Something is so wrong with me right now.

I’m so confused about everything.

I can’t feel anything, yet I feel hurt and destroyed and dead and emotionless and completely fucked up.

What is going on?

Between sips of water, I’ve somehow drank a bottle and a half of pure vodka along with trying to finish all my schoolwork (failing all my classes due to major depression), ”falling down the stairs” / “getting hit by a doorknob” (love you too darling parents), hating myself for trying to eat healthily (or like a normal person), attempting not to slit my wrists and my hips and my ankles and my chest and any other open piece of skin that can be covered with scars, and also trying not to become a cigarette addict and drown in nicotine because it’s the only thing that calms me down during a panic attack (which are happening quite more frequently.  Suppose I now have to rely on the old methods of taking care of them: shaking and waiting for them to be over).

I also haven’t really slept in weeks.

And I can’t stop listening to “Stay” (Hurts), “Don’t Forget” (Demi Lovato… I don’t even like her), “Lullabies”  (All Time Low), “Like We Used To” (A Rocket To The Moon), “One Man Drinking Games”, “So Far Away”, “Stay”, “If You Wanted A Song…” and “If You Can’t Live Without Me…” (Mayday Parade), “I Don’t Love You” and “Cancer” (My Chemical Romance), “Remember When”, “Wish You Were Here” and “Losing Grip” (Avril Lavigne), “Gone” (Kelly Clarkson…what), and “Our July In The Rain” (He Is We… I don’t even know where that came from).  
“You dropped the note, we changed key.  You changed yourself and I changed me.  I really didn’t see us singing through this.  You screamed the bridge and I cried the verse and our chorus came out unrehearsed.  And you smiled the whole way through it.  I guess maybe that’s what’s worst”

I’m also trying to decide whether I give a fuck or not about my best friend not even remembering I exist.  But on the off chance he sees this, I might as well say I’m sorry or whatever.  Or am I?  I think I am.  He’s the one that fucking left but I guess it’s my own fucking fault.  Yeah, I also miss you.  And I guess I care.  I guess I still love you like you’re still my best friend, actually.  It’s only been two months, give or take.  And it was a year ago we became best friends.  Wow, a lot can change in a year.   I still have trouble wrapping my head around the fact that you’re that same dorky 6th grader who was in love with me and decorated a pen for me for my birthday.  I actually still have that pen.  I just found it, which I think is how the paragraph started.  And you’re also somehow that same kid that went to the mall with me and my other friend last year, and we accidentally started eating dog treats because we thought they were chocolate.  You’re also the same kid who’s lap I used to lay on, while one of us ranted/cried to the other.  Wow.  So much can change in 3 years.  So much can change in a year.  So much nostalgia.  I can’t believe you’re so different now.  I don’t hate the new you.  You’re more… i don’t know.  I don’t exactly particularly like it, but I do love you did love you.  Though you were right when you said the funny asshole is the only side I see now.  Was leaving your way of getting revenge on me for making your life a living hell for a year or two?  I thought I repaid that debt when I took a knife out of your hand and let you cry on me for hours at a time.  Guess not.  I don’t know.  I honestly don’t blame you at all for leaving.  I understand, I don’t agree, but I do understand.  I shouldn’t have given you that note.  I should have just done it, and not have told you beforehand.  I just felt like I owed you that, but now I realized we both would have been happier if I’d just done it.  So many memories I wish i could wipe from my mind.  Most of them are good, bad, or somewhere in between.  But I also like them because, all in all, you were a huge part of my life, and I’m sorry it ended badly.  Although i do wish I got a fucking goodbye.  Guess I’m not worth that.  I’m really not the type that would talk to anyone else about how I feel about this.  I actually would never openly state any of this, period.  This is probably why I usually end up saying it in really odd paragraph where I know you’ll never read it.  I definitely still care.  I do hate you, a lot.  Every time I see you in the halls, I’m torn between slapping you so hard you bleed (like I’ve done before), and running up to you and actually saying all this.  And I do love you.  I thought you were a real friend.  But I guess you weren’t, because you left.  And I wish you loved me like I thought you used to, but you don’t so honestly, I don’t even fucking know.  And then you replaced me.  I actually think you’ve been tying to replace me for a while, (at least since December), and then when you left, you decided that you didn’t care about me at all and then replaced me as soon as you could.  I expected that, really.  I could tell you’ve been trying to.  I’m just too complicated and fuck up.  I don’t even care you replaced me.  I mean, yeah it hurt.  A lot.  But it’s mostly how it was so easy for you.  It’s been so easy for you to just walk right by me and not even look at me.  It’s been so easy for you to treat me like I don’t exist.  It’s been so easy for you to treat me like a complete stranger.  And I think that’s what hurt the most.  How it’s just so fucking easy to forget about me.  The worst part is also how you used to know how much I needed you, and you used to take advantage of me because you know knew no matter how bad you fucked up, I’d still be there.  And it sucked to be that way, because sometimes I wanted so badly to slap you across the face and tell you to never talk to me again, but I couldn’t because you were my friend.  Friends don’t do that to friends.  But apparently I meant absolutely nothing to you, and throwing me away took no effort at all.  That’s fine though.  Really.  Also because since you left, I’ve honestly been trying to get better.  Like actually trying to get better.  No more bullshitting.  I’m actually trying to recover.  This is so pathetic because I’m actually sitting here typing this out for absolutely no one to read and even if you saw it, you wouldn’t care because I never meant anything to you and I’m just some weird girl you were friends with for a little while that’s taking this too personally.  Whatever.  I’m over it.  Now you’re just somebody that I used to knowwwww *sings song in head*  Fuck, this is a long paragraph.  I’m sorry.  I love you.  Jk I don’t care.  I do.  Fuck.  So confused.  ”I got no problem saying goodbye.  Is it wrong I’m gonna be having the time of my life? Cause deep down I know I should cry, I should scream, get down on my knees.  I should say i need you here.  But I’m gonna party tonight cause honestly I just don’t care”

