See ya next year!

Hey there fuckers, how you doing? I hope you're okay, and I seriously hope that I'm currently dancing with the devil because I think I'm gleefully entering my beloved hypomania.

I seriously hope it would be a full blown mania, aye? But I'm good with whatever I get. 

Why do I think that I'm going this way?

I haven't slept at all in the last two days. 

At all.

I'm fidgeting like crazy. 

The anti-depressant on 40 became my "happy" pill, my blue pill instead of allowing to enjoy an erection, I'm enjoying an unending cuckblock mood. 

I'm sorry for the metaphors, my main way to try to get tired and to pass time at night is by reading erotica. 

It's sad that there aren't enough good Male Domination novelettes and that the awesome authors just drive you crazy. 

Such cliff hangers!

He just gives a sneak peak and then we never get to see the full story. 

Even though that the full story would be simply beautiful. 

I just finished the first period of sports. 

We had basketball. 

I'm dizzy as fuck. 

My head is spinning, it's cold and boiling at the same time. 

I'm about to throw up but the ice-cold water helps my stomach to digest. 

Holy shit the anxiety levels are skyrocketing and I'm still agitated. 

My mind and body are in overdrive. 

I'm like an awesome domino rally with tons of parts. 

I can't do anything to slow it down, and I'm unwilling to make of go faster. 

It's frustrating I be tamed by the supervision and the school. 

I'm invincible. 

All I need is a mask and I can become a fucking ninja. 

Master of stealth and destruction. 

Shit shit shit. 

I was wrong. 

Not "good" hypomania-mania but "bad" hypomania-mania. 

Dysphoria. 

I suspect that I suffer sometimes dysphoria instead of the expected euphoria. 

I want to cry cut kill leave disappear end jump hang die run escape.


I would like to get back to the beautiful haze of not giving a damn about myself and do something that will surely end bad.


I'm nothing.
Nothing at fucking all.
I'm a loser, I'm weak, I'm dumb, I'm selfish, I'm unkind, I'm a liar, I'm a bitch, I'm ignorant, I'm a danger to everyone, I'm full of hate, I can't do anything right, I'm a failure, I a being that wasn't supposed to be here.
Great, so long thoughts of hypomania, nothing.

Forty milligrams of fluoxetine, all I got is not sleeping well and hypomanic behaviour until I manage to "sober up" and realise the damage I've done.
I usually beat myself over it for quite a while, but I'm going to do it all over again the next day.

I want to go to sleep.
How pathetic is that, being awake for over two days.
I wonder if by tomorrow morning, I'd celebrate my third day of my slow transform of a twilight vampire.
Sleeping's for pussies, ain't I right?

Guys, how weird is that most of the vampires, creatures, names and so on were from reading erotica.
I won't even get started with the vocabulary I've learned from it.
Guys, good porn got good ideas, and good ideas manifest properly in only one way.
Good writing.
Hell of a good one.
Sadly, the ones I find to be the greatest are usually in the  Gothic category.
It sucks, but I guess it's not that bad.
I can't believe that nobody else share their favourite sexual and sensual literature, I mean, why bother and be so secretive about such topic, it doesn't matter anyway, it's not like they are asking about your mental health and question your well being.
I'm in love with the kidnap and male domination ones.
One of my absolute favourites that aren't one of my "classics" includes kidnap, submission of women, male domination, bondage and discipline, sadism and masochism, and a bit of super-natural things [AKA dark fantasy] and the lovely title that ends up with romance. and how not, Stockholm Syndrome.
It is just so beautiful, the character development, their relationship.
The begging for it, the lust, their emotions, their thoughts, their love, their cruel and intoxicating behaviour.

Dudes, it makes me certain that if I ever be captured by or for a very wealthy master, a slave merchant, I'd more than adore him.

I assume that it has something to do with my current behaviour [I used to hate the thought of not being in control in sex, but were not going to talk about that] that I find myself to be a piece of shit, unworthy of prizes without working hard for it, and pleasing a person.
Even though that my need for rules, and occasionally breaking them for the sole purpose of being punished, is overwhelming, I don't think I can be any happier than in such relationship for quite a very long while.
Perhaps I'd discover my masochistic and dominating side one day, I'd have to experiment, but boy, I', definitely going to be a submissive whore for my master.


It's eight, I'm going to celebrate the new year with watching some movies and hopefully fall asleep.

If I weren't me, who would I be?

Okay, I'm sorry for not posting, but you know why.
I'm in hell.
The open wi-fi hours in hell are minimal.

I came here to talk about a very important topic.
My mother wants me to prepare for my upcoming Maths test.
You see, I never prepared or practised for tests.
Considering my grades [69, 72] it would be a legitimate request if I was preparing and practising lightly before it, but nope.
I'm not made for this stupid bullshit.
I won't prepare and practise.
I'd rather finish junior high with medium grades and a straight and strong backbone than excellence without any bit of backbone.


Okay, after many hours, pinching that led into marks that I can see even now [about nine hours later], some talking, crying, sleeping and reading, I'm here.
I want an avatar.
A virtual world to live within.
You see, I'm fascinated by the idea of not being who I am, that lousy piece of shit person.
If I weren't me, who would I be?
Perhaps a person who is honest, lovely, something that I want so desperately to be. Dead.
Maybe I should make a list.
What I need to be.

I'm such a stupid girl.

I don't belong to ram. 

We all know it. 

Such an arrogant, ignorant, selfish and absoultely awful from the very base creature, doesn't belong to anywhere. 

I was always part of the statistics, the ones I fought so hard against. 

Even then, I secretly knew that I belong there, these numbers will include me eventually. 

And finally, it's time. 

I would like to suffocate myself today. 

I'd probably ask my mum for a phenergan. 

And today may be my final meeting with Lee. 

I told Lee the truth. 

I'm doomed.

Or hospitalisation, or home-hospitalisation
Both are hell and I'm on the way for death.

FAIL.

 I wish that someone would end me.

I didn't sleep well last night. 

Managed to fall at about twelve, woke up for about thirty minutes at two, and woke up again at five. 

I'm awake since. 

I have a very strong need in pain right now. 

Physical pain that even if I won't feel, I'd see. 

I hate myself, I don't remember containing that much hatred, there's something pure about it which makes me melt and be confused. 

I just have hurt too many for too long, and it must be stopped. 

I'm anxious all the damn time, I hate myself, I disappoint and hurt every single person in my short lifetime. 

Maybe I'll try today. 

I'm helpless, the medication isn't working and I'm basically hopeless for quite a while. 

I guess that the rope is going to hug me tightly tonight. 

I'm about to cry, but I mustn't ruin their mood. 

I've told Yael, she wasn't surprised because of the depression and she cared for five minutes. 

It's nice to know that when I'd die, it wouldn't matter. 

Soothing, isn't it?

You know what I find to be funny?
The fact that I'm surrounded by masochistic lying fools.
I hurt them, physically, mentally and emotionally.
And they still stick with me, probably out of pity.
They lie, that I don't hurt them at all, which is bullshit.
And they don't even bother to understand how much of a bad influence I am.

I just need to be alone, for a very long while.


Sadly, one of my closer online friends told me that we'd need to cut the relationship for quite a while.
Why?
Sexual tension.



I'm alive.

I suppose that it's the end.

What were you thinking?!
You foolish girl, you'd be exposed in no time, how silly could you possibly be?
Ending your life slowly by torturing every sane piece.
I wasn't mad to begin with, but I'm causing myself to fall into the abyss.
I guess that I'm going to try using the sleeve roll technique.
I hope it'd work.
I mean, the rink of exposing my body is too big [even though that I'm wearing those sports bras, I can never be certain.] and I swear to you, my mother uses it as a trick to see how "thin" [I'm not fat either, I'm quite normal in the fucking awesome way of it] I've become and make the cosmetician say it herself.
No thank you.
I'd rather...
Well, all of my examples include my suffering which I enjoy too much.
I guess that the only suffering that I may go through is severe mental and emotional one.
Or in other words: Hospitalisation.
Dude, I'd rather have a female bris, and not my idea of female bris [removing a semi-necessary piece of the outer vagina, which is basically the removal of the labia minora] but the actual famous one, no clitoris, and the labias sewn shut.

I guess that my plucking would be scary.


It's my third teaspoon of rice and peas, I feel full.
Well, I felt full even before, but my mother insisted and I don't have an option.


Gladly, I was allowed to not eat it... For a while.
It's frustrating, I feel awful and almost panic if I'm about to eat.
I'm not hungry, I feel like  can fast for days.
I feel disgusting after consuming, even with the third teaspoon of rice and peas, I felt filthy, ashamed.

Even though that at lunch I skipped a bread slice, I just hid it in my coat's pocket.
It has about 90 calories, and with the tahini it added 41, so I consumed 131 calories to lunch.
I mustn't eat more than 200 for a sitting, it's a sully.
But here I am, the loser without any control at all, eating.
I want to cry.
I seriously want to cry.
The food is looking at me and if it could talk, it would laugh at me, tell me how pathetic I am, how disgusting I am, that I deserve to become unclean by the food.

I'm scared, I feel the rice, lying in my stomach, making me heavy, dirty, sinful.
I want to cry.
I don't want it in me, why was I forced to consume such awfulness?
I want to cut my tongue, like bite the flesh off.
Why?
If it wasn't obvious, self harm and I won't be able to eat from the pain.


