mymelancholysoul

Thank you everyone for your replies and words of kindess and support. I had a bit of an episode over the weekend (someone on my hall writing a not so nice message on my dry erase board on my door). Luckily, Amy wasn't here because Id hate for something to happen to her. I'm working on getting into PRIDE (they review my answers tonight!0 and hope that everything works out. I'm in Nebraska because the school is affordable, really affordable. I don't mind the area, just the group of people in it can be hurtful for really no reason. I don't want to leave and have them think its okay to do what they are doing. If I transfer, then its almost like saying they have the upper hand and they can continue to hate homosexuals. I want to take a stand, not just for myself but for the people who are afraid to take a stand. But at the same time, I know my mother worries constantly about my safety. I love this school and the friends Ive made. Originally, I'm from the east coast (Maryland) so Nebraska was a huge change but one I was prepared for. My mother thought that getting out of our town would be a good thing for me but shes nervous about the people around here. Try as I might, I can't convince her that I'm capable of judging situations on my own. Everything was so much easier when I was a little kid. I just can't believe how complicated life got as I got older; even more so than most of my close friends lives. *sigh* I guess the idea that "nothing gold can stay" is too true.

Ever since middle school, Ive had the feeling that I was slightly different from the other girls. I wasn't peverted in the changing rooms as most might want to believe but sometimes it hurt to have to change in the showers because I was afraid something was wrong with me. At that age everyone has it in their minds that they are straight; boys date girls, girls date boys, end of story. When high school pulled around the corner, I started to really guess my sexuality but shrugged it off as a phase. Besides, its not like I had been with a girl or even kissed one. My boyfriend at the time, also the man I lost my virginity to, practically worshipped me. I figured if I made myself more desirable that he would continue to want me and eventually, I would want him. This was the scenerio for most of my high school life; dress like a whore and make all the men want you so that you'll maybe want them. I never did. I never wanted them near me and everytime it was suggested that we "get to know each other" in the bedroom, I did my best to bail. Everything I did, everything I said, everyone I tried to date was my way of staying straight. I didn't want to be a lesbian, hell I didn't even want to be bisexual. My 'friends' played around with each other but said they would never really mean it because that was gross or wrong. I didn't want to be wrong. I wanted to be normal. I wanted a boyfriend like all my friends had. But..that never happened. And two sexual assaults later, I really began to realize that I wasn't the girl I was trying to be. I started being more open and expressive about how I felt. Heck, I even dated Shay for a few months....the best months of my life. I mean, here I was with the most amazing person in the world and no one cared. My old friends were long gone and the new ones were so happy for me. Even after the break up, I was still holding strong. My mom and dad found out and were pretty great about the whole thing. My mom even took me to DC Pride and bought a PFLAG shirt. Shes been so completely supportive this whole time. So whats the problem? Well, this all happened while I was at home but I'm not there anymore. Where am I? In Nebraska, the freaking heart of conservative life. Ive found a few good friends that are really supportive but that doesn't stop the looks from everyone else. I wear a pride shirt or use my rainbow bag or go out with my purse that has pride pins and the like on the front, and people stare. They turn to their friends, whisper, point, and everyone looks at me like I'm the plague. The worst part is, its making my roommate feel weird. We've already gotten stupid notes on our message board and under our door. I dont want to put her in danger, you know? I mean, shes cool with everything but I just dont want to see her get hurt. And another friend has lost her friendship with another girl because she associates with me. Everyone is allowed to have their own opinion but when its brought to my friends, I get ticked. 'You know, shes the reason theres aids in the world.' Someone told my roommate that. What the hell. 'So what, are you her bi*** or something?' A comment made to a good friend. If they have a problem with me, thats fine, but they DO NOT need to do this to them. I know its making them feel uncomfortable and that kills. Ontop of that, I'm starting to get the feeling that as much as I want a relationship or at least someone to talk to...I wont find one here. Its starting to hurt and Im starting to hate myself all over again. I dont know what to do...where to go...who to turn to...and I just want them to not hate me before they talk to me....

