I just cut my face. There's blood. And I can't stop shivering, no, shuddering, and it's because I'm here, it's because I'm still indulging in the madness and immersing myself in other people's madness but it's not like I can leave, the last time I tried to leave someone for my own good he tried to kill himself, and it took so much effort, and it caused so much pain, and I can't bring myself to leave this place or you and I'm sorry and I'm so angry that you're all eating-disordered and I'm not, not really, I'm out of the loop, you should be healthy or I should be sick with you and it's wrong, wrong, wrong that I'm alone. It almost feels like I'm freaking out on purpose, but it can't be for attention since I don't tell anyone anymore, I plaster on the fake smile and layer on the sarcasm now, I learned from the best (you), so it must be because somewhere deep down I do hate myself, even if it doesn't really feel like it, because hating myself seems contradictory, I am my own consciousness and everything is in my consciousness and I can't hate everything because hate can't be bigger than everything, because it's part of everything, it's a thing, you must understand, if you don't, don't bother trying and how do you explain waking up with cuts on your face anyways (aching, itching for more) my madness is the stupidest of madnesses, with no cause or correlation or validity only fear and vertigo and a bunch of other things I'm not sure exist

the master plan, and analyzing this great.. thing that is me

I've just realized how WRONG my master plan is: I'm basically studying to be a doctor, right? (Yes, biology won the great battle of the sciences I love) Sure, I've got the grades, I've got the drive, I've got the desire to work crazy hours...

I also have a blog on which I support women with eating disorders in a most unhealthy way, not to mention my own self-destructive tendencies. TROUVEZ L'ERREUR!

haha they will NEVER let me in to med school. and we all know I cope SO WELL will failure.

---

So I've calmed down a little. Thank you for the kind words on my previous posts. If you girls can stay hopeful (or at least have hope in me, if you haven't in yourself, sad as that may be, since you're lovely), and you've gone through SO MUCH MORE than I have, well I guess I'm being ridiculously oversensitive.

I've tried to isolate what is truly wrong with me, not as a diagnostic or anything, just what is abnormal, and see if it's good or bad or neither. I won't write it all here because it's not interesting to you. Basically, here are the reasons I don't currently qualify to be a grown-up:

- I am physically and mentally behind my peers in development;
- I am too concerned with beauty and have a very twisted perception of it;
- I am scared of sex;
- I am both overconfident and self-deprecating;
- I have trouble with my identity, I always feel like I am acting;
- I indulge in self-destructive behavior;
- I am very egocentric (which makes me paranoid because it seems like everything, good or bad, is about me);
- I am a compulsive liar even for the most trivial things (this has improved greatly over the years);
- I am obsessed with what people think of me even if I don't always agree;
- I have trouble distinguishing fiction from reality;
- I get attached too easily;
- And yet I constantly think people I love are judging me or spying on me (again, egocentrism).

I think maybe a lot of those are very common, most of the problem residing in how little restraint I have and the combination of some of these factors. I am not mentally ill: I have nothing to excuse these flaws. Some of them I can work out on my own; some of them I may have to discuss with a professional; and the others I can learn to live with, probably. Wow. How very mature of me. Or not: there a lot of "I"s in this post. In all of them. EGOCENTRISM, people, probably the worst of the aforementionned shortcomings.

I could follow up with a list of my qualities. I think it would probably be longer. But a lot more trivial. Like "I speak French, messieurs-dames" or "I don't even like chocolate that much" or "I haven't intentionally blown anything up yet". YET.

Hmmm. Feeling much better now. Really, I'd say don't bother reading this, but then I'd have to go ALL THE WAY back to the top of the article. So, if you are here, you either somehow like me very much or you have too much free time on your hands, my friend. Go read something constructive. Go build a robot! (My personal objective for the 2012-2013 academic year. Nowhere is safe!)

Shout-out to Peri, my wonderful guardian angel, goddess of crafts and silly hats and Kiwis and awesomeness: thank you for being there. And your words, both here and on your blog. Anyone who is somehow following my blog but not hers (what, are you crazy?!), go. Now. http://glueandpieces.blogspot.ca/ . Make it happen. I'm counting on you, soldier.

Musings of this child in a teenager's body playing an adult

In my biostats class. Can't focus. I'm exactly like the parents who make excuses for their misbehaving children say: I'm not being sufficiently stimulated, I need to be challenged. Don't remind me how much this is costing me, please.

I think maybe sometimes having two identities is screwing with my mind. I'm the real life me most of the time but Jillian-Amedea will just not be ignored. I think I like her better too. She's true to herself, which is me... Yeah. Not going there.

***

I used to write so elegantly. Well, more elegantly. I guess that was pretentious. Also, just silly. There is nothing elegant or beautiful about the struggle to destroy yourself/ not destroy yourself/ delete everything/ delete delete. It's rough and raw and disgusting and all too real, like a bowl of cold gruel.

***

I guess I had a freak out about my body. I'm scared. I want definite results so I can stop worrying about what to worry about. Worry worry worry. You ladies worry me, to say the least. This is just so wrong on so many levels. Yep, I'll hold your hand or give you a hug but it doesn't change the fact that we're freefalling: it will not slow us or break our fall. It won't change how we splatter. What's comfort, what's love in the face of inevitable failure to survive or live or whatever it is we're so terrible at?

The results are finally in: I have a connective tissue disorder. Most likely early onset arthritis. So with that AND Celiac's disease, I won't be able to eat or move by the time I'm 40. LOVELY.

(I know I'm dramatizing. LET ME HYPERBOLIZE IN PEACE.)

TITLE

I went to a funeral and I just lost it. People truly ARE leaving me. Not that I blame them. I mean they've got their own lives (deaths?) to tend to.

Maybe it's not so bad if they leave me. But they shouldn't just leave. Not before their time. I guess most people do.

The closer I get to starting Uni the more I realize how big the rift is, the one between me and other people my age. I'm scared and lost, out of place and out of time. I live by my own, impratical, ridiculous set of standards. Like a child. They live for things I can't even understand, and I for things that are irrelevant and not entirely real. Even with friends and family, I am pretending. I guess it was foolish to think I'd ever meet someone like me, when I so desperately wish I was like anyone else. I don't usually get my hopes up like that.

It's okay. I'll always have my books. And classes. And a career. And fleeting moments of sincerity with friends or strangers, enough to keep me socializing (at least a little). It's pretty good. I'll even have your virtual presences until you grow bored of me. And odds are I'll meet someone (or sometwo or somethree) someday, that I'll catch up to my generation eventually, not soon, but someday. Right?

(I just read Blindness by Santiago. It was... wow.)