I cannot handle communal living much longer. I would like to make a public service announcement: Will everyone kindly vacate the fucking premises so that I can vomit in peace? Thank you. I feel as if I just ate my mother fucking weight in melted cheese and it is now attaching itself to my innermost linings, but and it is becoming a cancerous mold forcing me to grow. I was weak. I believed that the public bathroom on the first floor would have a touch more, how you say, privacy...i was quite horribly wrong. And now I'm left with even more fat attaching itself to my unwilling muscles, crushing my beautiful bones, eating away at my soul. The food is even creeping up my throat, begging to be let out. Voices scream at me to let it, to free myself of this burden that I have grabbed. I am disgusting, worthless..
And two fingers could end this pain.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
Good things have happened, dear nameless and faceless void that I write to. I could spend hours writing them out, but I think I shall retreat to my paper journal for a short while. Technology is both a blessing and a curse, and I'm sure that I will be unable to keep from reading blogs due to my search for connection, however false that may be, but I just want to write from my wrist. Feel the ache in my hand after a long confession. Bless me father for i have sinned.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Flying and Lying
Reds, yellows, orange. Crackle. Pop. Flames lick, dance, and desperately cling to the faux log, begging for life. Mother sits flipping through channels on the couch, absentminded. Nothing is on.
Wait.
You want to watch this? What is it?
Intervention.
She looks at me, accepts and puts the clicker down. Satisfaction. It's the tail end, right before he woman is to be intervened. She is an alcoholic and a bulimic. I look at her and the first thing that I think is that she isn't even skinny.
You would never do that to yourself would you?
What?
Make yourself throw up.
No. Of course not.
Good. It's so pathetic.
Flashback to me with fingers down my throat with the water running a couple of rooms down while she was asleep. Taking a break, I hear a knock. Panic. What are you doing? I reply pooping. That I like the water running in case I make embarrassing noises. She believed. She always believes.
I am a liar. Worse yet, I felt no shame. It's the same as when I smoke. Sure, it's against the law, but it is not a law that I believe in. I am not above laws, but I give myself little invincibility complexes. Nothing can hurt me, I don't need anyone, food is only necessary for some. I fool myself into believing that I am moral, that I am good, but I am just a shell.
Today I flew. I stood on top of the world and I spit in it's face. Alright, it was blue slopes in a mountain in Canada. Thankfully, I had an instructor since I haven't been in ages and he was great. Embodiment of Australian blasé attitude. I one day wish to have that nonchalance but clearly am a bit of a dweller. The wind was nearly blowing me away, but it was an amazing feeling. Normally I am torn apart by myself; being flung about by something natural was a rather nice change of pace. And the speed. O, the speed. Nothing compares to seeing the world fly past with absolutely nothing separating you.
Wait.
You want to watch this? What is it?
Intervention.
She looks at me, accepts and puts the clicker down. Satisfaction. It's the tail end, right before he woman is to be intervened. She is an alcoholic and a bulimic. I look at her and the first thing that I think is that she isn't even skinny.
You would never do that to yourself would you?
What?
Make yourself throw up.
No. Of course not.
Good. It's so pathetic.
Flashback to me with fingers down my throat with the water running a couple of rooms down while she was asleep. Taking a break, I hear a knock. Panic. What are you doing? I reply pooping. That I like the water running in case I make embarrassing noises. She believed. She always believes.
I am a liar. Worse yet, I felt no shame. It's the same as when I smoke. Sure, it's against the law, but it is not a law that I believe in. I am not above laws, but I give myself little invincibility complexes. Nothing can hurt me, I don't need anyone, food is only necessary for some. I fool myself into believing that I am moral, that I am good, but I am just a shell.
Today I flew. I stood on top of the world and I spit in it's face. Alright, it was blue slopes in a mountain in Canada. Thankfully, I had an instructor since I haven't been in ages and he was great. Embodiment of Australian blasé attitude. I one day wish to have that nonchalance but clearly am a bit of a dweller. The wind was nearly blowing me away, but it was an amazing feeling. Normally I am torn apart by myself; being flung about by something natural was a rather nice change of pace. And the speed. O, the speed. Nothing compares to seeing the world fly past with absolutely nothing separating you.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Magic
I am beginning to think that I am by nature a hedonist. But the most basic definition of that, one that pursues pleasure above all else, leaves much to be desired. I'm living a life in pursuit of beauty, of knowledge, of lust, of connection, of romance. At the same time, I take pleasure from denial, the denial of survival. Normal people think they need to eat and sleep to survive, but not I! One has these perks with the immortality of 20something ignorance.
But onto the magic. I never wish to forget the place that I am in. If anyone has the chance to travel up north, make the treck to Banff during the winter. I've been coming since I was a tot (lived in Canada until I was ten), but I haven't really appreciated the beatuy until now. Such is life: when you're little, you constantly seem to be looking at your parents shoes and trying not to fall while not taking in the splendor around you. The trees in these mountains are pregnant with snow, and everywhere you look there it something to take your breath away. I don't know what gods deigned me fortunate enough to come here, but i am quite glad for it.
But onto the magic. I never wish to forget the place that I am in. If anyone has the chance to travel up north, make the treck to Banff during the winter. I've been coming since I was a tot (lived in Canada until I was ten), but I haven't really appreciated the beatuy until now. Such is life: when you're little, you constantly seem to be looking at your parents shoes and trying not to fall while not taking in the splendor around you. The trees in these mountains are pregnant with snow, and everywhere you look there it something to take your breath away. I don't know what gods deigned me fortunate enough to come here, but i am quite glad for it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)