I don't even know where to begin; how cliche is that? Everyone has a different opinion on where a person should start at. They ask questions to which you aren't even sure the answers to. Everyone sits down and begins a circle of trust, only to have it broken when a hint of blame is passed from one person to another. 'It can't be my fault', they think, 'I did my best at raising them'. Pointing a figure of fault in their direction is almost like telling Vincent VanGogh that Starry Night needs some work. A parent assumes they made a masterpiece with the materials given, that they could not have created a person of fault and flaw. But I'm afraid many of you might be getting the wrong impression here. I do not blame my parents and how I was brought up for anything in my life. I know which mistakes are mine and how the mistakes of others effected me. No, no I would never blame another person for how I feel. Did I grow up in a loving, stable home? No. Of course I didn't. My mother was too young and too far into alcoholism to understand that raising two daughters wasn't going to be easy. So, when she blamed the life she hated on us, we took it as part of her 'condition'. "Mom is just sick, Nicole. She can't help it." My sister would say when our mother flew into one of her mentally abusive rages. Of course, neither of us could find a reason for our father and his always distant personality. You see, if he wasn't yelling at someone in the house, our father was usually at the office or upstairs. Teachers and school counselors would later associate this to why I hyper matured and was emotionally distant from the other students. I stayed quiet for years and years because I never wanted someone to blame my parents. I was the one having social difficulties, I was the one isolating myself, and I was the one who refused to participate in class not my parents. They loved me but were just under the weather. It wasn't until high school that I finally began to come out of my shell and fall into more self destructive behaviors. I was less cold and distant but every tear I shed showed a mark of weakness and for that, I had to be punished. The scars I wore around my wrists and ankles proved that I was a person of great fault. Even after the sexual assault, I blamed myself for being in the situation. I didnt have to fall asleep in a bed with a drunk man. I could have gotten up, I could have left, I could have done anything. But again my weakness of tears took over and brought no comfort when I attempted to tell my friends the situation. They too blamed me for what had happened. It wouldn't be until my senior year that I finally told my father in a letter. He never suggested I seek therapy or justice but simply told me that if I needed to get out of a situation to call him. In a way, I felt relieved that he didn't try to ask for the details. By then, you see, I had been attacked again but by someone I once cared for deeply. He took what I wrote at face value and assumed I had handled the situation on my own. But why wouldn't he? I had always been the one to handle our passed our mother, hungry brother, and dirty house. My mother was supposed to stay away from the bottle after being diagnosed with heart disease but she was fighting her own demons. I held myself together the best I could, finding comfort in self injury and poetry. My friends assumed I was alright because I never really discussed what it was really like at home. As my senior year came to a close, I finally realized that I could really come more into my own at college. I was finishing up four years with friends I loved dearly and it seemed as though life had found a safety zone. But six days before our graduation, tragedy hit with a vengance. Lauren Latham died at 7:30 in the morning on May 25th on her way to final exams. I never understood how I even came to terms with her death. I don't honestly think that I have and most say I'm not even dealing with it. But how should I react? I hurt and cry and miss her dearly but her death is still quite unreal. Maybe I am too numb at the idea of her death? I don't know. Graduation came and went, as did the summer. I was the first to leave for college and am here now. I live in Maryland but have come to Nebraska for my education. This past year or so, I finally reached a calm with my mother and have left her. I have left my friends, my sister, my nieces, my entire world. I left behind Lauren in her cold grave. I left behind trips to Dennys at two in the morning with Jon. I left behind reciting the Mummy while watching it with Katherine. I was ready for independence since age six but now I wish, I could be home. I want to be there more than any other place, despite the hell it raised in my heart and soul. I'm lossing ways to cope with these emotions and am terrified of failure. Lately, I have been having flashbacks of memories Id much rather repress. The depression I thought I could control is taking over once more. I'm not sure what to do, where to go, ect. I blame myself and am taking responsibility like I know I should but thats bringing me any comfort. My new friends think this is just a stage of homesickness but I have this feeling that there is more at work here....

Dear Nightmare, Did you know I had to take a forty mintue shower tonight just to wash off the feeling that still crawls over my body? Its been over a year and you still make me cry in a bathroom stall. I hope you know that even out here, I find it hard to sleep. You make me feel like complete and utter hell; as if I will never feel complete or secure ever again. Each time someone touches me, I want to scream and fight or just runaway and hide. I'm afraid to stay out too late or go to parties or be anywhere where someone might take me to a bed. I don't even want to sleep in my bed. I'm afaid youll come out from beneath my covers and be on top of me. I want to lock myself in the closet with the light on and never sleep again. I'm afraid. I'm afraid there will be another one like you and again, I won't be able to stop you. I hate me. I hate the way you make me feel. I hate how much it hurts to be alive and how much you control me. I hate this. I hate me. I should have done something. I should have not contacted you. I should have...I should have....so many things I should have done. Damnit. Damn me. (Yes, I have returned from my many months of being away. For those of you who remember me, hello again. For those of you who I do not know, hello in general. You will be hearing from me again as I am now in college and lost a close friend three months ago. I'm such a down note. Sorry.)

