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

losingit-

Ican'ttakethisanymorethehatethelossofcontrolthenumbnesstheanger.

I need help but I don't want to ask for it
I need someone but everyone is caught up in their own problems
I need him but i don't miss him.
I need her to be okay.

I need to be okay. 

Struggle.

I've gained weight. Doctors orders, but I was gaining before the doctor even told me that I should gain five to ten pounds. The gap in my thighs are closing and I'm losing the flat tummy I've been losing for months. I've been binging again and I need it to stop. I'm pretty sure I can get back on the healthy track next week, so I'm going to try as hard as I can. But it's hard when you're obsessed. It's hard when you can't stop thinking about food. I fucking hate it. I banged my hand up on the wall today in frustration, something I haven't done in a while and something I've only done a few times. I'm thinking about cutting myself again after MONTHS of not doing it.

It's difficult to put weight on after being so skinny and feel good about yourself. After being able to always see your ribs, being able to feel them and imagine that you can almost feel your lungs. It's hard, after your legs were so skinny the gap in your thighs ran from your fork to your knees instead of just the middle of your thighs. I remember being able to overlap my index finger and thumb around my wrist, being able to wrap them against my forearms. Now, they barely touch. They don't even come close to touching around my forearm, though. I miss my hipbones the most. april edit-i miss being normal the most.

I need help. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

The bright lights of america.

It's funny how fast an thought can turn into a full fledged obsession. Like a little seed planted in your brain, being fed by the media and social pressure until that little thought-seed is fertilized and turned into a vine that creeps through your mind, strangling and over taking everything, until nothing but it, is left.
How do I snap out of this? How can I stop obsessing over this? It's driving me crazy, breaking me in half, and I'm the only one who can piece myself back together.