my past is written on my wrists. 

and not just in the form of haphazard tattoos emulating what i may want my skin to be like some day. This record of my history is inscribed, dancing along the ripples of my veins.. It's painful, sad, and the only thing that makes sense to me.
It's sadistic art, or, just sadistic i know. It's a terrible, awful selfish thing but i can't help from doing it-i tried for so long to fight in but now i just need to give in. It's my lustful affliction. It's my main infatuation, my only addiction.

 People don't tend to see it. Maybe they just block them out-it's too much to deal with. i know, i've been there with others
             i'm such a hypocrite

i can never decide if i want someone to ask me about it or not- i know i don't want my parents to know. It would kill them.
But i like people to know about my past-empathy is a good thing.
Maybe i just like the attttention.
i really don't know. i try not to think about that.

But, you know. It's just a phase. 

                                       

                                                                                                                     i never write more than two             posts in one day...i like saving ideas for the future. But wasn't there a great some sort of influential person who said that putting off writing or art or anything for a day with better circumstances never worked? Besides, this way i'm actually inspired.

Vice#6 the.edge

To see if I still Feel

enterdramaticphoto.

Andyoucouldhaveitall



 My


                                    dirt
                                    of
                                empire


 I  will   let    


                            d
                              o
                                w
                                   n




                                                 I      will   Make   you


                         H
       


                                             u

   
                                     R
 

                                                      t.

Life to Live

I haven't been normal for years.
But I did use to be more normal than I am now.
My deepest traumas were suicidal thoughts, cuts down my arms-
-typical kid stuff.

But it's only the first half of 2012, and I've changed more mentally than I ever had any year before. And the change was overnight. I've gone through every eating disorder in the book-Anorexia? Check. Bulimia? Check. Binge eating? Night eating disorder? Check Check. Eating disorders not otherwise specified? Big ass check.
I made myself this way. I still remember the thought that made it all start.

-It really can't be that hard, can it? I might as well try-

That was the seed. The invasive species that won't go away.

Yes, I screwed myself. Fucked me up for life. But, I did stop purging on my own, and, if this all started overnight, maybe I can plant a different seed:

Embrace who you are. Eat to live, not Live to Eat. Enjoy what you eat, don't punish yourself for eating those slices of cake or few cookies.
Cause in the end, the only person you have to live with your entire life is yourself, not anyone else, so why change yourself for the world?

-Vice #1, food.