Betrayed.

I feel fat. 

I feel betrayed. 

I feel like opening my backpack. 

I don't know for what, razors or food.

In both ways it'll end up just like it did before. 

Self harm cycle, or binge eating cycle. 

I'm truly disgusting. 

And I feel betrayed. 

There's that literature film. 

At the last moment, I'm getting kicked out!

WHAT THE HELL PEOPLE. 

Now, I'm not getting the bonus. 

And you bitches (and male bitches), are taking away the thing I need. 

DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND THAT F MY GRADES ARE GETTING LOW IN GETTING KICKED OUT OF RAM?!

I'll be out of it, and then what?

What disorder should I pick?

I can find drugs. 

But nah, too expensive, too much waste, and those are not even the good ones. 

Sleeping pills are cheaper and better. 

Pain killers. 

I'd rather grow something simple. 

When I pick, it's more like I'm leaning towards it, and then when I fall, I fall hard in it. 

...

I'm such a failure. 

I don't know what happened, my legs didn't seem to help me finishing the high jump. 

I don't got through meter. 

I'm much better than that. 

I want to cut myself. 

Again. 

I already did. 

Today. 

I just sat there, I opened my pencil case right before English, and made a small one. 

Then, after checking it up few times in that 45 minute period, I went to the bathroom, tried deeper, and failed, I covered it in some toilet paper, and tightened it with a hair tie, it made me feel worse, looking at those barely hurting cuts. 

I just hate myself so much right now. 

And what am I supposed to do?

Try to focus on turning happy?

Yeah right, never helps. 

I see all the people who promised me truth, I see all the girls who are skinnier than me, I see all the guys saying how fat I am, I hear and see all those people, their words, and then I look at myself, knowing how true it is. 

I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm pathetic. 

I'm on the verge of crying, and I want to excresise off my heart. 

I think I would, if I could stay in school and do it, I would.

But I can't. 

I'm going today to Helena today. 

I have another place where this name is from. 

Tal, a girl from my class, gave me the paper she wrote in English, it's like on being a fortune teller (FUCK! Now I get it! It's fucking EVER and SABINE), and as she says, I'll get married to a wealthy person named George (she's obsessing with this name), twins named with two named I don't remember, and a daughter named Helena, with all of this happinnnes, George and I are currently divorced, and the whole family -separated, and I'm now with Helena- are stuck in Thailand because there's a storm. 

Depressing that even in the future kids expect a divorce. 

.....

My shoulder hurts.
No wonder why, leaning my whole disgusting torso's weight on it.

...

I want more thigh-scars. 

I want to see on daily basis my thighs in the fucking spectrum colors. 

I want it red and blue and sometimes yellow. 

So many bruises. 

Why?

Because each time that I'm doing sports, my legs will find a way to get hurt. 

And I want it to happen. 

And I don't want arm and hand scars. 

Because they relate to food. 

Rage will be burnt in legs, calories in hands. 

Deal with it. 

Fucking stupid of me to create rules if it's okay to cut or not, and if it is, then where or how and when. 

Fucking ridiculous. 

Well, I definatley felt like shit today, and if my mother will comment tomorrow about my eating habits, I'd feel even worse. 

The less I'd eat, the faster I'll get there, and my binges won't hold me back as much. 

That's it. 

And I wasn't forced today. 

I want to cut. 

When I'll be eighteen (in five years and few months [2 and around 15-17 days]), I'll cut my wrists. 

Why?

Because then nobody can tell me not to. 

And I'll be legal. 

Completely legal. 

Maybe I'll go for another country. 

To celebrate it. 

It's anyway falls on Passover. 

I'll just celebrate in somewhere I'll be able to drink, talk, learn, cut, enjoy.