Last night I had a drama class showcase in which I was performing a scene from Taming of the Shrew. I have been working on this for months; getting together a costume, building up my character, running lines each and every day with my co star, and helping my co star get his costume. This past week I've been on the edge because I wanted so badly for this night to go well. On top of my scene, I was involved in the last act which was a dance with the whole class to the Austin Powers theme song. I continued to remind my parents that the show was Friday night at 7 and that it was free but to bring a few dollars for our donations bin. My sister had her baby on the 27th and my mom went to stay with her and said she would probably not be able to go. My dad, on the other hand, promised he would be there for me. After the show we all went off stage and everyone met with their parents and friends and took pictures, received congratulations, and flowers. I waited near the pit and looked out into the seats for my dad, panting from dancing. I didn't see him, so I ran up the stairs and out the doors to see if he was in the lobby. He wasn't. I started to panic, then cry. I cried for well over thirty minutes and wanted nothing more than to hurt myself (I've been a self injurer of over three years). When I finally calmed down enough, I called my house and my mom went off saying she would have been there if I told her the time. My dad never got on the phone. I stayed at a girlfriends house that night and went home the next day (today). We had tickets to see David Copperfield and I was running late from her house. My dad was furious and refused to even look at me in the car. We got to the show with fifteen minutes to spare. Afterward, my father walked a good ten steps ahead of me the whole time. My mom said I really pissed him off. She said I should have been there and it was foolish of me to be late. I had hurt his feelings but really just ticked him off because he wanted to see the show. And its not as if we didn't. I am home now and asked my mom if I could see a flick and borrow a few dollars. She said she wasn't sure if she should because I was late and pissed my dad off. I burst into tears and said, "Well does he know how much it hurt to not have him there?" She told me to stop being a drama queen and that it wasn't a big deal. Mind you, acting is what I plan on spending the rest of my life doing. My parents are rarely there to support me in the things I do such as choral concerts, after school functions, theater nights, or anything of that nature. Whenever I get my report card, they tell me I could be doing better. I have maintained a gpa of well over 3.5 this past year but still, I am nothing to them. Everything I do is wrong. Everything I don't do is wrong. I can never please them. My question is this: What can I do to make them love me and want to be there for me?

Alright, so my GYN put me on Zoloft over a week ago. And yeah, I've been having a few...issues. First of all, I'm ALWAYS tired now. And light headed. And alot of the times, I'm tired but my body just will not let me sleep. And I'm never hungry, so I don't eat, then I get sick because I barely eat. Or when I do eat, I always feel like Ill get sick. I've been loosing weight, I can feel it. When I suck in a little bit, I can see the outline of my ribcage and a few ribs. I get shakey sometimes and twitchy and a bit paranoid... My mom thinks these are temporary and will go away, but I keep freaking out.... Anyone on Zoloft? Anyone know someone on Zoloft? Please please please, if you know if this is normal or what to do..please tell me.