Stupid stomach!
Why do you have to hurt me when you digest?
To pour salt on my wounds?
Yes, I do find myself revolting, but it doesn't mean that you have to remind me that I'm it so burningly.

I'm forced to eat.
AGAIN.
Dude I'm going to fail at the only thing I still have some control on.
I don't want food, I want to be pure, I want to be left alone.

I can't believe it.
My dad just threatened me with a hospitalisation.
Just by the hit in the sensitive spot, I had to dig my fingers into my skin.
I have to have something.
It still hurts, and it's good.

I'd rather drink a cup of oil with corn syrup.

I'm shaking, not from coldness, but from anxiety.

Panic attack.
Fucking hell.

I think that it's better to finish it all now.
I'd take a bandanna, tie it nicely, and end it all.
I must try.
I don't want to go on.
I can't go on.

And another panic attack.

It's not like someone cares, they'd rather put me in a mental institution and forget about me.
You see they don't want me, I don't want me, nobody fucking wants me, so why not?

Third, I'm out.

Ticks.

I don't think I'll stay for long.

So you know, if I survive then I'll see you tomorrow.
And if I won't then I'm hospitalised or dead.


Good night.
I suppose it may be our last time, so, whatever that happens, stay well.

I'm nothing.

I always manage to suffocate myself longer than before.

Today was forty three seconds or so. 

My body did react to the unusual and risky sensation, but I know that stopping my breath under a pillow won't work. 

The lungs are capable to survive on oxygen for way more than we think, it's incredible, but it's frustrating. 

And as soon as I pass out, my brain will automatically start breathing again. 

Damn it, I don't want breakfast and pill, I don't need breakfast for it, it's just an excuse for eating. 

Damn it I don't want food!

What have I possibly done to be worthy enough for nutrition. 

I like my protruding ribs, my almost flat but sunken stomach, my slowly showing hip ones and the slow forming of the thigh gap. 

I love the sight of my blood vessels, so beautiful, so delicate, fragile, dangerous, just waiting to be cut. 

Next time I'd cut "professionally" or "formally" or "properly" I'd make sure to slash these handsome fuckers. 

I give my bowl the evils, I can't consume more, I'm full.
I've eaten about seven or so teaspoons of it and I'm full, I made sure to grab the milk most [almond milk] and then bits of oatmeal and avoid as much as possible the sugary and fattening granola.
I discarded the rest [which I barely ate] and took my pill.

I don't like the feeling in my stomach.
It gives me even more tremors than usual, my dad thinks it's because of anxiety, and I had it for quite a while [around a year] and I don't find many things that could stress me out, the most I did back then is avoid meals and weight myself religiously.
Nothing to really worry about. 

Well, I'm forced to go outside, to bowling with my family minus my dad. 

I'm getting really tired of my mum's shit. 

She's blaming my brother for the fact that our dad isn't coming with us. 

And she's always comparing them [espacially my brother, and it will affect him severely in the future, and she doesn't do this as much to my sister, but I can see how hurt she is] to me, like I'm the "better" child. 

I'm not the better child, hell, I struggle with the question "to be or not to be" endlessly everyday and still remain without an answer. 

So what makes me superior to them?

My IQ? Me EQ? My age? My past? My future? I'm nothing. 

I'm awful. 

They are fucking beautiful. 

Two beautiful and glorious beings. 

I'm barely an ash compared to them. 

I'm not even nothing, I'm less than it, I'm a sealed void, containing nothing and cannot contain anything. 

Oh shit, my mother forced me to order lunch, I ate a bit, I feel madly full because I wasn't hungry from the first place. 

I don't want to eat that high calorie, chemically engineered, heart-attack causing piece of fattening junk. 

I assume that today's the day. 

I hate myself because of the usual shot and even more because of the wagon, it was probably seven hundred calories for what I ate. 

I'm such a failure, even at that I don't do well. 

I want to purge. 

Maybe if we'd get home soon enough I'd take a shower and discard all the filth. 

My stomach already reacts to it. 

I tried. 

Oh, I tried. 

It didn't work, nothing but sticky saliva came up. 

My gag reflex is indeed shitty. 

Maybe I'd try again at home, having the cold water near me is good, it helps my fingers coax the gag reflex to work. 

And I'd probably drink a cup or two of water, to help it all work better. 

I should've chewed it better when I was eating, it could've helped quite a lot. 

I know that sticky food is a painful bitch to get up, but why not!

I couldn't purge at home, why? Because my parents are awake and I couldn't do it.


Still, no texts.
I'm nothing, and I'm glad they have figured it out by now, I'm a piece of shit that's playing with their minds and remain their friend only for the amusement in the typical teenagers with their silly broken hearts and irrational minds.
Not that mine is any better, but at least I don't worry about my weight or how I look and fashion or boys.
I mustn't eat, I should wear something warm because it's too fucking cold, and I better hide my cuts that are on my thighs, my chest and the barely visible ones on my wrist, and I wonder if I'd be able to have sex with people I trust or hook up randomly to suppress my needs, or remain a virgin, it doesn't really matter.
Nothing matters now but my eating, my self-inflicted wounds and scratches, this blog, music, and my non-existent freedom.


I just had those chats where you talk about the physical and sexual things you're going to do to one another.
Damn it, I love those BDSM typed thing.
I'm addicted to this, even though I'm less into bondage, I know it's necessary to start my discipline training, and oh, how beautiful that would be.
The domination and submission is perfect, and the sadism and masochism is just as great.
 I find the idea of having to beg for pleasuring the other or oneself is wonderful, and being punished for disobeying in purpose, I just love it.
Being filled by warm flesh is blissful, and the pain of being deflowered is magnificent.

I guess I'm going to have quite an interesting sex life in the future.
Submitting myself to a dominator, to rule me, give me orders, my purpose would be to obey him, to be punished if I was wrong in his eyes, to love me and show me how much he does when he hurts me in order that I'd be better.

I assume that without a ruler I'm nothing.

Oh I better stop before I'd enjoy myself too much.

Good night guys, enjoy your lives while you can, and if you can't, then just wait for the first tipsy and frisky night at some strip club, it's worth it.

A Loose Noose.

It's quarter past six, I'm listening to Demolition Lovers, and I woke up from a dream that basically explains a very strong topic.

I dreamt about Gal, about my helplessness, about how I miss her, about how much I miss her, about how I must defeat my malfunctioning brain I order to have her again, about how I'd be drowned and taken away from her if I'd sink deeper, about the incredible time it'll take me to see her again. 

Wow. 

But, this state, this familiar and overused state that I stayed at for so long, I don't want to leave home, it's not time yet. 

It was a month and a half or two months ago, when I relapsed and was willing to get help, but now, from the shock, the overwhelming experience at the institution, no. 

When I finally came out of my shell, you scared me, and now I'm deep in it. 

I still want to disappear. 

My unplugged weekend doesn't work much. 

Why? I'm already alone. 

I haven't got a single what'sapp message, no calls, nothing. 

I'm finally alone. 

But something's missing. 

And I think I know what it is; I still hold meaningless ties and relationships. 

I need to be willing to let everything go, and I need to commit to this idea. 

Solitude. 

So I won't have anyone to go with to Tel Aviv, sure, and I will basically be even more pathetic which is basically an invitation to my self hatred. 

I'd be alone. 

No one to be with. 

No one to talk with. 

No one to do homework with. 

No one to ride bike with. 

No one to know much of. 

No one to have when needed. 

No one to go to movies with. 

No one at all. 

I'm going to build an iron bubble around myself, and stop this bullshit. 

I'm harming everybody and it doesn't do well to anyone. 

Well, maybe to the psyhologist and the psychiatrist's pocket...

I don't want to breathe. 

Would it be that bad if one day, instead of Dvash they know, would be in bed the cold and limp body of her?

I don't want to hurt them this way, but every single thing I do hurts then further. 

If they weren't legally obliged to be with me, they'd kick me out in a flash. 

I'm an unpleasant person. 

My way to his my sorrows and numbness is to fall under the childish being of mine and do the most impulsive things I could possibly do. 

I hate so many things about me. 

I don't deserve this life.

Damn this hell! I can't bear the thought of staying here, and by great amount of exact events that led me to do things, I'd become something in life, I don't deserve it. 

Why couldn't I possibly have shitty lives for the shitty person I am. 

I wish I could fall asleep all day. 

I don't want to face my existence, and I don't want to hurt them by my death now. 

I think I'm going to cut myself. 

Nope. 

I definitely going to cut myself. 

Pulling my pubic hair is painful, sure, but I need the scarring, the true ugliness that my skin covers, the risk of being caught and sent to hell once again. 

I'm tasteless. 

Hollow; empty; nothing; a shadow of something that used to be; vapour; void; undead; pathetic; liar; masker; fool; wreck; an indistinguishable being between nothing to the physical something. 

I hope it won't be too bad if I'd stay in bed all day. 

Or just sit at my laptop and avoid eating or functioning. 

Just make my sims get their degree already, I made them rich by applying for funding. 

And from donating plasma, saliva, giggles and sometimes organs. 

And from street art commissions. 

I need to practise the guitar skill to four [I'm three] so Lukus would have tips. 

And to make him a better painter and chef. 