How do i even manage though to fuck up every sort of relation to any human being that actually gets to know me?

Oh.  Right.  I get scared, and push them away, and hurt myself for it.  Fuck.  I should stop doing that.  Never mind.  I already decided I’m never getting close to anyone ever anyway. 
I’m too complicated to love.  Therefore, no one will ever love me.  Oh well.  I’m not even sure whether I believe in love.  Everyone leaves anyway.  They meet me, get to know me, learn things about me, then I start to trust them and tell them things.  Then they spill their hearts out to me, and i do the same to them.  And we help each other with our various problems.  They try to help me get out of my depression, then after a few great months where I think I’ve finally found a good friend, things start to get awkward, we talk less, and then soon we don’t talk at all.  Meanwhile the things in my life are still going on but they pretend they don’t remember, and I’ll still be hurting but they won’t know.  And that’s that.  It happens all the time.  Too much.  I’m a bitter, terrible human being.

I’m so fat.  Ugh.  I don’t like eating.  Why am I even bothering to?  And ugly.  I just want to look the way pretty girls look.  Is that too much to ask?  Why is there some pretty-magic-spell on everyone except me?  I feel like I was sketched by an amateur artist, and from far away, it looks alright.  It looks like everything is where it’s supposed to be.  But then if you look closer, everything’s sort of wrong and misshaped and such.  I feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Like a lump of clay that someone was working with but didn’t have time to finish.  Does my personality show through my face or something?

I really try to be a good person.   But then something happens and I end up being a terrible person who’s an annoying, cheap, nonchalant, unemotional, uncaring, bitch that never tells anybody about herself but lets everyone else rant to her.  I do care about people though.  Well I try to.  I think I try to.

I honestly don’t know how to feel anything anymore.  All I know is that if I saw a person in danger, I’d run to their aid and put their life above mine.
I’m still a terrible person. 

My doctor says that too.  I think my doctor hates me.  I’m pretty his life would be easier if I just offed myself, and he’s said that more than once.  But honestly, I can’t hate him.  And I really don’t think he hates me as much as he makes it seem.  I doubt he would have done as much as he has for me if he did.   He knows everything that’s happened, and he’s never told my parents or any other doctors anything.  I’m pretty sure he actually literally burns most of my records after he’s done with them.  Only stuff that we keep secret.  And he helps me financially.  Without him, I wouldn’t have been able to pay for the tests and appointments on my own and if I used the insurance, my parents would find out.  He’s also done some other things for me like gotten pills for me that are basically illegal here.  He may be an asshole, but he’s done so much to keep me alive.  My life would have been so different if he didn’t help me.  I would probably be in a psych ward.  And maybe I should be.  But I guess he knows how difficult it would be for me to get help from other people, which is probably why he keeps me safe.  It’s actually really funny and kind of sweet how he does all this even with the threat of possibly getting arrested for it.  That’s why i can never tell anyone his name, because someone might found out about everything he’s done for me.  I have told him how much I appreciate him, but if I ever told him again, he’d hold it over me forever.  Therefore, I hate him.  He hates me.  And this is why we [don’t] get along.

Also, my last visit to the doctor ended with my other doctor (who knows nothing about me) finding out I cut (she saw scars on my arm when she was giving me a shot), and then threatened to send me to a hospital.  I freaked out a little bit and pleaded with her, and then finally she decided to talk it over with my doctor I previously mentioned who once again saved my life.  But he didn’t tell me it was all straightened out until a week later just to torture me.  Asshole.