Three. Two. One. 6:00 am. The radio plays a tune; one that everyone is sure to know but me. My hand calmly reaches accross the floral print bedside table, past a stale glass of water, fingers sliding the alarm bar to off. Jean covered legs swing over the side of a perfectly made bed, crossing at the ankles. I wasn't tired anyway. Down the hall feet patter rapidly over solid wood floors. A door slams and she screams for mother. Cody made it there first again. Sylvia swears up and down that she needs the bathroom far more than he. I once tried explaining to her that by being last, she would get more time. Her little nose wrinkled as the heel of her foot dug into my toes. So much for sisterly love. But what would I know about what its like to be last? I'm always first in the bathroom. Of course, I'm first for everything. The first to wake up, the first to shower, the first out the door, the first to my homeroom. I was even the first born. I blame my parents making me their first child as my reasoning as to why I'm first for everything iny my life. My backside slides off the edge of the purple colored comforter, hands folding neatly in front. Both wet braids slam into my fallen shoulder blades as I stand as if attention. I can hear mother opening the cabinets downstairs to start breakfast as the hot water causes a steel kettle to scream for mercy. The whole house has come alive and its on six o' eight in the morning. I leave my dark hollow; red bag slung over one shoulder as I head toward the dimly lit stairwell. Sylvia has her back propped against the wall accross from the bathroom. Every so often, she slides forward and slams a barefoot into the door. Cody yells and the lock cringes with fear. Her baby blues send me a dark glare as I begin my descend into reality. Shes breathtaking in the morning when sitting at our kitchen table. Beams of lemonade splash through the stained glass windows, painting my mother a masterpiece. Every strand of her perfect strawberry blond hair is pinned back into a butterfly clip. She sips tea from a coffee mug while reading the daily happenings of our timid town. One leg is propped over the other at the knees and it moves to the beat the radio plays. A lose fitting robe matches the same ice color of her gentle eyes; eyes that don't even realize someone is watching. She laughs gently, taking another sip of Earl Grey, turning the page of her paper. I take a slow step forward into my mothers light, wanting to take in more of her radiance. But the soft creaking of my dreary black shoes on the white floor causes the beauty which pulsates from my mother to face. One foot pushes out a chair accross from where she sits, offering me to join her. I accept and place my bag on the table next to a cup of juice. She stares at me with now disapproving eyes. I look up from my soggy oatmeal, not needing to utter a word. "Elizabeth, why don't you do something with your hair for a change?" She says that every morning because every morning my hair is always braided. You see, I wasn't blessed with my mothers soft locks of blond beauty. In fact, if you compare my appearance to hers, Cody's, or Sylvia's I look like a complete stranger. My ratty birds nest is the color of coal from a West Virginia mine. Dull brown orbs seem to fall in sync with my abnormally pale and pasty flesh. Compared to everyone else, I look to have been adopted. I inherited my "fathers" drab physical appearance. I call him my "father" because no one one the face of the earth has seen or heard from him in seventeen years; since I was born. Richard was the closest thing to a father I have ever had. Unlike my own anonymous sperm donor, Richard stuck around to raise his offspring. He died three years ago. Sylvia and Cody were devastated; being only eleven and nine at the time. The four of us stayed in the same house, unlike those families on TV that leave their whole life behind when a loved one dies. Unlike them, we do not need to skip town to realize life was much better but does go on after that person is gone. And also unlike those sitcom families, our pain did not end within two hours. Before I can answer, or even think of opening my mouth, Cody comes barreling into the kitchen. Hair gel drips from his ear into a cup of milk. Both mother and I cringe before she climbs down from her chair to stand next to the full-of-life Cody who can't seem to sit still to save his life. He pours that same milk over a bowl of sugar-loaded cereal. My mothers gentle hands comb through her princes short honey colored hair, helping it spike up. Our lives, since Richard's death, had become nothing but routine. Every morning was filled with the same simple tasks; followed in a mind numbing order. Changing how things were done did nothing but through everyone else into complete chaos and I had given up on trying to make things different. Its the first part to the first chapter of something I'm working on. Please be honest in your replies.

I was 14, he was 18. Little did I know, two weeks before we started dating he screwed one of my friends. We only had sex twice but besides being forced, I haven't had any other sexual experiences (sex, oral, ect).

I have been having these small breaks all week, but more so toward the end. Sometimes when I'm away from home, as I have been at a friends, I get a little moody and act out. But this is different than all those times. I'm not moody. I'm angry, hurt, depressed. I'm a landslide in action. I'm falling to pieces but everyone around me could care less. I know, If you don't say something is wrong nobody can help you. The thing is, generally most know when something is wrong with me. I'm usually smiling or laughing or being so out of this world. Lately, I can't even make myself laugh let alone someone else. I know its hurting those around me, because I'm pretty sure the friend I was staying with knew something was up but didn't want to ask. Even if she did, I would probably convince her nothing was the matter and I was simply tired. Thats partly true; my being tired and exhausted has always effected how I act. I don't think I really have a question so much as I just wanted a nice rant. To top it all off, I've been eating regular type meals while at this friends house. I had almost forgotten what it was like to have more than a few hundred calories in a day, let alone in one meal. Today is my first day home and I've only been here an hour or so, but I'm already planning how to not eat dinner and what excersizes to do. I don't want to eat. I know I'm probably hungry because yesterday I just picked at my food but I can't find it in me to sit down and have lunch. The whole idea of eating while I'm home sickens me. I only ate there because I knew she would thing something was wrong if I didn't. And I don't want to worry my best friend because its not that big of a deal. Yes, I have weight obsessions. Yes, I have disordered eating. But no, there is not a reason to become excited or frantic. I don't have any questions. I just wanted a rant. If you comment, you comment. If not, Id understand because I wouldn't waste my time on me either.

The air is tense tonight As we pretend the world is beautiful That the pain we share does not exist And even though you're yelling I still cannot hear the words As they tear into my flesh Like tiny razor blades. I take every harsh glare As if it were salt in an open wound Stinging and flinching but without Vocalizing the real pain that dwells inside Each cruel, tormenting phrase prickling Down my spine and ribs Like a swift punch or kick Because you don't have to be physical, mommy To hurt me in the ways that you do. I can feel the moonlight dancing over each Spindle of my red hair as it spirals down My vertebrae and protruding collar bone The arches of my feet tipping me back and forth In a rocking motion on the carpet of my bedroom floor As tears roll over pale cheeks and shimmer brightly On my crossed arms that sit atop scabbed knees. I lost another war tonight The one I fight every day of my life That I spend with you and sadly, myself The war against your hatred of my fair existence And the battle ground of my bathroom Who is the stronger force? You? The scale? The mirror? Certainly not me. Its been awhile and I know that was really horrible.

