breaking up with bo. i just wanna drink tea and feel numb. but that’s not healthy. must. not. restrict. must not suppress. i’m sad.