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.
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.
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