Thank you avman... I'm going to give them a call tonight...If I can muster the courage to talk. I know it sounds stupid but I have this fear that somehow they'll find out where I live and take me away. Or they'll think I'm so unworthy of their time. And the whole time...they'll think I'm a fat cow. How warped is that? I'm so completely stupid. But I'm so afraid of telling people in person or even saying the words, "I eat too little" outloud without taking a long look in the mirror and seeing how untrue that is. I should be thinner. I should be. I want to be. I don't...its so hard and confusing and I just...I'm so afraid of telling people and them thinking less of me or hating me. You know when a girl at my school found out I used to purge...you know what she said? "There are starving people all over the place and you stuffed your face and threw it all up. You're disgusting. You make me sick. All those starving people and you waste all that food." So now I don't even want it because if I end up purging Ill just be wasting the food so why eat it? I don't want it. I don't deserve it. Its so hard to explain and I know I'm not making any sense. Thank you again...

I have finally come to the conclusion that something is seriously wrong with my eating. I doubt DSMV would consider me anorexic but I certainly show the traits. For anyone thats been following my posts, they know I have been having a tough time with my eating habits. I am constantly reducing my daily intake and use the scale as my determining factor in all aspects of life. I have the desire to be perfect and when I eat more than 800 calories in a given day, I panic and hurt myself. I am NOT ready to speak with a counselor or nutritionist or even my own mother, as I see her as a contributing factor to how I eat. I do, however, have a question or more so several. 1. What is considered starvation and restricting? 2. How many calories are you actually supposed to be taking in? Mind you, I'm seventeen and about 5'5". 3. Is there a hotline I can call, I live in the states, that can maybe give me some comfort? I'm more so disordered eating than eating disordered. Please don't rant and rave about how I should be locked up or how stupid I am being. I went through bulimia in middle school and was kicked off the track team because of it. I KNOW the health risks of COE, ANA, MIA, ect. I have lost one friend to eating disorders and nearly lost another girl. I know what can happen, so please don't list the health risks. I KNOW there is a problem but I am NOT ready to completely confront it. Any advice or words of kindness or answers to my questions would be greatly appreciated. =) Thanks a million

you her layers of fat: I'm the exact opposite. I gain a few ounces and I start to panic. But just like being too thin, there is being to overweight. You don't want to risk your health, both mental and physical, for beauty. Please take care of yourself because being overweight causes almost, if not more, medical problems with being drastically under. You can stress out your heart, develop diabetes (which can lead to all sorts of complications like blindness), and all sorts of things. Please please PLEASE be careful.

No. Not me. Goodness no. I just thought it was a pretty picture so I used it, sorry. I should have clarified that. Sorry. We don't eat together. We haven't even all been in the same room, unless of course someone is getting yelled at, since I was in the sixth grade. We aren't a family. Were four people living in one very limited space. But I guess its better than forcing us to be together. They would just fight then to stop their fighting pick something I or my older sister that moved out did wrong to fight about. This way it doesn't make my brother upset. He doesn't like to see them fight, so they find something or someone else to take it out on so he doesn't cry and panic and get upset. He shouldn't have to. I can't go back to professional care. I can't. I can't do that. They'll stick me in a hospital, I won't graduate, and then I'll really be a screw up. I don't purge anymore. That was my moms rule. No binging and purging. So I don't. Sure, sometimes I get sick but come on....food gets greasy and I have a weak stomach. Someone else gets sick, I get sick. It happens. No big deal. I take multi vitamins everyday. A womans vitamin, vitamin C, these things for my metabolism my mom bought that I don't really know what they do but take anyway, and sometimes my moms iron pills. I don't want to upset her. Shes the sick one, not me. She has heart disease. Shes always saying how...'Well what if I had a heart attack and I died. Is that what you want?' NO! OF COURSE NOT! I love my mom. I love her. I don't want her to die until I'm older and married and I have kids of my own. I want to lose weight...sometimes. Somedays. Most days. Everyday. When you see the girls at my school that have the straight A's, and are in th clubs I'm in, and the theater kids...skinny. So its like...why aren't I? I coud look like that. I used to be twig thin. I want it...so bad...I just want everything to work out and for once in my life to have someone say, "Nicole I'm so proud of you. You did such a good job you're beautiful and intelligent and your really going places. Im so proud of you.' I know its twisted and warped or it must sound so. I count calories but its not like they control me. I just keep a tab on how much I take in a day. Because like, you aren't supposed to go over 2,000. I don't. And thats good, right?

