Done for you

The best things in life
Come with a price
The star that burned so bright faded the fastest
You’ll always feel it’s right
Even when we end the fight
Welcome home, home tonight

Singing ohhh, ohhh
Welcome home tonight
Ohhh ohh, tonight

Words they don’t know how to make amends
And all they do is push you to the edge
But it’s not wasted

It’s all done for you

Two weeks of the new year have passed so far and I don’t exactly know what I’ve been doing, but I think I’ve been doing quite well. I haven’t binged and purged once, have only smoked two cigarettes, haven’t purposely harmed myself in any way and I haven’t studied, written and read as much as I’d wanted to, but at least I have done it. Pride is something very difficult for me to feel, but at least I know that I have the right to feel it now. Staying strong is difficult. Getting up in the morning is hard and so is getting ready and getting all of my daily tasks done. I feel stuck in my everyday life and believe me, there is nothing I want more than getting out of here and never return, but I’m making it through step by step, day by day. Eating is hard, smiling is hard, leaving the house and telling people I’m fine is too, but I never back down and that’s what matters the most.

The moments when I feel like falling, the nights when I lie awake struggling to breathe and the emotional breakdowns I suffer from silently all pass and I move on from them. I don’t know if this is what you can call recovery because I still beat myself up emotionally every day by feeding doubts and hatred about myself and my body, but at least I know that I’m making progress. The steps are small and every one of them is harder than I admit, but I make them. Often I feel like wanting to cry and never stop, but I don’t. Sometimes I want to talk about it, but I don’t. Keeping these moments of weakness to myself hurts me, but I don’t trust anyone enough to share them.

My life is valuable: My body is recovering from the pain I inflicted on it for several years, my grades are great, my son is the most beautiful living being in this world to me, my family is here with me, I have very few, but lovely friends, never money, but only because I always spend it, and as far as I can remember, I’ve never felt as good as I do right now, but what I can’t really speak out loud is that I still feel pretty awful most of the time and like I’m on the edge to crumbling completely. But I don’t. And that’s what I need to focus on.

As hard as it is, the Tumblr quotes are right: The storm will pass, things will get better, it’s not the end and it will be worth it at some point because I am worth it. The journey to get there is just much more exhausting than people admit.

My thoughts are still very twisted, many of my behaviors influenced by my still present mental disorders and I’m not leading the life I want, but I’ll get it one day if I keep going and don’t give up on my dreams.

Most of the people around me don’t know what I’m struggling with because it looks like I’ve completely recovered on the outside and don’t think I’ll make my plans reality either because that’s just ‘a phase all kids go through’, but even though it’s hard to distance myself from the things here that harm me emotionally (and there are a whole lot of them), the way I deal with all this is satisfying.

No matter what anyone including the voices in my head say, I’ll get what I want. I’ll get my degree and my carreer, my tattoos and my clothes, my apartment, driver license, dog and car, be a good mom, make it out of here with my son, leave this horrible small town life and small town world and never come back. I’ll leave everything behind without even looking once. And most importantly: I’ll be healthy and happy.

It’s all still very far away from me at the moment and that’s what makes it so difficult to hold on to, but I’ll pull through.

No matter what anyone says. This life will belong to me and only me and I’ll make it what I want it to be for me and my child, regardless of other opinions.

I’ll free myself from this cage. I just need to continue to keep my shit together and move forward until then, no matter what it takes and how tiring it will certainly be.

Time, strength, determination and willpower. These are the things I need for 2017.

