Feb 18th, 2017

I’ve come full circle 

My throat feels like I’ve smoked, bacterial tendrils just hinting at exposure, not detectable except by painful proxy

Food is my enemy

I can’t fucking eat

Exactly like, when depressed; when anxious. 

i want to; it would be good for me; it would make me strong; it would be the first step in such a fucking LONG journey of repersonalization and getting my ears and head and neck and heart back 

Of stripping away everything that clogs me, makes me unable to read a sentence on a page without already failing to encode 

Why am I such a brute

WHY AM I SUCH A BRUTE!???

There is so much I want to see and do and be! But I can’t move. Or I don’t. I’m afraid to know what I can’t and what I don’t do bc maybe I really am dull. Maybe I have an aptitude for nothing. Maybe I taste nothing. Maybe my sphere of influence is small and my senses are as dampened as they feel

I am ill right now, yes

But the physical symptoms: an adamant stomach of lead that recoils at the sight of solid food; at the thought of —god forbid— a meal, is a PROUD stomach. It is an anorexic stomach. It is a stomach that restricts for a living; that sustains its own shrinkage, in the way that fat cells and goopy skin and stretch marks could only dream of. 

I am sick. I am so sick. 

I NEED to be sick. This cannot be who I’ve grown up into. 

I used to be a girl who, albeit hyperactive and distracted, COULD read; COULD impress, COULD ace theory exams and math exams and chemistry exams and ANY FUCKING EXAM YOU COULD NAME, and who could balance her life and remember what she did the previous hour

But now i am a girl who self-sabotages even when she doesn’t self-sabotage. do you know what I mean?

There is nothing to sabotage!

I don’t DO anything!

My inner life is a monster. I am sick. I am always always always tired. I don’t know why I’m in school. I don’t know why I’m alive.