i've cracked

this is it i'm done i can't do this anymore

i can't deal with rejection i can't deal with people calling me healthy when i know they mean thick and heavy i can't be happy and normal anymore

why is everyone saying i've gained weight when i haven't. it's like they've finally noticed how huge i am it was about time i wish they hadn't it's worse when the think it too its real

every bite i take, someone thinks of me as fat and nothing more only this distorted body

if i think this hard enough i will never eat again

i will count calories and pounds and discard them i will melt away fade away they won't know me anymore and oh this is terrible i don't want to go through this anymore but i don't think there's anything i can do i can't ask you to save me from myself

not this time

i want out

Everyone is waiting for that moment: the inciting incident, the catalyser, the big bang, followed by the invitable leap of faith towards the achievment of our innermost desires.

We want to be surprised, bothered, shocked, forced out of our comfortable life, of the hole we've dug ourselves into. Bravery is a thing of the past: we are often moved by fear, sometimes by discomfort, occasionally by greed, but hardly ever by courage. Decisions are too difficult to make: as atheist as some may have become, we still look up to some greater power, willing it to will us to move, to change. We want to be without becoming. No, no, this we cannot do by ourselves. But the time will come, surely, we will wake up one morning to find ourselves changed, effortlessly, finally able to do what we wish. It will happen, it must. We are different from the others: we will succeed where they have failed. We have faith, it will happen.

But things don't just happen. They must be willed and acted upon. And yet, we wait.

In the meantime, we live ghosts of lives, redundant, empty things, until at last we are left hopeless, dreamless, dead.

Death is the only thing which will happen. In truth, death is all we are waiting for.

safety

I drank broth from my special alphabet mug for dinner. Nothing will attack me tonight. Sleep is calling and I'm all too willing to go.

i am a dead weight

Defining myself is unpleasant. See why I prefer my fantasies?

i am not made for other people

I am made for loneliness and tears; anger and anxiety; darkness and monotony. I love the whole wide world except for everyone that's in it (you know this isn't true)

a simple truth

We speak in metaphors because reality is too much to take, or not enough to live for.

my latest miracle

I have seen something new and grand: I have seen my future.

Do not be mistaken: I have not acquired the magical gift of Sight, tampered with a crystal ball or played with tarrot cards. But I have seem a future that belongs to me and only me.

I used to think I would die at the tender age of twenty. Not only could I not see past that age, but I could see my death by disease or by accident. "A sweet, bright young woman, full of potential, mourned by her friends and family" A born cliché.

But lately, now that I'm approaching twenty years, I've had glimpses of what I could be were I to live: a professor, alone in a Ottawa appartment, bathing in a crisp, white light, drinking tea, reading. I don't think it is a future I will share with someone special, but I don't mind. Teaching physics, doing research, and pursuing my career as a student: a bacchalaureate in political science, in English litterature, in linguistics (ethymology in particular), in French litterature, in Russian... Forever learning. I cannot die: I have not learned enough. So many books not read, classes not taken, people not met. Not that I like most people- I assure you, I don't- but some people are worth the stressful acquaintance.

This means a lot to me. This future is not only possible, but also probable, and delights me. At last I have something more to look forward to than an untimely and gruesome death.

At last, I hope and dream to live.

back from the dead

Or almost. I've been reading far too many books to be considered one of the living (I like the dead better anyways, or the fictional, I should say). The Brontë sisters make fine company.

I'm not sure where I'm headed right now. I've been out of school for a week and I already miss the schoolwork. I've been doing a lot of tutoring and shifts at the Bed and Breakfast, learning Spanish, playing guitar, reading, cleaning... Everything is so very easy and relaxing. Today I took a long walk downtown with a friend and we talked about parents and jealousy and literature.

I haven't cut since that night. I probably would have, had the proper instruments been available, but I didn't. I don't think I will do it again unless something disastrous occurs. And when you're as dramatic as I am, that isn't entirely unlikely.

My grades were less than satisfying this session: my average has slumped from 92% to 90%, but I think it will pick up next session, if I'm not sick as often (though that doesn't excuse anything!). School is important to me, so this was rather disappointing.

I saw a skinny girl today and I felt massive. But I'm too tired for anything to affect me much, I am still recuperating from last session (stupid stupid under-achieving immune system) and this heat is keeping me awake- it will be the death of me.

I can feel it coming though. The panic. The anxiety.

Can't it wait?

I don't think I could take it right now.