February 2012
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“The best thing about the bedroom was the bed. I liked to stay in bed for hours,...”
– Charles Bukowski, Ham On Rye (via fleshscars)
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Such a horrible, horrible night. My older sister did go through my room, which I knew because she’s done it before. She doesn’t even live here and she still feels the need to snoop around in my room. She isn’t even involved in my problems. She isn’t even really in my fucking life…so why does she have to get herself involved? I’m sick of her and all of this.
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I am fighting the urge to go buy more razors. I want need them.
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Everyone wants to know how much I weigh, but I’m not going to tell them. What does it matter to them? What does my weight mean to them?
Reblog if you're willing to answer publicly...
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I’m pretty sure my older sister went into my room yesterday and took my razors. I’m kind of freaking out because my parents can’t know I’m self harming again. It’s bad enough they know I’m back in deep with my eating disorder, but they can’t know that their “little girl” is cutting herself again.
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My guidance counselor wasn’t in school today. So I left.
There was no point being there. I don’t want to be there.
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Anonymous asked: Go IP. It's scary to make the decision yourself and to actually give recovery a shot. It's scary to think of living without your ED. But it's also really fucking scary to keep thinking of living with it. Things suck right now. I get that. And residential isn't a disney vacation. It's exhausting and frustrating but worth totally worth it. You know that. You know life can be...
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