This year can ACTUALLY be better

When I was a child, I loved Christmas. Loved the excitement, the preparations, decorations, smells, tastes, baked goods, dishes, wishes, books, movies, and, of course, the gifts that really brought the Christmas spirit into my heart. Over the years, I unfortunately slowly began to realize that Christmas actually isn’t nearly as awesome as we always expect it to be every year.
Countless songs and movies and weeks of stress all for an event that could never reach my high expectations seemed a little odd, and it disappointed me even more that the magnificent holiday harmony never really made it into our house since everyone annually tried their best to be nice, but ended up being just as bitchy and up for fights as they did the other eleven months of the year. The older I grew, the more my love for the legendary event faded until I recently decided I actually hate it.
So much money, horrible music, stupid stories, cheesy decor and films, complicated meals and days filled with nothing but stress all for the desperate attempt to pretend to be a happy perfect family and be kind to each other? We need one day we spend hugging our families, give each other presents and donate to charity and then we don’t give a damn for the rest of the year? Why? Why make such a huge deal out of that one day that’s never as great as they portray it on TV?
Honestly, I just find the whole thing really annoying today. I’m not even Christian and even if I were, the whole Christmas thing doesn’t have much to do with Christianity anyways considering it’s all about the food and wrapped new things, and nobody really cares about Jesus who was born in summer.

This year, I tried my best to get my family the perfect things, make a nice vegan meal my eating disorder could somehow forgive me for, look and act festive, smile, laugh, pretend to love everything and everyone and not talk about politics, but Christmas Eve ended up being the usual disaster anyways despite my desperate attempts and not screwing anything up.
My father spent the afternoon at our place which put me under such enormous pressure and made me feel so awful that I actually cried and purged in the shower and covered it up with some makeup afterwards to not ruin the mood, but when he decided to stay for Christmas dinner, I could no longer take it and kindly expressed that I’d prefer him to (finally) go- which ended up making me look like a mean bitch and him leaving angry and offended.

We (my mom, sister and baby) actually had a great time together unwrapping gifts for each other afterwards (I got some amazing clothes and books and seemed to have bought the perfect items for my folks), but my awfully touchy teenage sister freaked afterwards when we wanted to do the annual Christmas photos which led to an intense fight between the two of them with me right in the middle.
And as usual, I was the one to blame in the end because that’s just how things work in our family. Me being the only one who actively tried to create some harmony then made the others watch a crappy Christmas family movie which led to another fight because my wonderful little sister couldn’t even pay attention for five minutes without taking out her phone to text her friends who obviously didn’t care a lot about their own families either.

I mean, let’s be honest: I could have perfectly lived without Christmas in the first place. If they had listened to me just once, we wouldn’t have celebrated this shit. But because they insisted to be a part of the unnecessary social convention, I at least wanted to do it the right way and not make it the reason for another argument. I at least wanted it to be nice and peaceful.
But we rarely get what we want, so the day ended the way it already did the last few years: With everyone dissatisfied and angry.

The following day was a little better because it was a harmonic one without arguments because everyone was somehow suddenly able to pull themselves together, but what kind of sucked was the fact that we had lunch with my grandma at a restaurant where they pretty much only served meat which caused two problems: 1) My grandma is an extremely religous racist & 2) I’m vegan.
But: I made it through. I felt quite horrible the whole day, but I made it and there was no yelling or crying coming from anyone, so it was definitely better than the previous day.

What I’m telling you now might sound a little rude towards my family, but the only time I really got to enjoy myself during the holidays was when my best friend stayed for the night shortly after Christmas and she and I binge watched Stranger Things the whole night on the couch with red wine. So I guess that was my kind of Christmas. Nothing ‘christmassy’ involved, but I got what Christmas is (or should actually be) about: Happiness, peace, relaxation, harmony and fun with a loved one.
Let’s be positive, right?
If you can’t have a nice Christmas, you can at least have nice holidays afterwards.

Also, my only really close male friend (I usually can’t have friendships with guys without starting a relationship with them) came over for a night and I introduced him to the fabulous world of American Horror Story which was awesome.
Besides, we don’t get to see each other often, so I had missed spending some quality time with him.

