Death is my passion

I become so absorbed by my writing today, and don't worry Y, I'll write more directly to you soon enough. I read what you wrote to me and it affected me deeply. It's positive, but more, I don't have words for right now.

I emptied my insides both literally and figuratively. Funny how it sometimes works both ways. Left aren't that many feelings at all. Just an echo that lingers. I might do it again, just to numb myself completely, I haven't decided yet. I purge so differently now since my relapse. Before it was a routine, something I just needed to do cause I couldn't for the life of me stop eating. I don't know how much I ate a day, but my guess is somewhere between 3000 and 4000 calories, close to double the amount I actually needed.

Now it's different cause I don't need purging in the same desperate way. Now I use it as self harm, to mess up my heart and to calm down my emotional states. I hope it will really mess me up one day, that it will take me closer to death. Closer to life, to realising I'm in fact mortal. Cause I believe that the closer one is to death, automatically one is also closer to life. It opens up one's eyes, and one can see clearer. Until you can't see at all, cause you're dead. At least, that's just what I believe.

That death changes everything, just like love can. But being the one who's dying (more or less, what do I know), I've always felt like I'm not the one who experiences that change. I throw it on everyone else, and that's just not fair. But this time I really do experience the change, how the life in me somehow grows, the closer I get to my own death. Realising that the way I treat my body, I might not even live to Christmas. Or I might be stronger than anyone ever thought possible and live past the spring. I don't know.

It doesn't scare me, but I'm confused, not knowing for sure how much time I have left. It all depends on my body, or at least most of it does. Sometimes dying comforts me, other times I'm just empty and feel nothing either for nor against it. I regret letting any food stay in me today, I wish to go back in time and change it. But I can't, and now today is almost over.

I'm trying to see the "positive" side of things. That I didn't collapse during the meeting with my shrink and she didn't suspect anything. I managed what I wanted to achieve. Yet, the feeling of being an utter failure at my eating disorder lingers and suffocates me. I keep thinking that tomorrow I'll do better, starve more, but what if I can't? What if I get stuck in another cycle of eating and purging with an intention to fast that never succeeds?

I worry too much. Scared of not being able to lose more weight, of ending up at a plateau again. Stuck on the same weight for weeks eating next to nothing. It happens, it happens to the best. It's some kind of starvation mode where basically the body is fighting back and holding on to the little it gets, or something. I'm not exactly what it is. And I don't care much either.

All I know is that I'll do literally anything to break through if I do plateau, I won't just wait it through. I could die, and I'd much rather die on a lower weight than this. 56,3 kg forever etched into my mind. I have to break through, I'll work my ass off for it and more. There is no giving up, only keep going until I die. And suicide has always been the one thing I've ever truly striven for.

It's my passion, my force. My only reason to live is to commit suicide. And I know there possibly isn't anything sadder, but it's true. Whenever I've tried to put some passion into positive things, like drawing or writing or anything, I can never do it fully. But when it comes to suicide... oh damn my soul is on fire.

It makes me smile, cause at least there's something, anything that does set my soul on fire. Like nothing else. My passion to die has followed me for so long now, and I never feel as alive as when I know I'm going to die. It might be awful, but I've never been able to live any other way. For me, dying is not just about leaving a miserable life, it's about entering the next great adventure. That's the only future I truly want to believe in, that's the only future I want to have.

How can I explain that to anyone who doesn't read this blog? My passion for death... I can't imagine anything more dangerous, more threatening to life, and life itself. It's my greatest form of art, complete self destruction. Morbid much? I couldn't tell you even half of it. Not many would understand it, they'd just call me sick and want to lock me into a padded cell. Those people. Yeah, you know who I'm talking about.

Those can never understand, so what would be the point in explaining? Because maybe, sometimes just trying to make someone understand something I perceive as great is worth it, even if they never can. As long as I keep it from those actually holding the straight jackets, that is. No, I should choose my audience. Perhaps I already have, and you, whoever reading this, are my audience. It doesn't have to be a great number of people. Just one person would be enough.

I raise my words, not my voice. Damn, I'm nearly exhausting myself, but it's deliberating. To just think freely like this and let my words flow endlessly. I have no word limit, I could write thousands upon thousands. But always remember quality over quantity. Death is my sanctuary, above all else, and in it I will thrive.