The darn dormitory kitchen always gets on fire and full with spoiled food of other students. 

At least I'd soon graduate for my second time [less than one week in there] and they'll earn their degrees and 5,000 lifetime points or happiness or whatever it's called. 

I'd try to get my girlfriends from there to marry me and have pretty and cute babies that would become my next generation. 

My lesbian pair would adopt one to three children, and the straight pair would birth tweens. 

Then if pick my favourite two or three, make them become a band and breed them with the other gender and go on.



Yes!
Oh my, fucking yes!
The sunken thing in my feet, it's still there! I thought I gained so much that I lost it completely!
But it's almost gone.
Damn it!
At least I managed to eat way less food for breakfast!
I know it's a pathetic, attention seeking, disgusting and truly rude behaviour, but I need something in my life that will work.
If getting skinny would help, then let it. It'll make my life become absolute crap, being too weak to do things, have the dead pale-yellow tint to my skin, become even worse.
And when I won't be checked physically for marks for long enough [the safe time is usually six months or so] I'll buy my pedicure razors [aka those big-ass razorblades that are thinner then paper] and slash myself between the ribcage bones.

Here I am, not wearing my mask, dealing with my ordinary self and not being impulsive and childish.
I just hate myself, and I want to strangle myself, but something feels different.
It feels different thanks to do blue pill, I just can't get to my emotions.

At ten I drank raspberry green tea with two heaping teaspoons of brown sugar.
I just hope I'd manage to have more and more of me disappear.
Reminds me a bit of some forum I was at, it had some humorous suicide note, "Tah-dah!" the trick have worked.

Damn, twelve pm, and I need to eat lunch.
I took a decent amount of rice, but I'm not planning to eat it completely.
And I won't down it fast, I mustn't.
The slow consuming allows my stomach to digest the food quicker [it has less to digest] and it keeps my stomach smaller, causing me to feel full with less food and the bonus is that I'm decreasing my hunger.

Okay five minutes to two, I haven't finished the bowl, I ate about two thirds or three sevenths of the bowl.
I am invisible.
I always were, didn't I?
I just tried to get all of the attention I could possibly have, and I was childish to achieve it.
I think that the right thing to do is to stop behaving childishly, that'll be my first step.
Then leaving friendships and other relationships.
Maybe move to the back row, preferably sit there alone.
Sure, my grades will vary since I will have a different focus method, but it's for the best.
And I won't eat, to just have something to focus on, my sketchbooks are quite empty lately, fearing that people would peep or something, now it would be full of the beautiful plans.
This time, everything will be harder, because I'm under supervision.
I'd have bits of control by not doing certain things, like eating or not eating.
I basically have control only on my homework, and even that I don't really have.
I guess that now I have a new motive.

Yes.
This motive is going to be quite good for a while.
I need control.
I want to actually have something that I win at in this sports class.
I suck at basically everything and I'm far from being at the top ten of anything, so why not be the one with the most willpower?
I don't find food appealing anyway.

My only guarantee for weight loss would be my surrounding's words and being able to wrap my hands over certain parts of the body.

Great, my whatsapp is lifeless as I am.
Wonderful.
I guess that with everyday I feel that acetone is the answer.

I guess it's easier to go with a very slow suicide.


I think I haven't asked myself yet the right question.
It's not "Why do it?" but it's a lot simpler one: Why not do it?
Where's my answer.
Let's think.
I should do it.
Definitely should.

I think I'm going to go to bed and cry and hate myself for a while.
I can't get proper physical pain to distract me, so I'd use the humiliating coping mechanism.

I didn't cry, because I wasn't allowed to be in my bed, I tend to sleep in the daytime because I can't really sleep well at the nighttime, I just wish I didn't have I go to school anymore. 

It isn't like I'm doing anything there but read porn or wander at odd and incredibly honest forums or read about mental illnesses, syndromes, diseases or straight to the point of suicide and methods of it; I draw and sketch things that I would never achieve or be but just admire, and the things that I can are always destructive in some way; I skip my meal because there are my hungry schoolmates who actually fucking deserve the food I'm getting and I'm unworthy for food; I don't practise properly at physical education because I'm a shameful weakling, and I have no purpose in this world; I got to the AA math by accident because I fucking suck 

I don't belong to this place. 

I wasn't supposed to be born in such beautiful life. 

I deserve to suffer or to be ended. 

You know why am I this attention-seeking stupid little annoying bitch?

BECAUSE IM AN UNWORTHY BEING IN THE UNENDING STATE OF DENIAL. 

I've cut my chest again. 

It's hard because I don't have much place left and it doesn't cut deep, seriously, I'd have at most lighter stripes of skin that won't last very long. 

I want to purge. 

Sadly, my parents will hear me and would be even more strict with my meals. 

So instead, I will have to purge by pain, and I must have a scar, something that will repel people from me. 

Oh I just wish I'd die. 

I really want to chug down the acetone now. 

But for what am I waiting for?

I can only assume it's my selfishness, anxiety, and guilt. 

The liver can manage up to 200 millilitres of acetone, I guess that a bit above won't damage me enough to make my liver fail slowly, but I do think that I would be in horrifying pain, puke, and under the sedative I will be to blurred out to notice anything. 

I want to die. 

Really, should I do it? Now?

I'm going to do short reading. 

Okay, hell, it won't kill me but it would surely wake up my parents and I'd have my stomach pumped. 

Nope. 

The good news is that I learned how to tie a noose. 

The bad news is that I will need some massive long and strong cord. 

I guess I can find some replacement at my closet.

Tears are crap and so is rocking back and forth and lying in a small voice that I'm okay.

I'm not okay, I need to die.

Scratches.

The shallow scratches are still there.

Another proof of what I dreamt and what happened. 

I assume that I won't be discovered for a while. 

I mean, shallow scratches near my left breast bud? Who will possibly see it?

Not the doctors, they don't expose your skin to this degree. 

And no my mother, I don't allow her to see my privates. 

So it was or breast or vagina, and since I'm preparing to pluck one's hair away, having a cut there won't be very smart, that would just end up being an infection in awkward place, and I definitely don't want doctors to stare at my south regions!

I know, I've lost my privacy when I started harming myself, blah blah blah, but come on, nobody wants doctors try to heal a cut in their vulva!

I don't cut my vulva. 

But he'll, my upper thighs stomach and other "secret" places will be scarred. 

I guess that now is my carving time. 

Practising beautiful pieces on my skin.

I guess that I just didn't expect my relapse to occur so soon.
I mean, about six weeks since my hospitalisation and there I am, losing every single grip I had and completely dedicating myself to the phrase "fuck it."
Sometimes, when there are so many broken pieces, it's better to ruin everything and start again rather then try to fix the fragile building.
I guess I've reached the time where it's nice to start fresh.
I think I'm going to stick with it, it's actually like my sketchbooks, sometimes we just need to refresh and open a new page.
It's about time to break everything.

I think that my self harm is a mere statement currently.
Great, my only working expression method has to be printed on my skin, and to hurt.

I guess that my shower is going to include some mess.
A crimson mess.
A sneaky and evil giggle would suit my words.
Oh! And thunders.

I remember trying to cut myself with the scissors and that I failed miserably, now, I manage to do so.
Let's see how deep can I go!
I need to pee because I'm somehow a still functioning humanoid being.

Okay, I'm simming for quite a while.
My dude and dudette are doing well... Kind of.
My female is nailing her communications degree, and she's quite awesome.
My male, he failed the finales, but he improved his street art skill, I'm now working on his guitar, painting and cooking skill, I surely want some badass guitarist-visual-artist-chef one to marry a ghost and give her some delicious Ambrosia.


Well, goodnight, I didn't harm myself physically today with sharp object [unless my nails are considered sharp] so all I did today was get three large tin cans and one huge button shirt.

Actually I got more to say. 

I absoultely hate myself and I want to stop eating, I want to lose every piece of my body until I vanish. 

I want to disappear and just leave my boney figure striped with self inflicted scars, gauze pads and fresh wounds. 

Have a chalice to dig into my bones. 

Sure, I'd be in some pretty bad shit, but thinness. 

It'll be my friend, my saviour, my comforter, my lover, my killer, my tormenter, my life. 

I'm going on some light core destruction and risky behaviour. 

Relapse.

Hello muffins.

I have no idea why I called you "muffins" but I guess it doesn't matter. 

I know I'd probably regret swallowing the 250 [probably more] millilitres of acetone and swallowing everything I can reach to. 

But I'd regret many other things. 

Like quitting ram and dropping off from the sports class. 

No more defining titles. 

No more tag names and such. 

I'd become a lifeless sack of bones and flesh and blood. 

I guess that with enough sugar, acetone will be a sweet demise, wouldn't it?

Taking it on a Friday night, consuming the not-very-lethal liquid with the Phenergan and other harmful solids. 

And hoping to never wake up again. 

That won't be bad, right?

I mean, sure, it sucks for me that I'd end my pretty good life, but it's for the better. 

I was never meant to achieve such greatness, and I better die before I harm or affect other lives. 

I guess that this is the end pals. 

Sweetest acetone, a shoelace noose, medication. 

I guess a note would be hanged on the wall near my bed, where I keep all kinds of stuff. 

I will just die, rather pleasantly and peacefully. 

Okay it's evening [6pm is indeed evening] and I'm going to tell you some old news. 