And before I had the chance to pause for a moment and recapitulate the year that had passed so much faster than I had expected it to, New Year’s Eve had already arrived and I didn’t have anyone to watch my baby, so I stayed at home.
The thought of that was really depressing at first because it is somehow socially expected from people until the age of thirty to celebrate that day and make it a big party with friends or at a club, but the way the night turned out to be surprised me in the best imaginable way.
I can now honestly say that this was the best New Year’s Eve I’ve had in years. Isn’t that crazy?
I didn’t expect that AT ALL.
While I had spent the previous New Year’s Eve half asleep because my baby had only been a month old and therefore extremely exhausting and tiring, and the others before that partying even though I hate going out with people (I did it just to not be the outsider) and coming home done with my life, planning my suicide and cutting or purging, I really didn’t give a damn about what anyone would think about my way to celebrate this year and didn’t hold any expectations either, and maybe that’s why it turned out to be such a great night.
There is absolutely nothing special, party-like or cool about watching Netflix for the whole night while getting drunk and listening to Mötley Crüe, but who cares?
I don’t! And guess what? I love these things, so I enjoyed the night!
I mean, yeah, I had to actually lock the basement and put away everything that might trigger my eating disorder or depression which sounds ridiculous and made me feel so embarassed that I didn’t tell anyone except my counselor (I mean, I know that it’s because of my mental disorders, but I still feel really weak and like I have a huge lack of self-discipline thinking about it), BUT I MADE IT.
Without a breakdown, without binging, without purging or anything else related to my diseases.

I made it.
I started 2017 happy- for the first time in almost a decade.
I can now say that these holidays didn’t go as planned AT ALL, but they ended way better than I thought they would and I can proudly say that the new year has actually been good so far- for the first time in all these years.
I do struggle every single day (right now, I’m keeping my shit together to not purge the piece of vegan chocolate cake I ate because it wasn’t sugar free and sugar is one of my ‘forbidden’ foods) and it certainly isn’t easy and makes me doubt myself and feel depressed all the time, but I’m trying.
I’m a work in progress. And that’s okay.

Even though I so far haven’t binged or purged this year, I know that I will relapse again at some point. I’ve attempted recovery enough times to know how hard it is and how often failure is a part of it. It’s not a choice you make just once.
But this time, I’m trying anyways. I’m not giving up on myself just because things are hard because I’m now willing to waste another year I could invest to recover to feed my sicknesses instead.
Every day is a fight, but it’s worth it because I want to live the life I deserve with my son and my goals and dreams.
And I know that I can’t have any of it if I decide to give in to my twisted thoughts. Let’s be honest: This year will be tough. I’ll hate myself and my body, I’ll fall, I’ll feel bad, I’ll relapse.
But I’ll get back on my feet somehow because I don’t want to throw away everything I have and can have just because of the lies these voices are telling me about how worthless and weak I am, because I’m not.
This year won’t end with me being healthy and happy.
But it will end with me being healthier and happier than ever before.
Recovery takes a lot longer than 365 days, but 365 days are a good start.
It’ll be worth it.
For my family.
For my son.
And for myself.
I’m more scared than I’ve ever been in my life, but I need to do this in order to get my life back. This time, my resolutions will become reality.

I swear I don’t belong here
But I believe
Don’t tell me this all comes from fear
I promise I’ll be different
There’s nothing left
I’m on my knees surrendering
This can’t be

I didn’t know I lost it all
Didn’t know I’d break and fall
This isn’t who I’m meant to be
There’s so much here that I found missing

Appetite for destruction

Have you ever taken the national free online test for your stress, anxiety and depression level? Well, I have and that’s why I’m telling you about it. My results weren’t surprising, but just FYI:


Am I proud of these results? Hell no. But they unfortunately don’t concern me either, and that’s one the reasons why I’m starting to wonder what I’m actually doing here. I am certainly aware that I’ve been relapsing for a while because my anxiety has come back and it’s my way of compensating the terrifying worries about what my future holds (or doesn’t hold) for me, but what am I actually aiming for with what I’m doing? There is a quote I found on Tumblr a long time ago that said ‘the only thing I’m good at is destroying myself’ and I always considered it one of those wannabe-profound teenage depression attention-seeking things, but I am unfortunately starting to realize that there is something way too true about it I cannot deny. Even though I quit inflicting wounds on my own body years ago (despite the scars still being far too visible to the world), I still get a certain kind of satisfaction from harming myself in other ways that is definitely not good for me. I am fully capable of realizing what I’m doing and what consequences my actions will or will not have, but I occasionally purposely do something harmful regardless because of the feeling it gives me.

