A New Idea

I've decided to write down everything I eat each day. Except not today. Because it would disgust you. I ate so much. So so much. It's gross really. The amount I ate. Would you like me to list it for you? Maybe I will....

Breakfast: Nothing. Like usual.

Lunch: 2 Jellos, 5 kcals; 3 inch sandwich with lettuce, tomato, olives, and sauce, about 300 kcal; chicken noodle soup, 180 kcal

Snack: 2 servings of pad thai, 200 kcal

Dinner: Wienerschnitzel and Spaetzel, waaaaaaay too many calories... like probably over 1000 it was disgusting

I feel gross and fat and soooooo big. I did a bunch of leg exercises today to try and get a thigh gap but they're really fat and droopy and mottled. They're so disgusting.

And that was my day today.

And Life Drags On

In the most peculiar ways.

And takes twists and turns.

You never expected.

But should have foresaw.

And sometimes you're high.

And sometimes you're low.

You scream with happiness.

And die of loneliness.

And no one does a single thing.

Because you're silence.

Silence. 

Silence.

And really does anyone care.

About you.

But the answer is known.

And the answer is no.

Because everything around.

Has problems of its own.

And not a single moment.

To be spent on you.

Because why?

Why?

Why?

First of Many

Today I made my first visit to the therapist my mom has been seeing.

She taught me how to breathe.

 I told her about being depressed since 7th grade and how I don't exactly eat normally and how my mood depends on my current weight and how high it's risen or how far it's dropped.

And I told her that maybe I wasn't a very happy person and I tried not to cry the entire time because whenever I have to tell people these things I always begin to cry and it's like fighting back the whole Persian army to keep the tears in my eyes and off my cheeks because I hate people knowing anything about me that isn't positive, perfect, or a lie.

Because that is how I live and that is where I'm comfortable.

And the woman made soothing noises and told me she's seen everything which doesn't comfort me one bit because I can still feel her judgement and she knows my mother and I  haven't even told her I'm going to die yet. So I don't know why I tell her my secrets because you know what? they're MINE. m. i.n.e and I tell no one else except maybe just a couple few people.

But I really can't stop because everything is so overwhelming I need someone to complain to but GOD I swear the moment I cry in front of her is the moment my dignity is forever gone. So I will not cry for her not today, not next week not ever because if I can hold onto one thing it's my fucking dignity and I. will. not. give. it. up.

But still talking feels good.

And after I breathed real deep and real long and all of the sudden I was calm and clear. And it was a feeling I haven't felt in years I think and I have no effing clue where it came from but at that moment I  felt angels or God or something and it was the weirdest thing ever.

And tonight I still want to die.

The Mongolian Yurt and the Big Orange Cat

Today was noticeably brighter.

For starters, we got a new cat. He is big and orange and has little stripes and spots all over his body and little white paws and a little white face and great big yellow tiger eyes and a dignified way of looking at you that says what have you contributed to the world today? And he purrs in the most contented way because he's lived in a cage at the pound his whole two yeas of living and now he's finally home, home, home.

In a word I love him.

His name is Snickerdoodle Sinclair.

We're divided as to which one to call him. Phillip calls him Snickerdoodle. I call him Sinclair. At the petshop they called him Fizzy.

Right nows he's curled up next to me, purring wheezily and  as if out of breath. It is a perfectly beautiful meow. It's funny how sometimes something so small as an animal can throw bad feelings out of your head and put a little fire in your heart that melts just a teensy bit of the ice. And he's already done that. Even though he's only been here for five hours. And I love him for it.

This morning I had to drive myself to school and I almost had a little panic attack when I passed the Racetack. It was at almost the exact same time that I crashed exactly one week ago. But of course I made it through at a very slow pace and the anxiety almost went away but not really because I was so nervous the rest of the drive and I went so slow and was hyperaware of every single little thing going on around me.

At dinner tonight we started talking about valentines and I suggested to Phillip that we take a picture of him doing the pointing pose and put all sorts of messages above it like "Babe, you're comin home with ME tonight" or "Keep calm and form a line Ladies"and the we were talking about the phrase "go girl!" and gogurt and I said "Or as the mongolians say "Go Yurt" and this set off a slew of yurt related jokes that actually left me laughing.

Right now I'm sitting in bed looking around at all the blankets around me and my Big orange jungle cat licking his paws and for the first time in a long time I think I'm content.  Every darknesss is in a small corner of my mind. Folded up and tucked in tight so they don't show. The  wrinkled corners are peeking out a bit but for right now I'm ignoring then and focusing on Sinclair or Snickerdoodle or Fizzy or whatever this beautiful cat is called and I'm actually quite happy.

The details.

You may have noticed by now I am crazy. I'm not right in the head. I'm cuckoo. Of my rocker. I know this fully. I've accepted it. I understand. Would you like a list of all my problems??? Maybe it will help you get to know me better?

I am anorexic. I did it to myself. I made myself this way. But the irony is I'm horrible at it. See me laughing? I can't even succeed at deprivation. It's funny right? So laugh.

I'm depressed. More than a little. Less than a lot. For maybe four years now? I think that's how long. I fell apart at 13. I stopped functioning like a normal human being and became a shell. I've tried desperately to maybe fill this shell. But no. It's impossible. I am hallow.

I am emotionless. Period.

In some convoluted, tiny, major part of my head I want to die. I think about it all the time. Maybe hanging myself? Or taking a dozen sleeping pills and drifting silently off. But doesn't that rarely work? I hear that rarely works. Maybe I'm just crazy. I am, aren't I?

I have a lot of hatred. All toward myself. To every inch and nook of my body and being. To every thought that crosses my head and every motion my body makes. I hate it. Forever.

I don't fit in. Nowhere. Not in my family. Not with my friends. There is nowhere just for me. Not in this life.

I sometimes believe in a next life. That maybe I'll get another chance at living. To do everything right for a change. Where people love me. Me. I hope.

I was raped.

I write stories. About people with problems living lives I wish I could. Every story is a wish. A wish for a life I could live because it's not filled with the pain mine is. They're all filled with pain. But a lesser pain. And I hope for that. A reprieve.

Who am I?

Well that is certainly a good thing to start with. I'm fairly simple when it comes to plain facts. Its the details that get me. And the nuances.

To begin.

I am 17. At the moment.

My birthday is August 18.

I am 5'5".

I weigh 120 pounds. I hope this will change.

I have red hair. I dye it sometimes. It's very long. To my navel. And curly.

I have dark blue eyes.

Small eyes.

Big nose.

Freckles.

Size 8 1/2 feet.

I speak English and German.

I have a 9 year old brother.

And a 7 year old sister.

And a mother who's an artist.

And a father who's a pilot.

And two cats.

And a rabbit.

And a lizard.

An introduction.

I think this blog is less of a blog and more of a documentation.

A documentation of me.

A 17 year old girl.

Spiraling down.

To crazy.