I'm an awful person that surprisingly, wasn't hanged by the pubic hair in some dungeon, only disturbed by the occasional hell in the torturer's chamber. 

I've ditched because of anxiety from. The movie I promised to go to with Sapir. 

As a coping mechanism I'm going to use the good old method of not dealing with problems and this is my second time enjoying what I call an Unplugged Weekend. 

It's quite silly, but I like it.
Do you remember Lag Ba'omer? When I basically stopped communicating with everyone and just enjoyed that "alone" feeling.
I need to get another dose and then I'm good to go, right?
I'd just hunt for solitude and stop what others know as "Dvash", I'd simply become a distant memory.
I mean, being alone isn't that bad, right? It's not like I plan to live or something...

I'm a shitty person.
I better just unplug completely, forever.
I'd become just an idea, nothing physical, nothing real, nothing active, I'd become something that doesn't exist.

Maybe I'm romanticising it in my head, but maybe I just see it like Inbar described once her boney figure, I never gave it this word, but this word fits perfectly.
It has something poetic about it.
I can't agree more.
My complete nothingness, worthlessness in unknown form.
I guess I'd find how tough it is to suffocate yourself.
I am utter crap pile that have brought so much sorrow and disappointed even more, to so many people, it would have been funny if it wasn't so pathetic and tragic.
I just pinched my lip for a good while, I needed it.
While your pathetic servant is doing it's usual things, you may enjoy finding other interesting blogs of people with longer life spans.
I suppose the finale would be as lousy as this blog is, I mean, I finally got everything I wanted, didn't I?

I became a girly girl.
I became emo/goth [if that self-loathing, questionable music, weird humour, completely odd view is goth/emo, then yes.]
I became the emotionless robot I wanted to be.
I got rid of the emotionless robot I regretted wanting to be.
I got a diagnosis.
I was hospitalised.
I learned how to take great care of wounds.
I became the third wheel I wanted to be.
I lost weight.
I was active and went through the most amazing time periods anyone could experience.
I was passive and went through the lousiest time I could experience.

I guess I have only one way to describe my evening from now.
Shower, finish the post, take my meds, go to bed, cry a little, sketch and watch a movie, maybe cry a bit more later and continue writing something in my notebook [suicide note] and then be blurred and hazy enough to crash on the pillow.
And maybe grab some cord and attempt to understand how to do it.
I just don't want to exist.



I came back from the shower.
I did something that I don't regret.
I've scratched myself and sliced the epidermis near my left breast bud.
I did it multiple times but only four went well.
It took me a while to get the technique.
I am such an embarrassment to everyone, I just need to end this.
I just guess that my death will be lovely.
So I won't see Gal, no biggie, huh?
I'd leave some note behind and join the rest.

Embrace my last moments being in fearlessness and bliss.
And savour the last lungfuls of oxygen.
And leave.


I just guess that all of the beautiful poetic shit I'm going to do will have to wait another night.


I hate myself so much, and at least, it will soon all  fade away.

Last night.

Last night... Oh, what a night!

I was crying so hard. 

I disappointed everyone, I've hurt everyone, but I agreed, I must stop myself, so I'd better do it soon. 

I've talked to "I Don't Want to Exist" last night. 

I told him that I made up my mind. 

He tried to understand what's wrong and used his beautiful words to cheer me up.
After a while he told me to stop.
Stop talking, stop being suicidal, stop hating yourself, just stop.
I replied with "Okay."
I had to stop, I was hurting him.
I made him worried.

The last thing he said that worked is:
"You don't have to do this."
"Nobody forces you to do so."
And it worked, because I was speechless.
It took me a night [four and a half hours is a night] to find an answer.
I'd maybe write it to you later.
But it had something with "it's the right thing to do" and "I must do it." but it doesn't really matter now.
I'm going to die and I'm going to say my goodbyes very soon, and drink the first toxic and poisonous liquid and die by liver failure.

Okay. 

Nighttime. 

Today I went back home after a couple of periods, the lack of sleep, the self loathing, my whole voidness and nothingness, I seriously felt like the Void from Nihilumbra. 

Dark, destructive, evil, awful, has to be put to an end. 

I don't think my parents get the fact that I seriously lost hope. 

That's it, that's the fucking end for me. 

I surrender, may my "bullying" and "wrong" thoughts consume me and leave me as a sack of flesh, not living, but undead. 

So, I got tomorrow the meeting with the psychiatrist. 

You know, not sleeping, sobbing, getting overwhelmingly suicidal, hating every piece of shit that I am and every single thing that I've done. 

Let's hope for redemption, even though that I think I'm beyond redemption. 

I guess that my blabber is enough for now. 

Decision.

Is it really that bad if my "evil" and "depressing" thoughts make me smile?

So fucking what if I'm suicidal?! Aren't all teens are?!

Have you all absoultely lost your minds?

So it makes me feel better, feel more whole and not as hollow I usually feel, and I may even smile when I think about it. 

How something so good can be frowned upon?!

My jaw hurts. 

Do you think that I punch myself when I sleep? Unlikely, I probably just smash my jaw on the wooden plank or off bed. 

It's not that weird. 

When I'm still under the sleep's haze, I can barely remember anything. 

I woke up at four today. 

I panicked at first, "Oh no! Not another school day! Please! No!" And I just wanted to cry. 

But then logic hopped in an reminded me that it's Saturday. 

I got the Sims, it got everything but Into the Future and Island Paradise. 

So yes, I don't have Oasis Landing or the time traveler, and I don't have Isla Paradisa or mermaids or resorts. 

But I guess that it's alright, I really want to try make a good whole game.  

I'd start with making a sim able to join to the University with a full scholarship, preferably with arts, because I dig that type. 

Obviously, I'll enjoy having my son to be in a relationship. 

Maybe a gay relationship? It's too bad we can't synthesise babies, so adoption will be the only solution. 

Maybe one of them will be a supernatural?

Werewolves won't be because it's annoying, vampires is repetitive, fairies are such a bore, but witches! I like witches!

Maybe a ghost can be nice. 

A baby ghost! 

And the baby ghost will be the son of the gay couple, and the elder will be the babysitter! 

The elder will be an author, and maybe the grandparent of the toddler. 

Should we make the elder a supernatural as well? Vampire or fairy?

Vampire can be good for when the toddler will age into the first adulthood, but fairy is perfect for people who stay in the house a lot. 

I'm hungry.



It's three thirty four pm now.
I have figured out today why I long for self harm.
I constantly romanticise and glorified it!
Like it would be better.
Like it is the right thing to do.
But... It did make me feel better, it kept me busy, I felt punished, I enjoyed the pain I'm getting, and I managed to do things so much better, I fought, I won, I had energy, I was... Happy.
Or was I almost happy? Or I wasn't happy at all?
But, my memories have changed, did it seem so sweet when I did it? Yes? Or did it felt right? Or was it just returning to a safe and known place?
I can't fucking believe that I did what I hate the most.
I fucking ROMANTICISED and GLORIFIED it.
As much as I hate it, I still want it.
Something that I turned into beautiful, lovely, desirable, is what others will perceive as corrupted and they won't understand why I find it so good.
I don't think I want to change it.
If I won't have anything to hold on to, even not the thought of it, I'd be lost.
I'm holding onto the thought that if nothing will help, I can go back to hurting myself at eighteen and maybe attempt suicide.
But, when I won't have the "second option" or "plan B" and everything will depend on one thing that will determine my future.
The success of the treatment will change every single thing.


But I'm a vile sack of flesh and bones, why shall I live?
If I treat it, I'll do a great disservice to my surroundings.
Won't it just be better if I'd be gone?
One grey cloud will stop causing pain to the rest.
And here I feel my tears.
I don't know exactly what makes me cry, but I feel better about myself if I lie to myself and say that I cry because I can't ease their pain.
But the truth is obvious, I clearly cry because I'm a selfish little crying bitch.
I cry because I hold onto life.
How disgusting of me!
That's it, fuck everything, I'm going to kill myself.
It will be so much better after I'm gone.
And I won't be here to enjoy it.
I'll be gone.
Like everyone else at the end.
Gone.

I have decided.
I will do it.

When? Soon.
I consider other options.
Taking a knife and stabbing my chest, I don't think that the difference between a punctured lung to a pierced heart.

Poison before bed.
Or the noose.

I don't feel very bad about it.
I better write the letters, right?
I guess that I'd do it.
It's not like I just came up with this idea, it stuck with me for a very long while.


I don't think things will ever be okay.
What if it's not temporary? What if it's the actual truth? What if I don't lack any chemicals? What if it is the answer for the grandiose question?

Too much.

I slept for four and a half hours.

Pretty nice. 

And it's a Friday. 

I really don't mind going and completing the day, but you know, I'm pretty anxious from obvious reasons. 

I know that my absence pisses off some of my friends, and it surely makes me feel worse, why wouldn't I? I hurt the people I need in my life. 

Even though that my main intention is not to harm anyone, I manage to do so anyway. 

Remember Sapir?

She refused to take some medication to help her. 

She refuses ADD medical treatment, but she will start horse therapy. 

Do you know who I know that started Horse Therapy for sure?

Eden from the hospital!

And I suspect that Gal as well. 

I just love that girl, love her too much. 