thoughts, black and white, and quote image

For instance, let’s talk about this year’s Halloween. Actually, it was really nice. My best friend stayed at my place for the night and so did my sister’s best friend, so we watched the entire Scream quadrilogy together because I love it and it’s the perfect horror movie series for people who don’t know too much about horror movies and get scared or grossed out too easily (not me, but my sis and friend). We had wine and snacks- and that’s where the happiness ends. Snacks. Yay. I obviously couldn’t ask them to cut those out because I’m suffering from a relapse regarding my eating disorder at the moment which means that I am absolutely unqualified to handle ‘forbidden’ foods (aka candy and junk food), but my bulimia also makes it impossible for me to stay away from it. So while the others enjoyed themselves, I kept eating big amounts just to then excuse myself for five minutes and quickly purge the entire small binge to have another one. At the end of the night, I was torn between feeling completely relieved, relaxed and satisfied (and actually also grossly proud because I made it), and totally disgusted and repulsed by myself because I sunk so deep again after making so much progress just a few months ago. I threw it all away- what for? How is this gonna make me happy?
It’s not.
But I cannot deny that harming myself this way, realizing that I’m definitely sick again and feeling how my body starts to get exhausted, weak and dizzy also gives me a sick satisfaction. I enjoy ruining myself and that’s wrong on so many levels.
But I can’t stop it either.

grunge, quote, and aesthetic image
I’ve been obsessed with hating and destroying my body for more than half a decade so far and the only time I was able to stop was when there was a baby inside of me. And as much as I love my son, I’m not planning on ever getting pregnant again, so those times are over and I need to figure out another way, but there doesn’t seem to be one.
I need to lose weight. There is no other way.
I don’t have the discipline to starve myself with a family so aware of my sick past and a basement filled with binge and purge foods and I can’t spend all of my time working out either, but I can take small steps. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, but I will be thin again. I don’t have another option anymore.
It’s sad that I’ve been fighting for so long only to end up here again. I know that this will never truly make me happy. My obsession with my weight gives me a motivation and reason to keep going and hold on, but I should choose differently and know better than this. I will never love myself if I keep following this path, but I don’t walk another one because it scares me way too much to change.
My fears are trivial and ridiculous, but they’re always there anyways, telling me how weak, lazy and fat I will be if I dare stop trying to get better. Convincing myself that I’ll never be good enough made me my biggest enemy, but also my biggest reason to never give up. This is sick, but it’s all I’ve got inside of me. It’s the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind.
And that’s sad because I have such a loving and caring family and beautiful son now, but that’s the problem with me: Nothing is ever enough.
I keep going, slowly destructing myself, only to seek a peace in mind I will probably never achieve this way. Maybe happiness is just an illusion to protect ourselves from the horrifying truth that we’re all trivial and nothing is truly worthwhile. Maybe there is no such thing as happiness for smart people in a world like this where there is so much to worry about.
Maybe I’ll find a way to deal with my issues and decide to take the hard road out of hell one day.
The struggle with my mental disorders is like a war: I’ll either win or die fighting.
It’s pathetic, really. But this huge hole inside of me I carefully conceal with a bitchy attitude and faked self-confidence is impossible to fill.
I catch myself thinking that at least it’s good I’m single now and didn’t make the terrible mistake to get back together with my brainless ex this summer because I am truly glad that nobody else is getting involved with the huge (and still growing) issues I’m having with my naked body again. I honestly don’t mind staying alone forever, as tragic as that might sound to some people.
I am utterly alone with myself and as lonely as it gets at night, it’s a good thing because I am intending to never share what’s going on with me with anyone but my counselor. Nobody but her knows that I’m going down again- and that’s how it’s supposed to be. I don’t need the fake concern and worried looks again. I really don’t.