Recovery really isn’t working for me.  I’m not giving up though.  I’m determined to be healthy.  Lol what.  I’m just trying to put my life back in order.  I want it back.  Everything I’ve been through hasn’t made me stronger, it’s made me weak.  It’s made me sink into this sea of depression that I can’t get myself out of.  But I’m going to try and get my fucking self out, even if I end up falling harder.  The depression has cause me to lose so many things, I don’t even care how long it takes. I just want to get better.

What the fuck am I doing?

I also accidentally fucked some guy a few weeks ago.  Or I was fucked by some guy.  I was really pissed about a lot of things so I decided that i was going to go to a keg party in the woods at 1am and precede to take 12 shots of tequila and follow that with half a bottle of vodka. Then some guy took advantage of me and fucked me while I slipped in and out of consciousness.  Apparently, drunk-me was totally into it.  Sober-me feels like a slut, but I felt that way before anyway.  He also left a $10 in my bra.  So I am also a prostitute.  That’s nice.  Never letting that happen again.

I have had sex twice.  Exactly twice.  The first time was last year, when I lost my virginity, I was… well, I’d rather not say what happened.  You can read my description if you want to know that.  And this was the second time.  I don’t even think I’m strong enough mentally to really have sex, especially after what happened. But if I am, can I please just do it just once with someone who actually maters?  Or is this going to be a mistake every single time.

I’m such a fuck-up .

Literally all I’ve done this week is drink enough to only fuck me up physically.  I’ve had a migraine all week and I left school early one day due to a slightly delayed hangover.  Is that even possible?  I also got all paranoid my parents were going to find out about their missing vodka and such.  I doubt it though.  They barely drink, but if they go looking for it, they’ll probably just assume the other drank it all.  Or they’d treat me the same as usual.  Whatever.

I think I’m also insane.

Or drunk.

Again. 

Or on the verge of being drunk.

Again.

I don’t think anyone can type this well drunk.  Wow I’m so literateeee.

So maybe I’m on that verge of drunkedness where you rant about everything to people that don’t care and all you end up with is a major headache.  Does anyone have aspirin?

My friend yelled at me last week for drinking as much as I have been because she doesn’t want to take me to any AA meetings when we’re older.
She also got mad at me yesterday because I got mildly intoxicated during most of the school day…. it basically cleared up about 8th period, but after that, I had a headache and I think my stomach is dead.  She says I have a problem.  I said she was crazy. 

What even.  I’m just scared she’ll come to my house and steal my bottles.

Whatever.

Right now my mind is completely insane and my thoughts are going a bit like this:
bitch/ugly/fat/fake/suicide/liar/death/recovery/strong/dead/dying/iwishicouldcry/fat/theworldhassomuchpotentialtobebeautiful/whyaremyteacherssuchbitches/failing/cut/nocutting/recovery/recovery/recovery/bestfriendproblems/ihatepeople/whatisthemeaningoflife/ugly/fake/fat/bitch/suicide/nojumpingoffbridgesyet/…etc

And my emotions can be translated into:
qwaszdxfcgvhbjnlihugyftdrsexfcghvjbknjihugyftdrsedxfcgvhbjhlukytresdxfcgvhbjuilytresdxfcghvjbuilytrdesywaszdxfcghvbuhilogyifturdxgzxfgcjhvkjgkufytdrsewSzdfxgchvjbhuigyfdtrseSDfgchvjbugyfitdrsexfgchvjbhiojhoiusrezdfxgchvjbhiugeawqZXFGCHVIJOYTRUSEAWZDXFGCHVJBIUSEAWZDXFGCHVJBHUIGYFTDRSERXFCGHVUILYIsercgvugyseawsrcvuhgsyreawtzdfxgchvjbkugyatewrdtfyguhit6r5e4srdxfgchvjbgyuftdrsexcfghvjbhuigyiftudrysexcfghvjbhuigyftdrxfcghvyguk

or

[


                                                                                                                                          ]

what are emotions even?  what are they not?

i should delete this whole thing.  But I don’t think i will because it’s the closest I’ve come to explaining everything going on in my head.  I don’t think I have a brain.  I feel like I would be smarter if I had one.  Or I’d at least give off a prettier-aura.  Apparently, according to some really legitimate tarot card reader (don’t even ask), I have the most beautiful aura she’s seen in her 50 years of teaching.  What even?
I wish i knew more about tarot.  I’m trying to learn.

I really don’t want to go to summer school.  Especially not for global.  How can someone even fail global?  Oh right.  I haven’t done any homework in a month and I’m trying to make it up.  I wonder if I’m qualified to take the L.E. regents, but I think i should finish my labs first.  ugh. what is school.

