Untitled V

I will cut as much
as I feel right now
because by myself,
I am not as numb
as my tingling legs
as my cold hands.
I am not as prone
to forgetting
the belongings I lose
from impairment.

I don’t care right now
to internally fight
grief
sadness
pain
and hurt.

I can cry
because I can cut.

I feel.

Untitled IV

Fractured feelings.
Broken brains.

Shallow slits
again and again.
Crimson rivers
to numb some pain.

Give up, giving in,
alone and again.

Scroll a call number.
Fingers hover.
Wordless thoughts.
This point, I stop.

Water

I dreamt.

It’s at night and there are three of us discovering the edge of a large pool of water. It’s a waterfall and at the bottom glows a far off white light – an artificial light. It’s dark up here but everything is a deep blue. The water is as cool as it is blue and everything excites me. It comes up to our torsos.

I jump down the edge and find it’s actually a large step of water before the long drop down the waterfall. Here, the water reminds me of jelly. My two friends think I’m cray for my recklessness – but it’s so fun – and colder now. They are apprehensive but as excited as I, and slip down after me and break the jelly surface of the water. The water underneath has the consistency of runny syrup.

Now they slide down the waterfall drop and this time, I’m the last to go. I think they’re mad because it’s a long drop. Who knows how the water will change on the way down? How would I even know it’s water at the bottom? Well there were other kids swimming. It gets brighter the further down we go and the drop is light blue like the plastic beach mats. My friends slide. They do this amazing thing. The water itself is like a large sheet of plastic. It’s water yet you can grab onto it like a plastic sheet. I squeeze my hands loosely around it and slide down fast. Wheeeeeeee this is fun! No rope burn as the cool water runs around my hands as I slide. Halfway down, I lower myself more slowly.

And at the bottom of this waterfall you finally have real water. Very cold now. Here, at the surface of the bottom of the waterfall is a large light blue plastic float. This is where other kids play. I separate from my friends and jump off the float to see how bright it is from underwater, under the float. This is when real water, cold water engulfs me. I love this. There is a boy beside me and I hide under the plastic float underwater with him. I realize the lights are from far off stadium spotlights. This is strange and somewhat discomforting. Is someone watching? Somehow I can hold my breath forever. And that’s when the evil man comes. To tap your shoulder.

He tapped everyone from the top of the waterfall. He was coming down. I couldn’t see from where I hid but I knew up there was dead. Were they killed or only tapped by this point? I don’t know I can’t see. But it felt like they were dead.

A shadow flashes across the float – his. I wonder if he’ll notice movement if I shift without breaking the surface of the water. After all, I’m underneath the float. I shift closer to the boy I do not know and the float lifts. He’s found us. His palm rests on the boy’s shoulder surely and briefly. He taps mine. Land, he says. Land meaning I am grouped with the rest above, implying, I am to be massacred bloody. There are nine left with us. They’re not even hidden. They are dry. They wear Victorian dresses.

A few he kept alive for breeding or for play, I do not know. Three and three alive. He said, travel. You will read about Life and you will read about love. Three to stay in a horse carriage to read about thick books about Life. The other chosen three are less important and will read about Love. They will travel on foot.

He circles back to me. I never actually see his face. Only his white suit.

And I wake up.

Glint

I break the seal, pull off the cap and turn the container upside down. Tap on the desk. Onetwothree fourfivesix seveneight. Eight packets fall out. And one more container I place together, albeit a different kind.

At least I didn’t steal this time – sarcasm. Standing in the aisle full of penknives with scars running down your legs was awkward.

I don’t want to cut. It makes me want to cry. But wanting to cry is what makes me want to cut to begin with. But who would care if I mark myself up? It’s not their body to own after all. It’s mine. It’s my own fault. My own responsibility. My fuck up.

I don’t know when I will use these.

B/P Brain

Someone I know, who’s once helped me through a breakdown in school at night last year, saw me cry in school yesterday. He waited. Not for long. I was rushing for class.

We had a cinematography shoot yesterday. Valentine’s Day Saturday apparently. J said I looked down but I didn’t want to talk about it yet.

My friend saw a mynah in the school pond on our way out and we first thought it was bathing. It was actually unable to move. Heavy wet feathers. I scooped it out of the water and it started to shiver madly. Four of us huddled around it. I held it in my hands and it’s body was cold. Poor creature.

IMG_0359

I’ve got the B/P brain quite bad now. I’ve lost two cards and the next day, my spare card. Today my brain is in a fog. It’s Chinese New Year’s. My parents didn’t say anything so I assume I won’t be needing to see my relatives again this year… Still, my fog will not clear soon.