Inspiring Image on We Heart It

This is the calming before the storm
This absolution is always incomplete
It’s always bittersweet

This is where it ends

black, life, and sad image

Hell is so close to heaven

The longer you walk the line between recovery and relapse, the more it starts to fade. I’ve wanted to recover since I realized my disorders were actually killing me in a way I didn’t want to die three years ago, but the doctors never tell you how hard that can actually be. People who never felt the way I do wouldn’t understand it if I told them that it’s hard for me to let go of my sicknesses. That there are actually parts I feel like I need in my life.
Lately, my relationship with food has been difficult again and I’m starting to lose track of the difference between healthy and sick behaviors. I’m starting to let my feelings take over me again, and being a BPD patient, my feelings are usually not exactly trustworthy. Somehow I manage to have the exact same breakfast every morning and never skip or make it smaller or larger, but as soon as the morning has passed by, things start to get difficult. My feeling of satiety has disappeared again, so I never know whether I’m hungry or just thinking too much about food again and struggle with eating or not eating a snack until noon. If I manage to not have one, I’m proud, if I only eat fruits, I can deal with it, but if it’s anything else, guilt tears me apart because I don’t believe I deserve any high-caloric snacks. Someone skinny can eat that. Someone skinny can allow themselves these things. But not me.  Not me.


Lunch is just another term for tearing myself up again. My stomach screams and my body needs food, so I need to eat something, right? But what? It needs to be something healthy and balanced with all of the nutrients and shit I need, but it can’t make me fat. But a meal like that doesn’t exist. So I create something with some veggies, carbs and proteins I don’t need to prepare for too long because I don’t want to spend so much time with the food, finish it as fast as possible and try to drown out the voice of guilt that showed up again at some point a few months ago and has refused to leave since. I hate the voice and can’t even put it into words how glad I was when it was gone, but as horrible as it makes me feel, it also gives me comfort because it creates the illusion that I’m in control.
It drives me crazy that I’m so obsessed with my goddamn weight again, but I refuse to change something about it. I hate being like this, but I can’t imagine going back to normal. Spending my days hungry, guilty, binging and purging or eating healthily from time to time is making me sick, but there is no other option because I can’t give up on this.
I hate my eating disorder, but I’m lost without it again.
When did I make myself so dependent again?


The line I’ve drawn between recovery and relapse is clearly visible now, and I’m not just walking, but dancing on it because I can’t choose a side.
I can’t go back to the sick life I once lead because I don’t want to die anymore, and I can’t say goodbye to them either because that terrifies me just as much.
I need some sort of comfort and stability in my head and this is the only one I’ve got with my incapability of maintaining a healthy relationship and all of my issues and anxieties. My messed up head needs the illusion of being in control and my disorders are the only thing that could ever make me feel like I have at least some of it.
I’m not happy, but not sad either, not pretty, but not ugly, not skinny, but not fat, not healthy, but not sick, not crazy, but not sane. I’m just stuck somewhere in between, impossible to figure out.
When people tell me I’ve lost weight, I smile because I noticed it when I put on my pants this morning, but my smile fades when I realize there’s so much left to lose, and I wonder where my real goal is. Where am I going with this? Who and where do I want to be some day? Will any of the things happening now matter then?
Or am I just driving myself crazy again?
There’s a quote in one of my favorite movies of all time (I got a tattoo dedicated to it this summer) that says “Nothing is trivial”, but is that true?
Does any of the stuff in my head really matter?
Do I?
And why are we all so desperate to always get and be more than we have and are? Why can’t anything be ever enough?

In the middle of a dream
On the darkest night
Woke up in a scream
Thought I’d lost my sight
Who you selling for tonight?