You know what was the funniest thing about my dream? That in my dream I fell asleep only at one forty, and after the dream ended I woke up, so I was utterly shocked at the fact that it was three and I that to check my phone to make sure that I didn't just turned it off and the dream was reality. 

In the last couple of days I'm sleeping on the opposite side. 

Near the ladder is now where my head is, semi hope that in the middle of the night I'd fall and break my neck, but it's mostly because my head hurts less when I watch TV like this. 

My jaw hurts. 

I can't yawn properly. 

It's eight twenty three, we got an open period because the teacher isn't here. 

I managed to finally get out of bed only at seven thirty even though that I was awoken at seven. 

I slept for six and a half hours. 

It's better, I'm still tired though. 

Well, my thighs are slimmer and the completeness that accompanies it, is an overwhelming, lovable, an an actual feeling. 

It fills the emptiness. 

How can I not love an addicting fuck-up that makes me feel better. 

I'm drugged on thinness and I have fell in love with bones. 

I can't wait for the vertical thigh gap. 

The horizontal one doesn't appeal to me, my friend has it. 

But guys, I think that on springs or TLV days or whatever I will legitimately wear thigh highs and knee socks. 

And I'd look like a piece of shit that makes others envy her thinness. 

I'll just hope that I won't sleep at nights and avoid nutrition in order to complete the "look". 

What can I say buddies? I fell in love with with "the ultimate price" and "the ultimate end". 

I'm just begging for it to arrive and rob me out of this life. 

It didn't rhyme, did it?

I clearly remember posting and sharing with you how much I hate rhyming when I talk about this topics. 

It's frustrating. 

Well, I guess it's better than the Norma teenagers. 

Whoring themselves and drinking themselves to stupor, fucking each other silly.

Drugged up on nicotine or Mr. Nice Guy, and maybe a bong here and there. 

I'm at least in the good condition of deep loathing and being drugged on thinness, hatred, passion or just regular medication. 

Embrace.

I woke up today at one forty one, and until four I was in that semi-sleep cycle.

Meaning, I slept pretty good, I'm tired, but it was pretty good. 

Today I have ram. 

I'm anxious, but not enough to skip it. 

I love that place too much. 

My morning opened with 2012, Hurt and then Kings of Medicine. 

And since it's five thirty and 2012 is over, I have two options. 

Stay in bed and watch again all the movies I've already seen multiple times. 

Or, to go into the living room and use my laptop. 

The latter is more appealing. 

So I guess that it means I need to leave that warmth. 

I guess I better dress up before leaving. 

Denims or pantihose?

I think denims. 

Yeah, the jeans are pretty nice. 

Size 00, pretty lovely, especially since that a year ago I couldn't even put it on my body!

Wow, I remember that time where I was just roof at to wear my trousers and shorts, and I had a few that I simply couldn't fit into. 

I almost cried from the humiliation. 

I even threw away my two 36 or 38 [Europe sizes] skinny jeans, one in black and I carved some shaped onto it with my razors at the time, and the blue one was in a pretty good condition, I just despise the colour. 

Now I can fit into 34.

 It makes me happy. 

Thinness. 

Which reminds me, I've talked to Lee about my eating behaviour briefly. 

I guess I just had to get it out. 

At least it's not Bulimia, huh?

You know, my mental health seems to me much more pleasant than the my normal peers. 

They all feel stressed about normal things, exams, homework, parents, "love life", sexual development, sexuality, looks, being socially acceptable, have plenty of "friends", and what not. 

I don't suffer that hell. 

I just hate my personality quite a lot even though that I manage to cope, which in turn caused me to consider suicide, I'm anxious when it comes to people, and it's even worse because I'm scared that someone, somehow, somewhen, will put me back into Shalvata, but other than that crap, I'm doing pretty good. 

I absolutely love this mindset. 

I guess that it's what makes me who I am. 

That sick girl that downs blue pills down her throat [five left from the allergy, zero from the dydrogesterone, and about six or so from the fluoxetine, but soon I'll have another box] and enjoys threads and forums about different topics, ones that will let her think about something and have a bit of a clue. 

It's ten minutes to four, and I feel the suicidal thoughts that crept up on me, affecting me. 

And I don't bother fighting, or ignoring, I just resign myself to the promising and relieving thoughts.
I'm too tempted to tie a noose around my neck from the shoelaces.
Maybe I'd wear scarves and bandannas if I'd fail or regret, and hope that it would be unnoticed.
But I just can't do this any longer.
I'm not a person for quite a while.
The anxiety delivered by the fear or returning to the hell-hole, ruins me.
The lack of sleep, well, maybe it doesn't help, but it just reminds me of those really good times, where I didn't need much sleep and I was an energy-bomb, which is the main thing that bothers me.
I'm tired.
I'm weak.
I'm nothing.
I'm a disappointment.
A disposable child.

I guess it's time.
May the noose will be tight enough.


I don't even have that self criticism as another mindset, it merged, and it's rather powerful.
My very last powers are crumbling away, and there is no light in the end of this tunnel.

I guess that I can't go on.
Maybe Hanukkah would allow me some clarity to think, but I won't be surprised if in the end I'll set dates, or show you my letter or note, and write some sort of a will.

I'm dying.
And in order to allow you to see how dead I feel, I'm going to the fucking 60 or 80 or whatever it is run, and collapse.

I didn't collapse.

I improved from last year's result.
9.73 seconds.
I know, I know, nice.
I also improved Yael, she got below ten.
When I came, she was pretty happy about it.
Maybe she's still happy because of yesterday's party, or maybe she's faking it.
I don't know, she really wanted to make me feel lovely.
I didn't mind hugging her, I actually don't mind hugging people who are close to me.
Who knows, it might be our very last embrace.

Gone.

Wonderful.

So the issue had nothing to do with the consumption of fluoxetine at the evening. 

Why?

Two am. 

I slept for three hours. 

Again. 

When I woke up, I thought it was five or so, why wouldn't I? The street lights can confuse me. 

And the hope of waking up at a rather late hour can something be a bit stronger than rationality. 

I don't have much problem going to school today. 

I'm probably going to just crash after the first two periods, physical activities. 

Okay, I forgot to tell you this, maybe it's because I tried to solve it in my head, maybe because I felt too ashamed to tell you, and maybe I just forgot.

Yael called me at Sunday, since I didn't go to school because I was too tired and felt too shitty.
So, she accused me that I didn't do anything at the sport assignment that was due to the very day I missed.
Which is quite rude.
Dude, we came up together with that fucking idea and just because I didn't come to present it can maybe give the teachers the assumption that I didn't have part, but you! You knew the truth!

I feel betrayed.

You know, I think that a certain relationship is going to cease very soon.
She barely even knows me anymore.
Everyone barely knows me now.
I've missed too many activies, too many school days.

It's ten minutes to three.
My father is snoring.
It doesn't bother me, but maybe it bothers my sister or mother.
I guess with music loud enough, nothing matters.

It's so quiet.
The city is sleeping.
I can't believe how quiet it is.
It would have been peaceful if not for my lack of sleeping.

I fell asleep at five am and woke up at about seven. 

I stayed in bed for another hour and a half, I really hate school. 

Yes, it's eight thirty, the school day have started. 

How nice it is from my parents. 

Even though that I should have consumed the fluoxetine at a normal hour [before I go to school]. 

Well, I guess you can know what I'm going to do. 

Listen to some music, chat with my online pals, try to not be weak in front of my ordinary friends. 

Okay, I've got no texts, which is good. 

I've listened to "Hurt" again. 

I can't blame them for leaving. 

After all, that's what I wanted from the beginning. 

Not to have best friends, to be that supportive third wheel. 

I guess becoming alone can be better and better as time will pass. 

After all, I'm missing school days like crazy, and I don't even feel crazy. 

I don't feel at all. 

But I don't think it's the bad type of emptiness. 

It is emptiness, but more of calmness. 

Like I'm finally accepting it. 

The further I go into the dark, the easier it is. 

I don't mind the solitude, or the numbness, or having bad time trying to make school projects and group homework. 

I just don't want the adults near me to worry. 

I'll be with Dabush and Sapir when Dabush would like company or that Sapir wouldn't be with Lee-Ann. 

I can always grab a pair of earphones, can't I?

I'd be able to put all of my thoughts and ideas on a page without any disturbance. 

Which can be pretty nice, the minorities parade list has to grow. 

And people won't push their heads and try to see what I'm writing or drawing. 

Because it's really awkward when they try to take a look at the suicide plans, thoughts, cut drawings, medical health. 

But I've gave my word to Sapir and to myself that I will go to the Hanukkah school party. 

We know that most of the students won't arrive, it'll probably just be the student council and some of their friends. 

I also gave a word to my mum. 

I don't really mind, it seems like a nice bonding. 

Sadly, there aren't any beers. 

Damn you underageness and alcohol restrictions!

I guess I'll drink from a coke zero can or bottle and offer from time to time to my friends. 

I'm pretty interested about Sapir's mental health development. 

It's nine already. 

I don't feel like going to school. 

I'm a weak cunt, I know. 

I just feel dead.
I guess I'm not supposed to live anyway, so why not?

Okay, I got at five Lee, the psychologist.
At eight I got to be at school for the party.
And until hen I can just waste time.
Reading a book, or surfing online, or staring at he television.

Surfing online, applying nail polish, reading about this and that, avoiding thoughts.

