To the limit

I hope to one day be completely medication free, to not have to start every morning with a cocktail of drugs when I'm so tired I'm barely coherent. But I'm a mess and even though most of my mental conditions have not been chronic or life threatening, it's always something and it's always powerful enough to tip me over the edge.

With time I hope to learn how to live with my darkness, my demons and ghosts and the endless traffic of thoughts in my head, without having to medicate it away. Right now and for the past 10 years that seems and has seemed impossible. Most of the time I don't even want to.

I imagine a future me looking back at who I am now. What will I see from there? I wonder, cause I think maybe I will think it was more horrible than I think it is now. Cause I'm so deep into it, I've got extreme tunnel vision and everything else just seems so... vague.

But that's the thing about obsessions, and right now I have an obsession with food and weight. And I wonder for how long it will last. Maybe just a few months, maybe even decades. If I live that long, that is. With all my chaos and an eating disorder right on top of it, I'm ready to collapse at any minute. It's just that I haven't realised it yet. Not really.

Right now I'm just letting myself submerge into the ocean of numbers, fears, frustration, anticipation and excitement. I do it as if there is no tomorrow. I'm careless, so very careless; restricting my food intake to dangerously low amounts (almost) every day, go several days a week without any food at all, play around with laxatives and other ways of purging, binge eating, exercise on an empty stomach, pushing myself to the limit and one day I will have reached that limit.

It's just a matter of time if I keep going like this. And I just don't care. Not about my health, my well-being or my life. It is a vicious circle and a downward spiral that I'm choosing to keep spinning in. Out of comfort, control, safety. It holds me tight around the neck and I pull it tighter just to make sure it won't loosen its grip on me.

Hold me tighter, I beg it, and the whole thing turns into an obscene bdsm scenario. I'm the masochist and the sadist. Eating disorders are not separated from the individuals, or at least not in my case. I am not my eating disorder, but it's not anyone else forcing me to live this way.

It's me who calls the shots. My fucked up mind is my own and I am my mind. The thoughts that I'm fat and disgusting and don't deserve to eat are my own. And I give in to them, making them worse on purpose because I need this. I need it so damn much.

I'm very mean and brutal with myself, playing along, excited to see where it leads me in the nearest future. I've never quite given a damn about distant futures. They were never meant for me.

So I live my life day by day, one step closer to total self destruction. I have no idea if I will survive this, it feels like a 50% risk of me dying from it. Cause it can only end in 1 of 2 ways. And I still can't make up my mind if I want to live or die, or if neither has any meaning to me.

Harm

I get that weird feeling sometimes, or more like an instinct of sorts. That I want to destroy things that I love, or things that others love. And then I ask myself, why the hell would I want to do that? It's a horrible feeling really. But I don't think it's rare. I think a lot of people have felt the same way, though I don't quite understand why. But I do, on some level. As when I before cut my face, to destroy something that I liked, my face. Like the only part of my body that I don't hate.

If you look really really close you can still see the scar, but it blends in with the scars from my acne. I hate that. I don't want it to blend in, I want it to stand out. I just didn't fucking cut deep enough. Afraid to do too much damage. Always when I cut I was afraid to press down. I hated myself for my lack of courage which led me to cut even more. Pathetic, isn't it?

And still I want to cut. I want it almost every day. When I look down on my scarred arms and it triggers me to create more scars. To fill in the blanks. Go deeper than ever, press down harder. But I'm always so afraid of messing things up, and mostly I'm afraid of nerve damage.

It's my hands, you see. I don't want to risk losing sensation or mobility in them, so when I did self harm, it was only superficial, like scratches almost. Though I hated it when other people said it was scratches. I used a fucking blade, not my finger nails. I felt bad, like I failed and didn't cut deep enough for it to count.

I know that is just sad, but it's the truth. It's not uncommon for self harmers to compare wounds/scars and it can become a dangerous competition. To diminish my self harm wounds made me want to harm myself even more. I didn't do it right, I couldn't do it right, so I just did more instead. Maybe I could "win" with the most scars instead of the biggest?

I know it's wrong of me to think that way, and I'm not saying I'm proud of it. But that has been and is on my mind. That I'm a failure to self harm as with much else. I never understood that the only failure was my eagerness in getting worse instead of better. How can I not see that scratches are way better than deep lacerations?

I'm gonna try to stay "clean" over the summer at least, but from then on I don't know. The cravings have been extra strong this last week, and I suppose I've come across more triggers as well. Everything from reading about it (though I avoid such websites) to seeing a gif of someone playing with a scalpel.

Okay, this entry is becoming very long now. What do I even want to say? That I'm fighting to not fall back again, and now I seriously start to wonder for how long I can abstain from it. I can't even remember how my body looked like without the scars. If or when I start again I'll probably hide it, ashamed to have given in for it again.

The fury within me

I can't deal with this. I just freaked so horribly because my computer decided to have an emergency shut down right when I was writing and playing WoW. Sure these simple note pad programs are handy and easy to use, but if it's lost somehow, it's lost forever. To be honest I don't really know what I lost, nor do I even care about it.

It's just that the way inanimate objects tend to live their own lives drives crazy. And I mean screaming, crying, hitting things, hitting myself, drinking, cutting, cursing kinda crazy. The sort of pure fury no one cant really understand unless you've experienced it yourself. And there is nothing more destructive than that. I somewhat managed to control myself this time though.

Yes, I both screamed and cried and also hit things, but I didn't touch the computer. I didn't know what to do with myself, almost tore off my eyebrow piercing even. It's like that extreme anger is a life force on its own, possessing my body, making me unable to control any of my muscles. It's like a directed spasm, stronger than a fucking orgasm even. It's that overwhelming, but I can't make anyone understand. I'm not me when I get that angry, I become something else.