The hell called summer vacation

My mom, sister, son and I arrived in Italy on Saturday and will be here until the beginning of September. We’ve been to this country many times before because it’s one of the most beautiful ones in this world with its landscapes, language, architecture, history, people, food and culture, but there is this one little huge issue: It’s a summer vacation and summer vacations and I have had a little problem with each other in the last few years. Since my eating disorder started about six years ago, I’ve had huge body image issues and of course, they’re worst when you’re spending your summer vacation because that’s where you’re continuously confronted with bikinis, pools, beaches, heat, sunshine and short clothes which are all torturous things for people like me who can’t look at their bodies in a healthy way and have a rather disturbed image of them. For a long time, I struggled with choosing between staying at home with my son or going on this trip, but in the end I decided to come along because I thought I could handle it and really love Italy and my family. But I was wrong and overestimated myself. 

I can’t handle it.

At all.


I’m totally fine with our nice apartment and shopping trips and visiting cities and strolling around discovering new things in a foreign country, but this whole thing with the clothes and the sunbathing and swimming is killing me inside. I’m trying my hardest, but there’s no way I can do this. I went swimming once because I really love to swim, but wearing a bikini almost made me cry the whole time. It’s so pathetic, isn’t it? I don’t have the right to complain. I’m here at this beautiful place with my beautiful family on my son’s first vacation in his so far short life he seems to really enjoy and I’m constantly depressed. I smile and pretend I’m fine hiding in my room whenever my family goes to the beach or pool, but it’s all a big fat lie. I can’t stand it here.

I’m such an ungrateful weak little bitch. Others never get the chance to spend such a great vacation at a place like this and instead of enjoying it, I can’t handle my stupid sick thoughts that make me hate myself 24/7. The fact that I hate myself this much somehow makes me hate myself even more.

I hate myself because I thought I’d be strong, but I’m obviously not, and because I have a perfectly fine body and feel utterly disgusted by every single inch of it. 


And most of all, I hate myself because I’m ruining everything for everyone, again.

With my stupid sick thoughts caused by stupid disorders in my head I can’t get rid of.

Is this a part of recovery or a relapse? Because I can’t seem to see the difference anymore. All I want to do is leave right now, but there’s no way I can afford the flights for my son and me and my mom won’t leave with us until the scheduled departure in two weeks. And I definitely won’t ruin my family’s entire vacation by making them leave earlier.

So what will I do? Suck it up? I guess I don’t have another choice.

I’ll survive it, right? That’s all that matters. I can cry when nobody’s looking. 

I never thought this would be so unbearable, though. Hell, I’m so stupid. 

