“this”

i honestly never thought that i’d feel like this ever again.

i dragged myself out of bed for work this morning and don’t even know how i got ready. i managed to put on a creased shirt which has been sitting in a pile in the corner of my room for the past couple of weeks, and a pair of black, unwashed jeans with food stains from my last binge and purge.

perhaps i looked as horrid as i felt, but i doubt it. i didn’t have it in me this morning to even try to give a shit.

i drove most of the way to work feeling numb. numbness isn’t something i’ve experienced (or at least not to this degree) in about a year so to be numb again was surreal.

i barely slept last night because i couldn’t stop the tears from flooding. because of everything. because i’ve worked so hard and made so much progress in the past year, but in the end it just doesn’t matter enough to me for me to want to go on. and because the only belonging i’ve ever felt has come from the act of self-destruction.

i stopped for coffee. i waited for my order for way too long. when i finally got it, i walked out the door and took a sip only to realise that the girl who took my order messed it up.

i cried hysterically for all the rest of the way to work. 


My Paradoxical Logic

I’m always needing to obsess about one thing just to keep my mind idle.


Satan is surfing the sun to Earth and you’re going to hurt, but at least I’ll be home again.

Sometimes I forget to know how to feel, and I try to feel but I can’t. I get so wrapped up in my unfeeling that everything naturally disappears. I don’t mean to hurt you like you say that I hurt you, in fact, in the moment I can’t even imagine how I do, because there I am trying to hurt myself and I can’t feel a thing. To me, how can you possibly?

And I’m usually so detached that I can’t even vaguely remember what it’s like to feel, or that the reason I’m numb to begin with is to escape from that. But there I am, doing anything to try to get that feeling back just so I can figure out whether this is real or not, and I can’t trace things far back enough to know. Only to those last thoughts, “this isn’t happening… this isn’t happening…”


“I will fix you”

I’m artificially fixing myself with self-destruction: drugs, starvation and no sleep. I’m holding the torn bits back together with tape, if you will. It works enough to fool myself and enough to fool the world. The cracks are there, as obvious as broad daylight, but if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in life, it’s that people will turn a blind eye.

I couldn’t give a shit about my weight or appearance. I’m always the same monster despite the body I hide behind. This is about my insides. This is about the filthy fragility that presents itself when health dominates my body. This is about what falls apart and becomes exposed when people get past my body and into my mind, digging for the root of fragmentation, fragmenting me further in the process. I flake off and fly into the night.

For some, this is about control, but for me I prefer the word adhesion. The numbness that keeps me bound. No one can tear me apart and nothing can break me. Numb I may be, but numb I am as one. I fly into the night, complete, and watch the world fade behind me.