My Blanket

Some days I feel so comfortable with this all and at the same time, unsafe with everything else – people, my environment, my future. In these times, I feel like wrapping myself in it like I would a soft, warm blanket and cocooning myself in. This mishmash of eating disorders is normality to me anyway. A friend of mine would sometimes say that everyone has a different reality and this is mine and my method of coping. I’m not sure why this suddenly makes me feel weepy.

Mostly, I’m so entrenched in it I can’t live without it. When I venture too far out, a catch lifts and history breaks loose. Then, it’s as if I suddenly relive all the big scars small hurts that tormented me. Oddly, the big events and small memories never seemed to bother me before (the eating disorder?).

This morning, I just want to do what can make me feel safe.

And It All Went To Shit

That day, after my last post, I had school. During my second class, I turned to my friend on my right and said, “I have to try to eat normally, I mean, somewhat more normal, like, more normal foods and keep it down.” We tried to talk it out afterwards and rationalise my disordered thoughts. It didn’t really work. But I did eat. I did purge. Repeatedly. But I went to bed full.

I woke up fresh the next morning. Fresh. I can’t recall the last time I felt this way. I actually woke up feeling kind of good in my head in that moment after I opened my eyes and stretched in bed. However, it was overshadowed by the rush of thoughts before I even sat up. I didn’t gain as much weight as I had expected to. Neither was I as bloated as I thought I would have been. I blocked out everything as best as I could and tried to rush out the work I couldn’t do the night before because of food – my only class on Wednesday is in the afternoon. Once I was done, I eased up and it all went to shit.

I cannot have food because I start to feel things. Feel emotions. And any sort of it is too much for me to handle. I don’t want to learn to handle emotions anymore. I’m sick of them. Sick of trying. Why should I? Not even the good ones. I don’t like feeling loose. It’s discomforting. I cried till I started hitting myself again. Everything just hurt. And I blamed it all on food. I recalled how I had a short couple of hours of energy after eating in the evening towards the end of the last semester before rushing back to school to continue on my assignments. I hated it. At the moment, there’s no point in explaining that further.

In any case, I ran through it later that day. I ran through the hours, through the connecting parks, through the hunger, the cravings, through the noise in my head, through the soreness in the muscles I was straining after having stopped exercising since last May. It was dark when I finally stopped and I bought 3 boxes of grapes. I stuffed them in the refrigerator. I showered. I went straight to bed. And I skipped eating for three days. I don’t know how the fuck I did that when I’m not the type that can fast. Then I spent my weekend evenings binging and purging again What’s new, huh.

It’s Monday morning and my knees are crap now. My alarm will go off in less than four hours.

Post B/P Resolutions

0423h. My throat feels like when I’m sick. But that should be okay by tomorrow. I should hope.

It’s getting out of hand now. I don’t know how to contain it anymore. Every way of eating is failing. I’m down to one last way of eating that I haven’t tried. It’s daunting. Nevertheless, eventually, I’ll have to try that.

In any case, now that it’s come to this, there’s no reason not to exercise.

Every workout always leaves me feeling like a I’m just reaching out from the darkness to grab anything to fill the void. If I’m going to binge purge anyway, I might as well exercise.

I feel tired just thinking about it.

Maybe I’ll just fail at that too.

I NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT

I really really need to lose weight. I’m SO FUCKING FAT. My thighs are huge and my weight is ridiculous.

YET, I’m torn between wanting to B/P every damn day, losing weight slowly at a higher calorie intake and flat out restricting and purging it (because food just has to slide out so much more easily when it is meant to be kept in).

I just know I need to lose VISIBLE weight. I’ve been hovering at the same weight long enough I’m fucking ashamed of my size. I am ashamed of my body with my friends. I am so ashamed I cry.

I keep thinking and thinking back to when I first started restricting and comparing how I did it then. I was doing it all WRONG yet I was losing weight. Now I’m doing it all RIGHT but my body isn’t responding. Purging, restricting, eating clean, IT JUST DOESN’T LISTEN. I’m getting so desperate I’m trying everything (AGAIN) and trying to hold out with each experiment for two weeks.

Oh fuck this shit, I don’t even know if I’ve actually been slowly maintaining at lower weights over these months without realising because it’s been so slow. Sure, I fucking LOG IN THE NUMBERS EVERY DAMN DAY but they make sense and DON’T MAKE SENSE TO ME.

I just need it to be lower, thinner, smaller, fragile. Then it will make sense. Or nothing makes sense then, at least I’m not at the size I am now even though I won’t be able to see that.

FUCK YOU FAT BRAIN FAT BODY.