We are our own enemies

Since I started school again, I’ve been relapsing even though I gave everything to prevent that. But that’s the point of all this, isn’t it? No matter how hard I try, I’m never good enough. I feel like that’s the main problem in my life. Nothing is ever enough.
alone, beautiful, and dark image
I saw a doctor today because of my swollen ankles. Wanna know what his ‘medical explanation’ was? I’m too heavy. This shithead dares to stand up and tell me my freaking ankles are swollen because I need to lose weight. Well, first of all: I’m not overweight. Unlike someone who actually studied medicine, I do know what a BMI is and that mine is definitely normal. Not to mention that you don’t actually even need a BMI to tell whether someone is overweight or not; you just see that- especially as a doctor. Well, he didn’t. But there are more things about his ‘diagnosis’: I gave birth to a baby exactly five months ago and have been kind of busy since with my finals and, well, my BABY. And he knows that because he is- no, was- a friend of my mom’s. And last but not least, when he made that fucking so called diagnosis, I was actually stupid enough to tell him I suffered from a severe eating disorder for half a decade and really don’t need to hear that shit (I didn’t say shit- I’m way too polite when I talk to adults who act like douchebags) and his explanation for that was that I’m just a badly behaved pubescent teenage girl. Right. THAT’S my problem. Thank you very much DOCTOR.
But that’s actually not where I wanted to go with this post. I just used it as an example for moments when I feel like I’m just not good enough. Not thin enough, in this case.
broken, depressed, and heartbroken image
No matter how thin was, I was never happy with what I saw in the mirror. I remember when I looked into that stupid thing three years ago and my ribs were sticking out and I was wearing those way too huge jeans even though they were the smallest ones the store had had, I looked at all those visible bones and all I thought was: There’s still weight left to lose. This isn’t it.
It’s always been like that and now that I’m not obese, but did gain weight during my pregnancy (even though that’s basically the most natural and normal thing in the world and happens to every woman) and that fucking kills me inside every single fucking day. I don’t tell anyone but my counsellor I’m seeing again on a regular basis now. Why should I tell anyone else? They wouldn’t be able to help, so what’s the use? I’d only get fake pity and I really don’t need that. Those things don’t get better when you talk about them. Some things do, but not this crap. It only gets worse.
enough, grunge, and indie image
Same shit with my achievements: they’re not enough either; never have been. Back in elementary school, when I came home with an A, my dad used to take a look at it and then, instead of commending me, he would tell there were still a couple of points left I could have scored. That’s the mindset I grew up with and that’s been part of me ever since. Sometimes I don’t even bother to try cause I already know it won’t be the way I need it to be. Like maths. Already gave up there cause I know there’ll never be something better than an E- even though I worked my ass off to get better. It’s always the same shit. You try and work and put so much effort into something and screw it up anyway. Sometimes I think I just can’t take it anymore. This sick craving for perfection. Where’s it gonna get me? Nowhere. Because it doesn’t exist. You will always find something to criticize. There is no finish line, no point when you’ll be like ‘alright, now I’m good enough’. Who or what do we even have to be good enough and perfect for? Who the hell cares anyway? Why are we doing this to ourselves? Why am I doing this to myself? I know EXACTLY where it will get me. I’ve been there. It’s basically the road to destruction, but I’m taking it anyway, hoping it will be different this time, hoping I’ll make it this time. Hoping I’ll be happy this time. Hoping I’ll finally be able to live with myself, cause right now I’m just not. I can’t stand myself. I’m not what I need to be. Who I need to be.
book, books, and boy image
Who am I even trying to satisfy? The disorders in my head? The stupid people at school or other crap? My family? Myself? My son? I want him to be proud of his mom, but I’m not like other moms. I don’t have the perfect husband and the perfect house and the perfect job and the perfect life. Nothing is ever perfect when it comes to me. And I actually know that the perfect housewife’s life usually isn’t perfect either, that nobody’s life is, but I just can’t convince myself of that. Who am I and who do I need and want to be? And why is nothing ever enough? Why is this voice inside of me never satisfied with my accomplishments? Who is this voice? Is it me or society or my disorders? Why the hell do we hate ourselves this much? Why are we making ourselves our own enemies? There’s no need for it. But it’s what we do. Every single day, we put ourselves down because we can’t live up to some stupid expectations we or somebody else made up for us. And that’s what makes us fall apart. It tears us apart so badly, we need something to keep the rest of us together sometimes. Like drugs. Legal drugs since I’ve had my son, but still drugs. I’ve been smoking a couple times again even though I actually quit when I knew I was pregnant, so I got an e-cig now. Looks stupid and doesn’t exactly taste like a normal cigarette, but there’s no real smoke, smell, nicotine or cancer involved. I just need it to calm down a little. Oh, and I’ve been drinking a couple times. Vodka in a water bottle so people wouldn’t notice. I didn’t get drunk; I don’t do that because it’s stupid, ridiculous, low-brow and immature, but I drank a few sips here and there to keep my head from exploding at school. It’s stupid too, but I can’t help it there. Cassie describes it perfectly:
school, failure, and skins image
I just need something to keep myself from falling apart because I love my son more than anything, but there is nothing. Nothing inside of me expect for the love for him. He’s like this huge light in the middle of all the darkness inside. But no matter how bright the light is, the darkness won’t fade away completely. See, nothing is ever enough. I keep smiling and telling people I’m okay because they wouldn’t understand (I only tell people when I know they’ll understand cause telling others would be useless) and I take care of Jamie and I’m always there for him and somehow make it through every single day and pass my exams and all the other stuff, but all the pressure makes me feel like dying. I wanna let go, but I can’t. I need to hold on and somehow get through everything, no matter what it takes. I don’t have a choice. I’ll probably never be happy, but Jamie needs to be. He deserves it. I probably don’t.