I just want to die, like, my life is going nowhere, im a fat fatty, and my life will probably end in suicide anyway. Why should i live? Nothing will ever change, borderline personality disorder cant be “fixed” and people dont change so neither will i. I dont want to live anymore.
thanksgiving. a day when it’s perfectly acceptable to stuff your face like a pig. and that’s exactly what i’m going to do. i’m going to just say “fuck it all” and eat every last bit of turkey my mother makes. because i’m sad. i’m lonely. i’m miserable. i’m in such unimaginable pain. i need to eat everything. i deserve to be happy. my entire life has been nothing but unwarranted pain, mental illness, intense anger, and where does it all come from? who the fuck knows? it’s borderline personality disorder. nobody knows where it comes from. i deserve an escape. i have to deal with myself every minute of every day. i’m afraid of my own mood changes. i’m afraid of my own anger. i’m afraid of who i am, this monster i’ve become. i can’t deal with the pain of having to deal with the pain, so i’m going to eat and eat and eat until the pain is binged into submission. and when it comes back, i’ll do it again, and again and again, until i’m nothing but a blob of fat and sadness, anger, and pain.
also, i’ve failed the abc diet every day since i started, i feel like such a fucking failure, i feel so fat and worthless, and my ocd is really kicking my ass about it, so i’m going to fast for two days, then on saturday and sunday, eat and take laxatives, then fast for four days, and friday saturday and sunday, eat and take laxatives, you know, just binge on the weekends. i just hope i don’t binge too much, because every time i binge too much i eat and eat until my stomach feels like it’s about to explode (which i’ve heard is possible in people with eating disorders)
the cuts on my thighs from last week are starting to heal, they’re itchy as fuck. that’s part of the reason i haven’t done it for so long, because they itch when they’re healing. also because i’ve had no desire to do it. i don’t know why, it’s not a “phase” but sometimes i just don’t want to do it, and then i do it a lot to get out all the feelings i bottled up when i wasn’t cutting, like a cutting binge.
Please excuse my derpy face in the second photo…
Well, I got here from, honestly, lots of failure. There were days on my journey when I ate 5,000 calories of pure shit. There were days I wanted to quit - and did; but I started over again and again until I didn’t want to quit anymore.
When I started my journey I thought healthy people were annoying motherfuckers who liked to throw their happiness in my face, obviously I am now one of the motherfuckers :P Do not think you cannot do it, you will achieve your greatest dream. If you are where I was, heavier, or lighter, the story does not change YOU CAN DO IT!!
I used to scroll down “before and afters” and become depressed because I thought I would never be one, but here I am. And I am nowhere near the end, but this is about the journey - not the destination.
Message me if you have any questions about how I lost weight and what I am doing now.
i decided to use the most recent picture of me on the right. sorry my face is blurred on the left but you can see my figure.
:) “When you want to succeed as bad as you want to breathe, then you’ll be successful”
and i just wanna make a note of my legs on the left and on the right.
reblogging to point out the difference in my legs again!
i wish this could be me.
it’s official. my family doesn’t give a shit about me. i was freaking out and screaming and crying because i thought my mom was going to send me back to the psych ward, and my grandmother comes out of her room and says i “need to stop doing this to her” and that i “interrupted her nap” they don’t even know how traumatic the hospital was for me, so they have no room to say anything at all, they don’t know how i wake up crying and sweating in the middle of the night from nightmares, they don’t know because i never tell them, because i don’t want to give them more problems. one time. one time i scream and cry because i think i’m going back there, and they’re only concerned with me interrupting their day. how could they do this? how is that right? well my every single day is interrupted by flashbacks and random memories, and they say they suffer? they don’t even know what suffering feels like. they’ve never had to hold back tears in the middle of gym class because their own thoughts are bullying them, they’ve never had to go through life terrified of people even looking at them, and they’ve never had to go to psych wards. well, my grandpa did, but he signed himself out. i couldn’t do that. i couldn’t sign myself out, i was completely powerless, and nobody saved me, nobody saved me for three whole months.