150324

I have 30 pages of thesis written plus 2-page table of contents. Maybe this thing will even eventually get finished.. That doesn't stop me from stressing about it though. I am constantly afraid that it's all just bullshit and I've done something so utterly wrong it can't be fixed. Sucks to be paranoid.

I'm still stressed about getting a job for summer too. Only rejection letters so far and every single one of them makes me want to cry like no tomorrow. God damn am I not good enough for anywhere...

All that aside, the sun is shining. And just minutes ago it was raining.
That is beautiful. Ah.

I feel so useless. 

I'll never be anything. 

I'll never matter. 

That's just how it goes. 

150303

Is my suffering not good enough for you?

You won't even share your pain with me anymore. You may read my messages and answer days later if even then. I feel like I'm not good enough for you anymore. Am I not broken enough?
I don't have the discipline I'd need. Would I spark your interest again if I...
Did you only like me because I was so broken?
I still am. For now I've just glued myself together for a while. But I suppose it looks whole if you look at it from that far away. Why are you running from me? I feel like I can't reach you anymore...

Maybe I'm overreacting. Paranoid as usual.
But it still hurts.
I feel frustrated.

Please notice me. I feel so abandoned. 

150128

It's hard to even explain how utterly uncomfortable I feel in my body right now. I am also tired of social contact.

I just want to stay inside my apartment and not get out. I don't want anyone to see me. I don't want to see anyone. I want to be alone. I want to be alone until I feel better and less tired. Until I feel like I can be around people without being completely paranoid about how horrible I look. 

I hate my head so much. 

I also hate the fact how difficult it is to explain. 

A couple of nights ago I was standing at a rock and just thought. What if I just fell down from here? How many bones would I break?

I don't want to die. I want to get hospitalised. 

Because it's much easier to explain to people that you have a broken leg and can't do a thing instead of trying to explain that my mind is so sick it keeps me from leaving my bed. 

150111

One of the nights that I think I'm in serious need of help.

I will drown. And I will do so quietly. And no one will ever notice. Because I can't get any of it out.

No one will ever really know because I can't really tell.

I feel frustrated. Useless.

What good am I if I can't even help them feel better..

Just give it all to me. I will carry it. I will fucking carry it. I will.

Just leave them alone.

141123

I've lost 5kg of weight

And despite that it still takes a pretty sharp 0,7 seconds for me to start regretting every piece of food I've ever put in my mouth and start hating my body again. It's miserable. I'm back where I wanted to be, why am I not happy? 

I [am not] fat. I [feel] fat. And there's a painful difference in those two. 

I could lose 5 more kilos and still be just as unhappy as I am now. 

I need to fix that something in my head. I need to learn to love myself. Love my body. 

But how to do it? How? H o w ?

[141103]

trigger warning; abusive themes.

_______________________________________

It was the same dream again. He hated it. He wanted to wake up from it. But he couldn't. It was like the dream was dragging him down. It pinned him there and wrapped itself around him so tightly he couldn't breathe. It was the same nightmare again and again and again. And it never eased. It only got worse.

The courtroom was large. It reminded something European from a century or two ago. The large windows were covered with heavy, draped curtains that left the room dim. The light scattered around the room came from the flickering lights of candle flames. The light was alive. It was pure and natural and nevertheless it left the room cold. He shivered slightly, wanting to wrap his arms around himself to keep warm. The coldness chilled down to your very bones. And the coldness stayed. It stayed and inhabitet itself into his body, made his chest freeze to the point it hurt. His arms helplessly tied to the thick wooden armrests, the metal chains weighting against his skin cold and heavy. He sat there, unable to escape, unable to move, facing the sea of the faceless people in the jury. Why were they all smiling?

Guilty, guilty, guilty. 

He could hear the whispers in the crowd. 

Guilty. Definitely guilty. Look at his clothes. 

He glanced down. The pale blue shirt he was wearing was stained in splatters of dark red. His eyes widened. He wanted to explain. This wasn't him. It wasn't him. 

A boy of that age. He must be insane. 

No. The chains rattled as he tried to struggle in them. They were wrong. They had the wrong idea. It wasn't like that. 

Poor mother... such a monster for a child! 

His shouts were muffled against the gag in his mouth. There were hollow laughters filling the room.

Guilty, definitely guilty. 

And they all looked at him and laughed. These faceless monsters with their hollow voices. He was cold and alone and no one would help him. 

Guilty. Monster. Poor mother.. He deserves it all.

He could see his mother. Comforted by the sea of te faceless creatures. And she cried and looked so miserable, oh so miserable. But when she had the chance and their eyes met, there was that devilish smile on her lips. And he wanted them to notice it. He wanted them to understand. But they wouldn't. He would be the guilty as charged. That's how it went.

The boy woke up in cold sweat, breathing stuck in his throat. The red numbers of the alarm clock ticked at 2:58. He curled up on his mattress, trying to calm down his breathing again. Brushing off the hair from his face his fingers touched the bruise colouring his cheekbone and a quiet whimper filled the silence of the night. He hugged the blanket tighter against his chest, trying to keep the tears from flowing down onto his cheeks. He deserved it all. He was a monster after all.