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for posting this. I didn't mean to upset anyone or make it seem like...I'm so sorry.... I'm just so out there these days, you know? I graduate and start college in the fall. And I've been trying to be this perfect little girl and I can't. And I feel like this failure. So when I don't eat and I get sick from eating anything large, I feel like I deserve it. Like somewhere in the strands of time I screwed up and now have to pay for it. I did the whole...therapy thing. First in middle school for my eating and that just...I don't want to talk about that. It hurt so much. My track career right out the window. Then in sophmore year for an OD and for my behavior. My paranoia. I was yanked by both parents after a few months. They said that the doctors were stupid to think I was depressed. I had no reason to be depressed. I feel so completely...I don't know how to explain it. But I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for posting this and expecting my world to just be solved. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such a bother. I will never be good enough for anyone, not even myself. Not at this rate.

I don't know. I don't. I mean, is she hurting me? Would she really do that? She says its okay...so it is, right? I've been trying to find a middle ground with everything. Restrict Restrict Restrict I get this feeling she doesn't love me. And I don't want that. So I try to do everything I can to change that. I lose the weight, I get the grades, I babysit, I cook, I clean. I'm not good enough. I never will be. Thats the truth, isn't it?

Its not like...Im an unhappy person. I smile. I laugh. I make jokes. I'm the star of any social group. So why should it matter? Because there is so much more to being thin than losing weight. Its everything The pain The control or lack there of Its so strange and so stupid at the same time I'm not really unnattractive Sure, its not like there's a line of people trying to be in a relationship with me, but I've always been able to deal with that. Always. So when I started feeling crumby, I decided...maybe a change was needed. So I started doing my hair differently. And I realized. Well maybe if I lost a few pounds, that would be good too. My mother is always downing on my weight. Even when I was 98lbs. I still wasn't small enough. Mind you, that was like....ages and ages and years and forever ago. I'm nowehere near that now. She always encourages me to lose weight. To exercise. She loves me. Mother knows best, they say. So I mean, this is okay...right? She knows how I feel. I tell her. I tell her I don't like me. She tells me to change. I say I'm going to lose weight. She says thats a good idea, I could stand to lose a few. Alright. Fine. I tell her, I eat once a day. She says she'll make that once a day be something healthy. She loves me. She does. Right? Right? She wouldn't hurt me? Its okay to be hungry....

So here we go. I don't eat. Its as easy and as complicated as that. I can go days without eating anything but ice chips and its really sick. Nobody stops me and my 'mother' encourages my wanting to lose weight. Its so much more than that. Just like in middle school. I didn't stuff my face then purge it all up to be thin. Sure, that was a factor. But there was so much more. She says its okay to not eat three meals a day. Okay. Okay. Thats alright, right? She makes me a small plate of veggies for dinner and makes my brother chicken and noodles and who knows what else. Question time: Is my mother being wrong? I mean, would she intetionally put me at risk? Don't start the whole, 'Your a sick kid whos anorexic and should be locked in a hospital'. Seriously, I really don't need to hear that. I'm not anorexic. My BMI IS NOT below 17. Thats whats considered medically anorexic. But seriously, she wouldn't put me at risk, right? She wouldn't put me in danger...right? She says what I'm doing is alright. Eating once a day. Literally. Sometimes not even that. And exercising until sometimes I want to cry. I mean, my mother knows whats going on. I'm not over weight according to my BMI....but I feel so...disgusting. I was diagnosed in middle school. Now? I probably have nothing. Nothing is wrong, right? I mean...my mother...she loves me...she would want to hurt me...right? right? ....right?