Speaking of school, when all my teachers ask me why I haven’t done my homework, I really want to tell them “well yesterday i came home from school and I was about to start when I either a) got into a fight with my parents that left me bleeding or b) had a panic attack than struggled to either a) not slice my skin into pieces or b) not swallow more than a stomach full of pills.  I’ve also been trying not to starve myself, or let myself remember I was raped last year.  All of this on top of not trying to sink lower into depression.  Did I mention there’s no one to help me with any of this either?”  I honestly wonder what they’re reactions would be.  They’d probably dismiss me and pretend I said nothing.

I feel so alone.  honestly, I think that’s what I feel most right now.  Alone.  I have no one to talk to, no one to listen, no one to help me.  How am I supposed to do this on my own?  I don’t know how to recover on my own?

Everything about my disorders make me feel so alone.  I hate when people ask me why I hate food or say they wish they had as much control as I do because, honestly, I love food.  I wish I could be normal and sit in a booth with my friends and eat whatever I want without constantly terrorizing and punishing myself for it.  I wish I could look at a brownie without it’s number of calories coming to my head before I could take a bite.  And then I feel embarrassed because I feel weird.  I feel like I’m not meant to even just sit and talk to people when they’re eating, because I feel left out.  So then I try eating, then I purge it less than an hour later.  When I first started developing an eating disorder because I thought I was fat, I realized how bad my eating habits were so i just started restricting naturally.  Then, it became less about me being fat because I realized that that part of me wasn’t fixable.  I was always going to be fat and ugly and no make up in the world or days of starving would change that.  But I then made sure I never ate more than 700 calories a day.  Soon it became 500.  Then it became 300.  And now it’s at that point where I think 10 calories is too much.  It sickens me that I hate myself if I just have 1 bite of an apple.  It’s fucking torture.  People just don’t understand that.  My diet is now basically coffee, sometimes a bagel in the mornings if I can stand it, cups and cups and cups of water, a snack less than 150 calories, sometimes half a can of soda, and then 110 calorie soup at night (unless I had a bagel that morning, in which case, I have nothing).  That diet makes me sick.  It makes me feel fat and disgusting and like a failure even though it’s 2,000 calories less than normal.  Every bite is a battle between my stomach and my mind.  Whenever I eat more than normal, I feel like I should feel a sense of victory (especially since that means I’m at least attempting to recover), but sometimes the victories feel even worse than my failures.  I feel like everyone is going on with their lives and becoming people, and I’m stuck in this frosty haze where everything is frozen and complicated and a mess.

I have gained almost nothing from writing all of this. Isn’t that pathetic?  Especially since no one will read this.  If you did, I congratulate you.

I still feel empty though.  I feel uneven.  Like something is missing and everyone has it but me.  I’m starting to think I have no heart.  Everyone seems to have one but me.  Or maybe it’s just grown too cold and hard to even be considered alive.  Technically speaking I’d be dead or something, but metaphorically I suppose a heart could become too old or unused to work. Maybe that’s what happened.  Maybe that’s why I’m so fucked up.

Do any of you know what it’s like to be worthless, where nothing you do matters?  I feel like that every fucking day.  Most people, when they think about suicide, they think “they’d be better off without me” and, as sick as it is, I wish I could think like that because that at least means people would be affected by your death.  But with me, I feel so completely insignificant where it wouldn’t make a difference whether I lived or died.  Sure, there would be people that care a bit.  Maybe even a few would cry.  But I honestly don’t think anyone would really be so traumatized, or changed at all by the incident.  I don’t matter enough to anyone.  I haven’t touched enough lives for anyone to really genuinely be affected by my death.  I just don’t matter.  Yeah, like I said, there would be a few people that would care for a little while, but in a few years time, they would have replaced me, and created new memories, and gone on with their lives like nothing happened.  Like I never even existed.  And I wouldn’t blame them if that ever happened because I expect it.  I just don’t matter at all.

So alone.

Honestly though, besides the fact that I can’t walk (broken/fractured foot), I think I’m doing a lot better than I have been lately

I’ve gotten a lot closer to my best friend’s boyfriend (not like I’d ever fall for him…. I’m not like that) and I consider him like my best guy friend now.  He considers me one of his best friends and one of the two people he can actually talk to.  He found out about some of the stuff that I’m going through because we got into a pretty deep conversation and told me some shit.  Then after I told him, I kinda started being bitchy cause I didn’t want him to help, but then I realized i do need his help.  It made him happy that I told him that.  I think he cares.  He says he does.  He says he won’t leave.  But those words are meaningless and over used.  I don’t believe he’s different than the others, but I think he’ll attempt to be here for me.  I promised myself I won’t fuck this friendship up.  I wouldn’t be able to handle that.

“It’s so cold with nobody to hold me
you’re so wrong for leaving when you told me
you would never leave me by myself
out in the middle of nowhere” 

What.  I’m so random.
I need a cigarette.
No
Recover. Recover. Recover.

I need a friend.
Okay.