Yes, so I may stay here in my head for a long time coming. I am not sure I know how to leave it. It seems perpetually attached to every activity I engage in, a blubbering appendage condemned to anxious babbling, that which whimpers at every turn, every unexpected outcome. It cripples me. And I will try to talk but you will soon find how voluminous my posts can be without me really revealing anything about myself. I do not know what strikes me, and why it's been so much more difficult to control myself, and certain behaviors recently. It's like I just don't care enough to be stopped anymore. I would love to care, I would adore being so much stronger than I am. I wish I knew what I was even doing here. In this apartment, living this life. I would like to know what I think I'm accomplishing by staying in this area, when I know I probably should have ran as far away as possible long long ago. Should just ran in a straight line without stopping for breath until I was half-way around the world. Hopefully this wouldn't land me in an ocean (let's hope I'd pick a decent cardinal direction here) So, when I was as far away as possible from this area, maybe I'd be able to breathe, adapt, imagine I'd birthed myself, hatched from an egg, had absolutely no family whatsoever. And then maybe I could live.. I feel like I'm just rotting here being around them. I don't know why I am so sure of this, it is strange to feel so hostile toward that which is supposed to be sustaining you, grounding you. No, this isn't working. I avoid confrontation because I swallow and bury my anger, which is also killing me. I know why I'm angry, and especially what I'm angry about. But I seem to be cursed with a pathetic stiffness that's nothing more than cloaked fear, it prevents me from showing anything when the familiars are near. I don't have any 'spirit' at all. This is why it's so poisonous. It might be easier to nurture the fire somewhere that isn't flooded and rotting away. So I have been cutting again and watching my life erupt in slow motion. I don't really know how much longer it will be before I crash at the bottom of the abyss, the one we all know so well and love. It's disgusting watching it happen, watching dreams grow more distant as each day passes. I need to be more dedicated to keeping myself in good shape, at least thin. I am getting worried that I'll become fat if I don't change. It seems so trivial, but it sometimes feels like that last little dream I might be able to hold onto. There's something so hypnotic and frighteningly awe-inspiring about watching myself starve that it's not even funny. I feel like I'm playing a never-ending tug-of-war with myself over how I can eat without making myself fat, or stay thin without dying. I can't just let it go automatically and expect things to turn out "okay". I put too much energy into food. I'm f*cking obsessed with food. I haven't really figured out how to change anything. That scares me a little bit. So, I am going crazy trying to figure out how to manage my weight, and for whatever reason my behavior forces me to think of the struggle as a life-and-death situation. It's not a matter of vanity, anymore. It's taken on an almost incoherent importance in my life, t's like I don't even know why it's important anymore. I like the drugs I'm taking because they kill my appetite, and I've been losing weight like crazy on it. As a matter of fact, I can hardly eat! I should be worried, most people would be worried and want to restore their normal appetite immediately the moment they noticed something so serious. Yet I am stupidly ecstatic and live with every hope that it cause my weight to plummet at a very fast rate, indeed. If I'm honest with myself, (which is rare in a public setting) then the major thing on my bucket list is to pass away at a certain goal weight. I absolutely must be this x amount of weight before I am allowed to die, and unless I am willing to risk my health getting there, then I don't think I'm serious about dying. It's essentially a thought problem, as my thoughts are so skewed. So, during periods when I'm especially suicidal I start losing weight, because it's tied into some convoluted vision of myself. But, recently I've been thinking more about killing myself in punishment for not getting down to that weight. And don't even bother telling my some trite crap about "Hollywood", this issue of mine is so dissociated from Hollywood and body image that I don't even know if I would consider it an "eating disorder". It's based on a completely different set of ideals, and it's more about the ascetic discipline required and some semi-spiritual ideal of mental perfection, which shouldn't even make sense when I'm just going to kill myself anyway. It's very confusing and I'm afraid it's too sordid for me to sort through. But, it still results in the same basic line of thought: I'm afraid of eating because I don't want to feel like a slovenly pig. I still eat, though (at least currently). I just hate myself for every moment of it, because I know I've been wanting to do something completely different this whole time!