If there is one person you want to be perfect for, its probably your mother. She birthed you. She gave you life. The only reason you are here is because that woman decided to keep you. thereforeeee its logical to assume that any amount of pain you go through for her is worth it. Pain. Pain isn't even part of your vocabulary when it comes to the love you show your mother. Besides maybe being a pain in HER life or causing HER pain. Thats right. Shes the one suffering, not you. You don't suffer. You don't feel. You do whatever it takes to make her please, happy. You do what you must to gain her love. You have to earn that emotion, you know. She said you were looking a bit chunky. No harm done, no harm. Just skip out on dinner and go for a run instead. Maybe if you burn off enough water weight and calories you can have some fruit salad. There's nothing wrong with that, its just one meal. In the morning you look at the scale and it doesn't show much of a difference. Fine. Alright. No problem. Why not work out a little before getting ready instead of having a bowl of cereal? Just grab a glass of water on your way out and you'll be as good as new. A few weeks go by on this little routine and she notices how lovely you look. Job well done! You have earned a little respect from her, congratulations. You binge. How could you? She says you look a little nice and what do you do? You screw it all up, thats what! You eat three meals and have snacks all day. You stupid failure. How could you? Better yet, how dare you? Another month goes by and she sees you've gained weight. Nice one. What did I tell you? I knew this was going to happen but you wouldn't listen. Restrict again, thats the only way. But instead of one meal, why not try a little fruit over the course of the day? Maybe cut up an apple and have a few grapes? And increase that workout! Your legs are looking horrible. Tuck in that stomach when you do crunches or noting will change. Another few months of this and maybe, just maybe you'll earn back that respect. The mirror. The mirror is telling the truth. You're a fat cow and the scale is broken. See what you did? You broke the scale with how fat you are. Good job stupid. Now what are you going to do? Cry? How dare you! How dare YOU cry! You're mother brought you into this world and experienced the worst pain of all. You have a few hunger pains and headaches and you start bawling. What a baby. You don't deserve her love and you never will at this rate. You look thinner, she says. Good job. Very good. But you know, its not enough. Don't binge. Why are you binging? Why are you eating! Get rid of if heifer! Now! NOW! Right into the toilet. There we go. Very good, very good. How did that feel? You've found gold, you know. Maybe I was a bit harsh. You can eat. Go ahead. Eat as much as you like but you had better rid yourself of the poison afterward. You aren't loosing anymore. You aren't getting any smaller. Restrict. Restrict. No more eating. Nothing. Thats what you deserve. NOTHING. She saw you binging. She thinks you're disgusting. You eat more than she does and shes had kids. Whats your excuse? She says you're going to make yourself fat all over again. Is that what you want? Her shame? Her disappointment? Don't you want her to comment on how lose your jeans look? Don't you want to see her smile when you try on a dress and it drapes off your body because you need a smaller size? Then you had better pull yourself together. Right now. Before its too late. Maybe when you're nothing, she'll love you.

Flicker On Off On Off Flicker Feels like Im fading Constantly fading Falling Hush Hush Listen Hear that? No, You wouldn't Pop One Two Ten Twenty Small white candies Dancing on my tongue Down Down Down they go! Will she stop? Nobody knows!!! Go on Laugh Laugh it away Feels good, Doesn't it? When they swirl around your mind Click They hit the floor All over What a mess What a mess Drip Drop Drip Drop Tink tink tink Into the sink Little crimson pearls Beautiful Almost enough Almost enough String them up Make a necklace Where it around your neck Thump Thump Slump on the floor Can't see anymore Flicker On Off On Off Flicker Off Blown out

Do you remember what it was like to smile? Laugh? I mean a real smile, by the way. Not the one you press from cheek to cheek to appease all those around you. That isn't a smile; thats lie, a mask we wear to hide the real feelings inside. Just like when you laugh at a joke you don't understand or find remotely humorous; but you laugh all the same because if you didn't, they might suspect. What would they suspect? I think you know the answer to that question. Some might be as rash as to check your arms and legs, then cry at the gashes that tear over your flesh. They blame you; blame you for these marks, these burdens placed on your skin and soul. They act as if you have some sort of control over the addiction; the itch in need of scratching. They become angry when you fail to resist the temptation of the blade and start to make threats of telling an adult about your little "problem". Secretly, they wish you would be sent away because then they wouldn't have to deal with the "problem". Just like the parents that raised you; they would sooner sell you to a padded cell than help the "problem" at home. Thats alright, though, because you don't even know there is a "problem". Not yet anyway, not today. There is nothing and everything wrong, right? The world can't be that horrible but at the same time, everything is burning alive. Nobody is listening. Nobody cares. They won't stop moving past as you stand behind a soundproof wall screaming at the top of your lungs. Another "friend" passes by without even looking in your direction. But thats not what hurts the most, no no no. What hurts is when they DO look but instead of taking you in their arms, they watch. They stand there and watch as you bleed out onto the floor from your soul. Your dying and they could care less! If you expect them to open the door one day, you're wishing on a fading star. But its not as if you really want them to do something, is it? You want to be in pain because you know in some way, you deserve it. There was something you did to hurt others and now, it is time for you to pay. You take the blade in your hand and draw is over your flesh because its your fault. You screwed up and now you are going to have to take the consequences. Why doesn't everyone pay this way, you ask? Because they aren't a little failure like you are. They have parents that are proud, friends that stand beside them, and a life that actually matters. When you discuss suicide with any one person, they tell you to hang on; if not for yourself, then those that love you. What the hell are they talking about?! They don't even understand what is going on but here they are telling you what to do. But because they know your intentions, you do not follow through. You sigh and take a step back into the soundproof room where everything repeats itself. The only truth you know is that you deserve this happening. You deserve a life of pain, agony, fear, and self hate. You know they will never understand and you know you don't deserve their help.

