I wish I had a scale. I want to know how much weight I’ve put back on in the past two months. I was 114. I’m probably twice that much now.

I feel horrible. Nearly an hour ago, I tried to make myself purge. Of course, I get the same result: Nothing. I fucking hate my gag reflexes. I will be a sword swallower when I am older, because I can not make myself puke. I’ve done everything. My fingers, my toothbrush, toilet paper, and many more.

Why was I born with this? It’s a curse. I don’t give a shit what bulimia does to your body. I know. Believe me. The sores, the hair loss, the blotches on the body, feelings of wanting to faint. I don’t care! I just want to lose weight quickly! And when I say quickly, I mean like, five pounds in a few days. Eating healthy and exersicing, is not going to give anyone’s body results in only a few amount of days. Therefore, I will not do it.

I want to be skinny. And I will do whatever it takes, to do so. If I have to starve, yet again, I will do so. I don’t give a shit! I do not care what my body does, how I feel, as long as I see results, I will be fucking happy!

Fuck my life.

You wake and the sky is grey and despite it being midday, the street lights are on because it’s that dark. You fill a cup with tea and sit huddled under jackets and blankets on the front porch, lighting a cigarette with your spare hand. The rain falls quietly, softly and the sound that the cars make driving past remind you of crashing waves. You wonder where the passengers are going, who they are, what they are afraid of. You wonder whether they are feeling the same way you are: 

alone and

scared and

blank.

It’s when you’re invaded by such misery that you see beauty in the smallest of things; the spiderweb in the corner is laced with raindrops, the exhaled smoke as it breaks through the still air. You stare out into nothing and plead with whoever is listening to make today okay, to give you hope because you feel such a lack of it and it’s getting you down.

You’re stuck. You’re cold. You’re hurt and wounded and tired. 

You don’t know when things will get better.

You don’t know how to live anymore.

Today:

30 crunches.
30 side crunches.
30 leg lifts.
30 Seconds of bicycles.
20 Push ups.

And now, I rest. (:

(Source: mylife-mylove-mybody, via yoga-body)

Women are expected to be nice and sweet, to make other people feel comfortable.
A woman who says ‘Hey, I think there’s a problem here’ - is being ‘negative.’
A woman who doesn’t smile while she’s being harassed is ‘humorless.’ A woman who prefers to stay focused on tasks is a ‘cold bitch.’ Significant gendering is involved here; women have an obligation to look and act a certain way and when they don’t, they need to be hassled until they do.