I just don't get the idea of having a whatsapp group for bullied teens all over the place, just for support.
Mostly for cutters and bulimics.
Am I the only one who'll get super competitive about that shit?
I'm the type that relapses mean going deeper, not a coldness-in-my heart deep [bones are not supposed to be shown!] but deeper and deeper.
I'm super competitive when it comes to mental illnesses.

At least in ones that I can "win" at.
Yeah, it's fucked up, but I'm not alone with this.
I'm the type that the trigger warnings were made for.
Gladly [or sadly], I don't give a damn and it maybe just pleases a part of me.
Self destruction is so far the only thing that appeals to me.
That's also why I don't feel that bad about distancing myself.
If at all, it makes me smile slightly.
Even when you're out of hell, you'd be miserable, loneliness will suit you well.

I don't know if others are like this, but I just guess it's pretty odd.

I wonder what's srangers-support feels like.
I already forgot, because what I have here is so neutral and I have it for so long that I don't even remember much of myself without it.

Time will help you through, 

But it doesn't have the time, 

To give you all the answers, 

To the never-ending why.

I love that song.


Placebo is fucking awesome.
I guess I need to have a trip towards The Third Ear, get some music.

I have plenty of free time.
Ha! One hour... Even though that it can feel like an eternity.

Okay, with Lee it was pretty nice. 

Three. Fucking three.

Three hours of sleep.

Fucking hell!

My body is giving up on me. 

My body is giving up on me and I have no idea if whether I should be happy and satisfied with it, or weep and mourn over the loss. 

I guess it's a bit of both. 

After all, my main effort was to destroy my body, make me incapable to be good. 

I've done it through minor cuts, then undereating and overeating cycles, and then through deeper cuts. 

Now my body won't get a rest. 

The funny thing is that after taking two sleeping pills, I sleep less. 

I really don't want to go to school today. 

Hell, I never want to go to school, but I've got option. 

This day is going to be crappy. 

And is going to be worse without having earbuds that will entertain me. 

Seriously, two periods of Athletics and then two periods of maths?

I can't do that!

I'm a fucking dead-athlete, and I'm running jokes about it. 

And maths. 

Oh, it's better if I don't get started. 

But, it's three thirty three and fuck you, I need to waste time. 

I can't do maths. 

I hate the period not because of some teenage rebellion bullshit of "I hate school because learning is shit and I come only for my friends anyway", but it's because I'm stupid. 

I'm seriously too stupid to bear. 

I don't have a clue how I manage to do the things I do. 

And while getting a 94 in science after missing tons of school day is nice, I don't feel like a good student. 

Or 92 in Arabic even though that I didn't know half of the words. 

While Yael who conversed with me [it was those out-loud exams that can possibly humiliate you in front of everyone] got 96, and she pretty much said everything fluently. 

I'm not supposed to get 100 in that nature-loving-patriotic-whatever class, especially if I missed many lessons and the fucking field trip. 

How come?

But the sixty nine and seventy two, they fit me well. 

Espacially with the words: "I expected for more."

Oh god, how it can perfectly describe what's going on my head most of the time. 

I'm a disappointment. 

I'm a failure. 

I'm dumb. 

I hurt everyone. 

I let down everyone, over and over. 

My personality is shitty. 

Just being around me can get you stuck with troubles, perhaps even permanent issues. 

I don't know what my friends find in me. 

They are pitying me, aren't they?

I mean, that's the only reason that I can think of, why else should they be my friends rather than out of pity?

I'm not interesting. 

And of top on that, I'm not interested in their "romance" crap. 

I'm rude. 

I'm brutally honest. 

I'm fucking not okay in the very base level, as I take sleeping pills that don't work, try to chemically reboot my brain, and how can I possibly forget the hormonal fixing of dydrogesterone? Caused only by my fucked up eating habits. 

I'm a danger to my surroundings. 

Just give up body, surrender... You don't need to fight, you just need to submit to me, and work along. 

Cooperation is the key. 

But cooperation may also be the lock that keeps you away, isn't it?

I need to scar myself. 

Scarring makes me feel better. 

Finally, my outside is as repulsive as my insides. 

This is my signal of "Stay away from dying people, or the one in the road to."

Ten minutes to four. 

I miss the cuts. 

It will force me to avoid rather fun activities, and undressing and changing to surfsuits will be even worse. 

I guess it doesn't really matter, I don't like the beach and I just feel awkward and silent there most of the time. 

I'm just scared of physical examinations, and I'm supposed to have one, if I want to be able to go to competitions. 

But what if I would fail?

I'm sure it's possible. 

But I guess they don't check my adrenaline levels that keeps on shooting and messing with me. 

You know, I have pretty much nothing to do when I'm at home. 

I don't play the guitar mostly because I'm so bad that id rather not, and I'm not allowed to stay in my room. 

I don't draw, because people tend to see what I'm drawing, and fuck you, I'm trying to safely and uncensorly express my thoughts and sort them out. IN FUCKING PRICACY, if I wanted you to see it, I would personally present it to you! But I chose not to and it has a fucking meaning!

I don't do anything but sitting and altering between the Toshiba laptop with spore, to my touchscreen HP which is my main laptop. 

My mother told me that at the mornings when I wake up early, I should watch TV so I won't think. 

Because my "poisonous thoughts" must be talked about with her or Dolly or Lee [mother, psychiatrist, psyhologist] and I shouldn't have them. 

I won't call them "poisonous" even though it's very tempting to do so. 

I'd call them truthful, or a hormonally-fucked-up-tween thoughts. 

I just should kill myself already. 

The finale would be my death, and I'd rather to have some control over that, making sure that it's as pleasant as possible. 

Probably dying from liver failure with the agonising pain that accompanied with the discomfort can't be all that well. 

Guns are loud. 

Hanging isn't, but regretting it is easy. 

Crucifying is a bit over dramatic. 

I guess I shouldn't die until I've experienced some pleasures of the flesh, including doing some outrageous things. 

And I defiantly need to try a cilice!

A silica around my thigh and skirts, or lose trousers, or on the arms, hidden by loose sleeves, or around my waist, once again hidden by the loose fabric that will cover my body. 

Wow, it'd be beautiful. 

Maybe I'd be extreme enough to sharpen some of the needles [?] of the cilice. 

It'd be so nice. 

A punishment for my wrongs, even though it'll never be enough, but at least it would be something.
Maybe I will have to make it every once in a while tighter, because weight loss is a bitch that may destroy your body, but I'd b too busy at marvelling as the rope tightens its grip on the loop.


Okay, six fifteen, and I still can't believe.
I really hate Tuesdays.
They are worse than Sundays.
I am at school until three, and then I have at four thirty the Cabria, and with each day I dread it more.
I know that usually I'm happy there.
But I can't trust myself with this unstable moods, which my father noticed as well.
He said that we need to balance it out.

But I don't want no balance, I don't want safety, I don't want clarity, I don't want happiness.
I don't need it, and I clearly don't deserve it.

I just deserve to never have freedom, to have no choice, to see my end coming and to be utterly helpless....


No.
No-no-no-no-no-no-no!
Not with your pathetic and oh-so-miserable bullshit.
I really fucking hate you when you do it, you act like some silly over-hormonal twat.
And don't you dare to justify it over your dydrogesterone consumption!
You took fucking six tablets last night, and you're totally not going to be this way.
In the end we all know how it'll end, don't we?
We'll block and terminate the one who destroys it all, and this time it is the pathetic coward being over-hormonal and over-emotional all the fucking time.
And to think you almost turned us against the decision of not crying!
I don't want to hear you ever speak like that, extermination is always an option.

It's six thirty, I hate my self, I'm listening to Placebo and blogging, waiting for the rest to wake up.

They are usually up by that hour.
I wish the day was cancelled.

I hate this day's schedule, and I don't know if I' be able to stay awake until three.
Hell, until three I'd be awake for over twelve hours.

My head hurts.l
Fucking wonderful,

Ten minutes to seven, I'm listening to Hurt.
I just understand.
 "And you could have it all, my empire of dirt, I will let you down, I will make you hurt..."That's only one of the many things that are relate-able.

I should probably get ready.
It's not even a question if I want to go or not.
It's whether I can function or be sent back to that institution.
And I'd die [or at least try] before I get back there.

Oh well, another day on the horrid path towards my birthday, making me everything I didn't want to be at fourteen.
Fucking depressed, on medication, experienced a bit too much, and guess what?! NOT HAVING SHOPPING WITH SUPER GIRLY-GIRLS WHILE BEING STEREOTYPICAL TEENAGE GIRLS FROM AMERICAN HIGHSCHOOL MOVIES. THAT'S WHAT.

I'm supposed to buy horribly colourful clothing pieces, and be disgustingly happy about it, admitting that I feel false attraction towards a male or two, but I would never admit any type of lust, because it's frowned upon.


I fell asleep for about another three hours.
Well, more of two and half or two with half a hour or a hour of being semi-concious.
I didn't understand why I was on my bed, and why it was night, I opened my eyes and saw my room, I feared that I slept until six am of the next morning, and I panicked as I opened my for the second time, seeing that I was exactly where I fell asleep.
Watching Perception in my mother's bed.