Nicole, inbetween: 6:00 am. Time to wake up. Time to wake up. WAKE UP DAMNIT! Yes, another day. Where's your shoe? You'll miss the bus again and he won't take you. 8:00 am. Finally at school. School school school. You failed another test. Your paper is a day late, no two, no three. Failure. Worthless stupid failure. Lunch. Good. Now everyone can think about how fat you are. But the fries down. You've had too much. Time to run. Run away. Run away to the bathroom and get rid of it all. It hurts. God it hurts. At least they aren't asking questions. More classes. More F's. Come home. Holli went into heart failure. Brooks trying to kill herself. You sister is having contractions at six months. Moms mad at you. Look what you did. You stupid effing failure. Just do it. You stupid worthless w**re. Just do it. Just do it. Voices...calling....crying....biting....tearing at my flesh. Just...do it...just do it....now...now....NOW! Right....now....before its too late.....NOW....

First Question: Everyone has their own cutting comfort zones. For me, its my wrists and forearms and then on my thighs. And if you're looking to kill yourself through slitting your wrists, not a good idea. Cutting helps cope...suicide is the permanent solution to a temporary problem. I can't tell you where to cut or to stop because then I would be a hipocrite. Secon Question: I never have really good excuses for the cuts or scars but then again, I don't let people see. Long sleeves...bracelets....pants....tights....arm warmers....everything to keep them hide. These cuts are mine and nobody can take them from me...they can't condem me for this. They are mine. Overall Opinion: Cutting can only distort problems, not get rid of them for you. In the end, YOU still have to deal with everything that comes your way. -hugs- Message me anytime.

The holiday seasons have always held a certain pain in them; especially Christmas and the New Year. Unlike most, my family spends this "merry" time of year wondering why it is we are still alive; why we haven't taken the liberty to end it all. My mother, if you can call her that, used to spend the season emptying another bottle but because of her heart disease, can no longer find the simple joys in drinking. Her inability to become intoxicated has left Dawn in a state of anger and frustration. In all reality, I believe my mother fears the death her own mother had to endure. Mark is no pilar of strength either and spends most of his free time upstairs on the computer. The family, or unit that is forced to cohabitat together, is not important to him. I am not important, my brother is not important, Dawn is not important. Mark has become a void of human existence bent on loosing himself in the world of make believe monsters. My nine year old sibling finds comfort in the television or seeking shelter at his best friends house. When he is there nobody can hurt him not even the memories of our painful existence. We are a house, not a home, built on fear and self hate. None of us can cope properly and never cease to destroy those around us. Beneath our mask of smiles or tears we are broken and lost. At the age of seventeen I have perfected the art of becoming invisbile to not only my "family" but to myself. I can spend hours in my room but not realize that a single second has gone by. Self injury has become so impulsive to me, that I can start cutting and remain doing so for lengths of time without even understanding what is going on. Over dosing has become more than an attempt at my life but an art of keeping myself sane. This holiday season is no different than any of the others that have come and gone, save for the constant stream of bad news. Taija, a close friend, enters a clinic just after the New Year and I don't know when the next time I will talk to her is going to be. Angie has returned home for the holidays but has realized how warped it all is; her self injury is leading to my slow mental demise, but its not like my problems really matter. Brook continues to make attempts on her life and sulk at moving to a new house in Pennsylvania. Each night it is the same senerio and each night I am left wondering if she will be online or call the next day. Katie's prolonged problems with Jake, Diana, and her own faulty family leave her with little time to even see my here. Then the other night, the wonderful news continued to come. Holli is in the hospital dying a slow and painful death. Her eating disorder took a turn for the worst and the damage done to her cardiovascular and respiratory systems is irreverisble. She had a heart attack Saturday night; the same night I was at a Christmas party trying to remember what it is like to smile. If she makes it through the holidays, her survival rate is slim to none. Taija is leaving, Angie is destroying herself, Brook wants to die, Katie doesn't see, and Holli is dying. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you all.

The first one a friend of mine is turning into a song. Neither are my best work but they are something I came up with. Enjoy or not, it is all up to you. We're perfect Can't you see? Like dolls on a shelf Made of porcelain; Painted till perfection We stand in the shadows With cherry smiles And haunting glass eyes Bothering no one Collecting the remains Of your love Becoming the ones You have always wanted So fragile We are Too easy to break You would think more care would be taken That you would want To preserve us But what are we? Other than what your parents wanted too? Nothing But dolls on a shelf Collecting the remains Of your love ---------------------------------------------------- Were your everything and more Children of your God A torn and tattered scar On the wrist of human life Just like broken toys Lost beneath the bed Faded from all memory And dust fills our core Over used and abused Hated and feared Because were your baby dolls Nothing more