everything’s so fucking terrible. I’m losing my bestfriend in real life, the only one i have is almost 2,000 miles away from me. i don’t have anyone, i cut & I can’t say anything about it. i almost attempted last night. i just hate myself so fucking much.
- Me: I cut myself. I had to.
- Therapist: *sad look*
- Me: You seem so sad.
- Therapist: I am sad. I'm sad that you hurt yourself. I am sad that you feel you have to hurt yourself.
(Source: confessionsabouteatingdisorders)
I never have been & I never will be. I’m a failure.
(Source: confessionsabouteatingdisorders)
I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with myself. I mean, I like some things about myself. The rest I hate. I hate that I can’t control cutting. I stop, then I fuck it up by slicing my skin. I want my scars to go away, so badly. I’m tired of going places & the days I forget to cover my arm with foundation, I get nasty looks by people. They fade, but then I want them back, so I get them back. I’m ashamed of it. My body, I’m disgusted by it. My waist isn’t small enough, it never will be. I’m tired of having fat on my body. I want my hip, collar, rib bones to show again. I want my thighs to NOT touch, they did three years ago. I hate myself. I’m miserable in my own body.
Frail, weak, disorientated. I felt myself dying, slowly getting weaker and weaker as the blood gushed from my wrist. Lights, noise, people, discomfort, ambulance sirens. I was falling in and out of consciousness, and I was incredibly white and frail. Sleep, all I wanted was to sleep, right there and then. Close my eyes and let death take me. But I couldn’t, it didn’t, I didn’t. The slow, cold realization that I was still alive was far worse then the physical pain I felt. My merely breathing body struggled with every breath, every pump of my heart, the blood pulsating through my veins was far too tiring.
(Source: med-icated, via med-icated)
(Source: el3ctric-dreams, via my-bracelets-cover-my-secrets)
(Source: confessionsabouteatingdisorders, via very-thin)