You know, in thirty five minutes, the cabria is going to start.
And I don't think I'll come.
Why should I anyway?
The group is better when I'm not there, and I don't know if I'd be able to control myself and my mood swings, and I don't want to let down others, and I fear of going there,
I don't feel like me.
I feel like I could legitimately start crying now, and walk to the room where the balcony used to be, and rock back and forth, pressing my forehead to the glass window, and think, think very hard, how hard it is to let go, and how oddly it feels, both right and wrong, but in the end I won't do it, because I will not hurt and let them down this way.

My mother thinks it's bad that I'm distancing myself.
I feel like I'm not very myself lately, and therefore, it doesn't matter if my body will be there or not, as the one who usually controls it isn't there.

I don't want to live.
Everyday I face numbness or sadness, I'm a bit exited every once in a while, when I sleep a lot [or think that I slept a lot], and when one of my online friends chat with me, but it's not quite excitement.
It's more of a distant glint of it.

I'm listening to Too Many Friends.

I know I should be at the cabria, hanging around for ninety minutes, and then walk along and talk until we reach the falafel shop.

I guess I'm going to chat with "I Don't Want To Exist" which is a very known account, a very good listener, a sixteen year old male.

I just think that it's not that bad that I distance myself, it's just one step forward towards the beautiful end that will come.
By the way, I want the Taiwanese marching band in my funeral.
Or at least not be buried outside, which is truly shameful.


Okay, I was also supposed to turn fourteen and be confused with sexuality, not with fucking diagnosis and denial.
I'm supposed to wear some ridiculously pricey thin material from Bershka or American Eagle or whatever that is popular, not wear the exact same colours like a fucking cartoon character.
I guess I just fucked it all up, didn't I?


I'm going to take from now on to take the fluoxetine at mornings, maybe it'll ease my sleeping issues.
Oh, hears my favourite part of Take the Pill.
"Don't you want to be sedated, don't you want to ease this pain,
if the pills are not effective, then we will electroshock your brain,
we are not happy with your progress, you're not yet considered sane,
if these pills are not effective, we'll electroshock your brain"

I know why Dolly won't prescribe me sleeping pills.
At first I was confused, but the answer was just under my nose.
What would I do with pills that can kill me?
Fucking overdose.
I told my mother that I know why she didn't prescribe me, and whrn she asked why I told her that I'm not going to tell her now [if my siblings would know that I'm suicidal it'll just make this path more familiar and normal, it will lure them into self destruction], I think she got what I meant, but I'd make sure later that she knows why their hand on the prescription trigger isn't that light.

I guess nobody can fully understand how terrifying it is for me, that I'm always on the very edge because I'm afraid that I'd be put back into this hell hole.


I just feel like my future won't hold anything that's actually worth something, so far, all I live for is to return the duty, punish myself, and of course, experience certain things.
I'm probably not going to get married or have kids, I have a very tough time believing that I'd be a fair wife, and I won't even start with being a mother.
At most I'd donate my uterus for service of births, I don't mind it really.
I am nothing.
Just titles and names.
Other than that, I'm nothing.
Labelled on the third grade as gifted and started questioning my fitness in there lately.
I guess I was born to die.
Born to Die.
A song of Lana Del Ray.
And here are the thoughts about Gal.
I've been told she's doing fine, and it's very comforting.
If she was worse, oh, I can't even put it in words, the agony she would suffer, and I won't be there.
I guess that I just need to see her before I leap off to my death.
Oh no, not now.
I'm starting to cry.
I just love her so much.
Too much.

I just can't bear myself.
I've hurt such a beautiful, delicate, fragile, lovely person.
And I didn't do anything about it.
I just let her go and lose herself.

I deserve to die.
No.
I don't deserve the luxury of being eased from the pain.
I certainly don't deserve to live, but you don't have to be dead in order to stop being alive.
I deserve to feel pain, so much pain, endless one.

I just want to stop being.
I've hurt her so much.
I don't know if she'd ever be able to forgive me, or that I'd ever be able to forgive myself.
I don't deserve forgiveness, mercy, love, safety, clarity.

I deserve to suffer.


Oh, I don't want to exist was online just now... Sadly he didn't reply to me.
I feel a bit emptier than before.

I guess that I need to go to sleep.
Or at least try.
I wanted to say that I'm going to cry but I really hate rhyming when I sound so pathetic.

Goodnight, have sweet dreams.
Or just sleep well.
Whatever floats your boat.

Hurt.

Unbelievable.

I woke up at two fifty four. 

I took a sleeping pill and once again, four and a half hours of sleep. 

That's it. 

I'm now getting to that final stage, my body is giving up, urging me to go with it and leave. 

Oh, I wish I could end this life. 

My head is throbbing and aching, and I'm bored. 

I guess I'll watch something on my television, because fuck sleeping, right?

Next week I got another meeting with the psychiatrist. 

I was supposed to see her only in January, but as you can see, nobody can tell if I be able to make it by then. 

I really hope that she'll put me off fluoxetine instead of upping the dosage. 

It's six am, I'm on my laptop.

I wish I was dead.
I wish that I won't exist.
But the idea terrifies me.
I'd bring unnecessary pain and confusion to my surroundings, and they certainly don't deserve it.

I guess I'm going to go to school today, I can't sleep for more than four and a half hours anyway, so why won't I just say "fuck it" and go there.
I mean, sure, suicidal thoughts, plans, and numbness, without the possibility to even draw in order to distract myself, because I'd just won't be able to think at all, and when I will think, I may start crying in class.
And I really don't need this bullshit again.

I should probably try to find a good way to pass time, because the only thing more exhausting than functioning, is not functioning and just sink into numbness with sometimes hopes for some feeling, even if it's a negative one, it is something.

But no, this day is going to be shitty.
I got science, which is alright, I don't know where I'd sit.
Alone and in privacy at the back of the class? Or with my buddies, one desk forward?
And then I got that shitty lesson that's pretty much all about nature and loving it.
I hate nature, and nature hates me too, so I'm quite okay with staying away from it, so I just need to waste fifty minutes without being too anxious and hope that Yael won't do regrettable things.

And Arabic, I fucking such at Arabic, okay?! I will never be able to speak normally and to be honest, I think I just won't continue with Arabic at highschool, I can't manage Arabic, hell, we study it as it was Hebrew. And Hebrew is a fucking bitch to learn, because of pronunciation, letters, and I'm just unable to figure it. I can hardly read things there, and it takes me about whole two minutes in order to finish a rather long or slightly familiar word.

Then I got education, which as always, anxiety and because of my fucked up brain and focus, I'm going to suffer through with really hating myself but in the same time, feeling absolutely nothing.
Then English, I'd excel through easily, which will keep me bored, because it's not challenging.
Science once again, and geography, I wonder if Ariel would let us go home or that we'd study, which if we will, then... I'm probably going to read through the book and try to entertain myself.


I'm frustrated.
I just want to stop myself from being.
I don't care if this shell I call a body carries on or not, but my very self, the one that makes me do these things that I hate, and makes me not feel, because it clashes with the loathing of mine against it.
Against myself.


Oh, I'm back from school, at the last period I was pretty much coming down from my adrenaline rush, caused by anxiety and my body's desperate attempt to stay awake and somewhat focused.
I suffered from being unfocused and pretty much unconnected.

I managed to go through it, so it's a something.



Okay, I had an eye check.
My eyes are fine, I think that my right eye is getting slightly weaker, or that my left one just overpowers it.

My fucking cocktail is driving me nuts.
I get hyper and tactless moments, where I'm not even at control, it's not even me that's doing that.
Most of the day I'm numb.
And then I got those crappy suicidal/ you don't deserve to live/ go kill yourself already and ease the burden that is you from your friends/ other lovely shit lapses.


Let's change the subject because it can only get worse if I'd continue with the previous topic.
From some reason, Dabush thought that it was a funny idea to make others think that he's my boyfriend.
I was quite pissed at him for doing so.
But I still allow him to hug me and spread his lovely warmth and affection, he really is very catlike.
Why? Because I feel safe, cared, held, loved.
He says that he loves me, and I feel whole.
It's so fucking beautiful that I seriously might start to fucking cry.
I tell him I love him too, why won't I? He doesn't have the stupid ego of not letting others know his feelings and I feel quite open with him [I told him that I was in Shalvata, and dude, that's crazy] and he makes me feel good.
If that's not love, and love is better than this, then I'd die from the euphoric state I'd be in.
So, he's a pleasant person to be around.
He hugs me a lot, which isn't even irritating, it just feels right.
I guess I'm going to fuck things up again and before  I notice, there I am, contemplating suicide and self harm once again.

I just wish I didn't have to such a shitty person.

Okay, Placebo is such a great band.
Seriously.


Just before dinner I had a lapse.

Dinner was at seven thirty. 

It's nine thirty and I feel like there is absoultely no hope left. 

I see my body, and I just wish I'd carve away my hatred. 

I'm getting worse. 

My spirit is in an advanced stage of decay. 

And I just don't want to let them down. 

I can't even fathom what effects are going to be. 

I don't want to hurt them, but I will. 

I have to. 

I can't keep my mind off "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails, I love how broken it sounds, how deep it is, and sadly, how familiar it sounds. 

I'm probably going to listen to it and cry, because I'm such a magnificent hormonal and chemical wreck. 

Sick of it.

Hello, this is me, at four thirteen am.

I woke up at three thirty. 

Yes. 

