day 26; the last person i made a pinky promise to

i’m not sure, but i probably broke it.

the dream.

i haven’t forgotten about it.
it begins now.

um.

honestly don’t know what to say to you.

just, this is how it will always be.

guilt.

to me, guilt feels like someone is twisting my insides.

its an uneasiness i just can’t shake off.
an anxiousness that weighs on my heart and makes it beat harshly and unevenly.

it’s all i can think about. it drives my to the point of insanity, until i want to rip my skin open and tear it out of me.
i just want it gone.

i’ve done some fair horrible things, and i have to live with this feeling.
i probably deserve it.
but it doesn’t make it any easier.
and it doesn’t take back what i did.

lately i’ve come back in contact with one person i hurt, and it’s killing me.
like karma.
he didn’t deserve what i did in the slightest.

my insides are twisting and i might snap in half.

day 25; the person i know who’s going through the worst of times

fucked if i know..

day 24; the person who gave me my favourite memory

possibly my favourite person in the world.

i miss you.

day 23; the last person i kissed

some goober named Kieran.

day 22; someone i want to give a second chance to

pft i don’t know.

i always give second chances. always.

i know who i don’t want to give a second chance to.
you’ve had too many.
and i’ve had enough of your bullshit.

when i think too much.

g’day g’day.

first off i’m glad if you got pissed off reading some of my recent blogs. it’s about time people get fired up about things that don’t concern them. people never care about anything these days unless it’s got to do with them. even if they think they care about other people, they really don’t.

i came to this conclusion after observing a reach session. there’d be one person talking. and another person would pipe up to say something seemingly caring, but with a hidden agenda to be noticed and put in the spotlight themselves. they’d tell the other person that that’d happened to them or something and then it’d be their turn. wtf. you don’t really care. you just have a hidden agenda. you want the attention.

even i do it and it pisses me off. i always talk about myself. sometimes i count how many times i say “i” in a conversation. it’s fucking ridiculous. i piss myself off. so i either try to not think about it, just block it out, or not talk at all. it sucks to think that everybody only cares about themselves, that the human race is so shallow.

in my deep thinking session i also got thinking about life… again. why we even bother doing shit thats not fun. why do we bother with school and uni and trying to move up in life if it’s all gona be gone some day?

fair enough we need money to survive and stuff, but i dunno it just seems a stupid waste of the short life we have on earth. working a lot. think about it. you’ve worked hard all your life to get to a certain career, do that for probably a shorter time than you’ve been studying for, and then you get to retire and finally be free when you’re fucking old and you can’t breathe or move properly because you’ve wasted away. you’ve decayed and theres nothing you can do.

so what did you work for?

why the fuck to people take life so seriously? thinking about every little decision and being stingy with money and being CAREFUL. to do what? save your body so you can be a healthy old person? why try to preserve our bodies so much? it’s not going to do much good, sure we’ll live a couple years longer, delay our death by a few years maybe. but by being so careful and serious we’re essentially cutting down our years anyway, by not having fun while we still can.

what is the point of life? we’re all dead someday, and once that happens, nobody’s going to fucking care that we got caught for stealing something, or that we got fucked up on drugs a few times, or that we dropped out of uni to do something we love. it’s not going to affect anyone, and it’s not going to affect you because you’ll be dead.

life should be about having fun and spreading your love while you still can, doing what makes us happy while we’re still alive… (and surviving to be able to do that).

i think way too much. i think that’s why i’m so self-destructive. i do stupid shit to try and forget about the depressing realities of life. maybe i should just do what most other people do… just go along with it. live my life the way i’m supposed to. because what if i’m wrong? but what is right and wrong anyway… it’s just a perception. a uniform perception that humanity came up with.

that’s it, i’m doing my head in already.

bye for now.

Flashback – 2008

Mum and dad had just left.

They had been dawdling for about 20 minutes getting ready while I was sitting on the couch, anxious and distracted, itching to get my hands on the fridge.

The second the door snapped shut I Dived into the bread. I’d toast two pieces. That’d satisfy me. So with a stack of butter and vegemite I ate the toast with the appetite of a starving child.

Which was kinda what I’d been anyway.

Halfway through I decided I wanted more. I’d do three just in case I wanted more than two. While they toasted I sat against the bench picking the brazil nuts put of the jar, eating them one by one, nonstop until my toast was ready 5 minutes later. Then I carefully put the Spread on and ate them all promptly.

Now for something sweet.

There was a carrot cake bar in the fridge. I cut myself a piece and swallowed it. I cut another piece- devoured. It was getting dark. I started eating the next piece, and as soon as the sugary cake dissolved on my tongue and I tasted it, I burst into tears.

What the fuck was I doing?! How had I ended up like this? A fat fuck greedily munching on everything I could get my hands on? I sunk onto the kitchen floor and cried and cried into my hands, hyperventilating and letting out large sobs. And who could I call? I didn’t want anyone to know what I’d done.

I was so ashamed of myself. Useless and weak, greedy and chubby. But I could still be dainty and strong if I could get rid of what I’d just eaten. I dragged my sorry self up down to the bathroom, fell onto my knees and shoved my fingers down my throat over and over until I was choking on air and my eyes almost popped out of my head.

After I’d got about two pieces of toasts worth out of my stomach, I gave up. It hurt so much. I wasn’t strong like the beautiful skinny women, they had the willpower to starve themselves and get rid of every single morsel in their stomach, and I didn’t.

I wasn’t a real bulimic. I wasn’t good enough for that. I was just a fat fuck who couldn’t stop eating.

I packed up the food, sprayed the air so it didn’t smell like toast, and went and sat back on my laptop so when mum and dad got home, they didn’t suspect a thing.

A daily routine. Rinse and repeat.