Cutting calories, cutting cocaine, and just plain cutting.

Today was horrible.

I ate two hotdogs.

TWO.

I'm so done with myself.

Urg.

And I've been limping all day, because there's a gash on my leg I have from Monday night that's finally starting to heal and the skin's so tight and it's so sore, and... and... argh.

The two hotdogs are the only things I've eaten today (no buns or sauces just the actual meaty thingies) and they bring my count up to 368. So no more food, except coffee and Diet Coke. Oh I don't know how I'd live without my coffee and coke.

Talking about coke: F is sorta kinda maybe addicted to it. Not the good coke, the bad coke. Like cocaine. The shit you shove up your nose. He's quitting though, he promised me. He's why I'm quitting the self-harming too. Well, trying anyway. The cocaine bothers me and the cutting bothers him, so we've promised to stop for eachother.

So I've got such an exiting life huh?

No more food, no more cutting.

Family Drama

Last night's post was written while I was lying in a pool of blood, sick and tears. Yeah not so nice. Arguments with parents and whatnot.

The whole story about how my Dad's been shoving Bible shit down my throat for years and how badly it's screwed me up finally came out to my Ma. Yeah, that was a weird conversation. Basically I just broke down and told her how much I hated myself because (as much as I don't want to) I believe that I'm fucked in the afterlife - going to hell boiiiss see ya there.

No but seriously those thoughts are a big part of my self-destructive behaviour; I feel like I deserve to hurt because I'm such a worthless person and I'm going to hell blah blah God hates me blah I hate me too blah blah blah.

Of course I didn't tell her about anything else, so she still doesn't know about the cutting, or the disordered eating habits, or the three suicide attempts, or the rape or the drugs or the... Yeah I'm just gonna stop now.

Pretty fucked up life huh?
Well I'm a pretty fucked up person.

Do you get it yet?

How can I ever feel comfortable sharing with my father, when he says things like "Only idiots cut themselves." How can I listen to him go on about religion, when I can't tell him that I hate his god. I can't love an all-powerful being that let me be raped at twelve years old; that let me be abused, used, thrown away; that gave me my horrible body and my horrible face, and a god that hates me for things he either created or I can't control.

How do I explain to my parents that they don't have to bother worrying about what college I'll get into when I leave school: I'm planning on being dead by then.

How do I explain that every time they say "I had a reason to be miserable when I was your age" I think "Yeah, fucking try mine."

When my mother said "You can just walk the streets and whore yourself out if you don't get a job!" and I'm there thinking, been there done that.

They really don't know anything. But they will.

They will.