Three fucking thirty. 

And I fell asleep at fucking eleven. 

Usually I fall asleep at nine thirty or ten or ten thirty, and then wake up at four thirty. 

Usually granting me 6-7 hours of sleep. 

Now I got fucking four and a half hours of sleep. 

I feel like I'm losing my mind. 

Unbelievable, isn't it?

I was better without fluoxetine. 

It just makes me feel like crap and I'm contemplating suicide endlessly. 

What else could I possibly think about last night but it?

I blogged when it happened. 

I'm hungry as fuck. 

And I want to sleep normally. 

Or at least be in that hypomanic stage where I'm quite happy with waking up at such an early hour. 

Oh fuck, I highly doubt that I'd go to school. 

I'm fucking falling apart. 

Fuck.

Like it's not enough that I missed plenty of school days, now I'm going to miss the 60's and 80's runnings!

That's fucking awful. 

I do not joke. 

As much as I hate the practices, it's unbearable. 

Ever since I got into that institution my ability to handle and go through the sports class schedule was stripped of my body. 

I'm unable to function with this hell. 

I don't sleep, I don't eat, I feel empty, and I feel suicidal, but I may also feel occasionally some emotion, something that's alive, but I mostly lie within numbness, I'm weak, my focus levels are equal to an ADD off his meds, and concentration is nothing but a bitter joke, I cry, I feel like my head is about to just explode every once in a while, I want to feel well, but I don't deserve to feel well. 

It's four forty four. 

I just can't believe it. 

I want this torment to end. 

Six am. 

At last. 

Soon the rest of the house will wake. 

And even though that I'd rather to stay at home today [almost like every other fucking day, but now I got a really good reason] I fear the consequences of not arriving today to school. 

I'm not functioning. 

That's a pretty good reason for Shalvata to reconsider taking me again. 

I'd rather pour alcohol with lemon juice and salt into my open wounds and perform a kidney removal by myself. 

I'm tired. 

Very tired. 

But I can't fall asleep. 

I fucking hate it. 

Okay, I'm awake for over twelve hours, it's three forty seven and I'd like to share my day with you.

My parents suggested that I'd try sleeping a little and then go to school.
Thing is, that I couldn't.
I stayed at home.
My mother tried to cheer me up, and some eye in the sky [did I mention that I might go to the Alan Parsons Project concert?]  named "god" or more specifically, "Jehova" [even though that she didn't mention the name, it's a blasphemy], sadly, I can't fathom faith.

Oh, I love Hungarian Dance No. 5!
I'm reading wikihow articles, while trying to find some inspiring clothing pieces and to be specific, pantihose and such.
I just started loving these beautiful garments,
Since my purchase of the wine red one, I basically find myself very interested in wearing it more often.
Even more with having bonier legs.


Okay, the twitches that I had have got significantly worse,
I got nothing to do against them.

Don't forget to learn the band members' names too! This is important if you ever strike up a conversation with another Goth. Nothing is worse than ending up tongue-tied when talking to a Goth. That gets you the Poser for life reward (CONGRATULATIONS!).

And this is why I love the bullshit from Wikihow!
Am I the only one who just don't give a fuck really about the names.
Dude, as long as the band isn't named The Johns and each member's name is John, I don't give a damn.


I spoke to some cutters on sitps and fuck, why the corrupted must have such warm hearts.
Gladly, every rule has an exception.
Because I'm a stupid fucktard that the Yarkon's water is running through it's bloodstream.
Great, now I have the filth of the water that have killed an Australian runners team.

Okay, stips triggered that thought, but [!] am I the only one that finds the coming sentence very romantic? "I think about you when I masturbate."
If anybody may ever find that "revolting" and that my mind is "disgustingly sexual" and that it's not romantic or lovely, I feel like they shouldn't be talking to me.
If that's over sexual, then is my own idea about a new female circumcision must be offensive as fuck.
I thought about cutting the inner labia, as they serve no fucking use but another skin cover for a sensitive part, just like the foreskin.

Well, fuckers, today was only one blue pill.
And for another day I may be possesed by Agent Smith and enjoy laying within to safe, warm, and blinding aquarium of the matrix.

Weak!

I'm sorry for not posting properly, I'm just too much... Confused.

Well, it makes some sense considering that I got my dosage upped again [currently on 30mg fluoxetine] and I feel drained, I don't even feel that it will work.

I also wake up everyday at four thirty and sometimes even waking up in the middle of the night for no fucking reason at all.

Even though that it has benefits [I was really happy when I woke up at two am and accidentally read it to be five am and fell asleep again, relishing the fact that I'm getting some sleep at last.] It fucking sucks, I have nothing left to do in these hours, drawing's a bore, I have no fucking reading material left, and I got about three hours to waste.

I'm also very weak.

If I thought that the height jumping where I was basically just pathetically tossing myself on the mattress was bad, well, now it's even worse.

I'm very slow, I throw up after practises because I physically can't endure the strain.

I feel very faint after running a mere warm-up or just a rather fast 200 meters!

My head is throbbing and my heart is pumping insanely fast, and I just can't allow myself to give up.

Maybe if I'd be lucky enough, it'll kill me.

I know I should give up, I want to, I truly do, but I can't.

People will just dismiss me because I'm just going through a "rough time" and everything will be back to normal soon.

Thing is, that I never felt that bad with staying there.

I never thought about leaving it until very recently.

Which gets me straight to that mental institution.

Ever since I got into it, I got weaker, and weaker, I've became fragile, I am now a shadow of myself.

That proud, strong, and slightly "off" girl I was before is gone.

I cry twice everyday.

I hate myself so much.

I want to end my being.

I don't want my future, as great and as awful it may be, I'd rather pass.

I don't deserve to be treated so nicely.

I deserve to fucking die, a slow, almost eternal, painful death.

I'm considering cutting most of my relationships, maybe it's because they are meaningless, maybe because they are harmful to either me or them.

So with Dabush I'm definitely staying, he's just so lovely, his very presence alone soothes me, he's just to perfect to be real.

I'm sticking to Sapir as well, she's fucking awesome, she's one of those very confused ones and on top of it, physical and mental issues! I'm fascinated with her views, behaviour, style, treatment, what not! She's going to be very interesting.

Shani is for the long run as well.

I'm not really sure about the rest, most of them are rather hollow relationships in my eyes.

The ones you're quite glad to get rid off at high school.

I guess I just need to get shit together.

Even though that I won't be easily put to sit alone [which I need for privacy and organising my life and plan, but should reject because I won't be concentrated at fucking all.] I'd like to do so.

I need to plan from now.

No self harm until eighteen, not even given legitimacy to be hospitalised again, whether by parents or by law [parents until eighteen law starting from fifteen.]

Suicide will probably be in the "easy" ways of jumping from height or tying a shoelace tightly around my neck.

Buying some anaesthetics and knowing how to properly use them and how to properly stitch myself can assist me in the future, because steri-strips just won't "cut" it.

I want a nap.

Maybe I'd watch TV until my eyes are tired enough.

My father didn't agree for me to stay for long enough to enjoy the silence and the blankness.
They [my parents] think that being left alone lying in my bed is bad for me, as my thoughts may come again.
I don't think they get that my thoughts aren't triggered by anything, I just feel it and it spirals downwards from there.

Oh, I wish I could just pluck up the courage in order to tie the lace around my neck, probably using my bed frame to help.
It fucking sucks that fearlessness doesn't reside within me.
If I were only strong enough to just do it.
I'm just too scared if my parents will notice.
What if I'd be saved? What if it won't kill me? What if I'd die?
Should I write a note?

I'm so fucking confused.
I just want to end myself, and I don't want to disappoint everyone.

I'm considering crawling back into my love for thinness.
If not mutilating myself through a less-than-paper-thin razor and healing it nicely, than making me look like a dead person.
I want to have my ribs and hipbones to stick slightly out, but mostly I want thin and fragile-looking legs.
Then, only then, I'd allow myself to wear patterned trousers, or socks, or about anything that covers the lower body part.

I don't know why guys, but I had that feeling for quite a while that something horrible is going to happen very soon.
 Something truly awful, and I'd be helpless.
Maybe I'm just still anxious after that hell of a week in Shalvata.

It's almost ten pm, I can't fall asleep, I just cried. 

Why did I cry?

That thing I call "mind" just told me the truth that I wanted to deny. 

They will commit me. 

They will commit me, and I'd be weak. 

They will commit me, and I'll be once again, nothing. 

I know it's the truth!

They will do it. 

I don't want to be there. 

And my only way to secure this plan is to make sure that I won't be at all. 

Oh, please, like they can help....

After I came out, what was left of me?! What have I have become?!

I'm no more than a shadow of someone I used to know. 

Both mentally and physically. 

I'm weak. 

I'm currently a burden, and I waste oxygen. 

All I do is sit in my bed and listen to songs that will distract me from myself. 

Wow, what a great coping system! Ignoring the elephant that's in the room. 

Like we don't remember the last times!

Ha!

Last time you were so busy being around the question that drew you to the verge of breaking down. 

Uncertain and full of doubts, you dismissed the elephant as a nonexistent thing. 

And when somebody forced you to look straight into the elephant you denied... You were lost. 

Now you're medicated, "enjoying" the answer's awful so-called "cure". 

What a shame that you're too much of a coward to do it.