RUIN

It all came to me last night. All at once. Every issue hit the deepest layers of me like a meteor. I felt everything all at once and yet, felt like nothing,

A drunken mess of arms and legs and clothing letting out tears and vomit without restraint, wishing my problems would escape me in the same fashion, I painted the sidewalk with cluttered puke and wished I was able to die right then and there. I sobbed like a child, my desperation evident yet the reasons hidden behind a curtain of drunkenness.

I drank more than was necessary, I know, but it drowned out every other thought I had that was bugging me, to the point where I felt I was drowning. The black and white night taking gulps at me, trying to swallow me whole, yet torturing me with every failed attempt.

Here’s what I know. My mom, my little sister’s problems, my “friend”, my lack of friends, my job, my uncertain future, my struggle with my weight and my insecurity about myself, my abilities, my appearance, my personality, is weighing me down. Emotionally and mentally, I am completely unstable and I don’t know who to reach out to. I have no support system. I am an enigma with Golden Globe worthy acting skills that has the world convinced I am completely content and happy, when in reality I am a mess.

I’m tired of hiding my vulnerability. I’m tired of telling myself that nobody needs to know about my problems because it’s none of their business and they won’t be able to help. I’d, for once, like to think that there are indeed people in existence that have the ability, need and desire to stand by me. I’d like to believe there’s no need to always appear strong. I’d love it if I were able to let myself be more open to the people that surround me. If I were able to let them close enough to realize my vulnerability.

At this point, I’m more afraid of self desgructing than I’ll ever be of allowing someone get close to me.

I don’t want to be responsible for my own ruin.

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There’s A Way Out

I see the disappointment creep through the forced expression of indifference you try to hold together. You’re a metaphorical coconut of a mother and, although I have grown to know you as the hard outer shell you are, I still hope, with every glance or sentence I utter your way, that I’d taste the sweet interior I’ve only ever vaguely been able to drool at. Life has toughened you, I know and accept that, but now you’re toughening me. And as much as I love and look up to you in certain aspects, I never want to become like you.

Hard, emotionally distant and closed off to the world, comfortable in your little space devoid of aspirations and hope. I know what a cruel fate can do to a soul. I know how tough it is to feel completely on your own and I know old ways and ideas are hard to toss to one side. I understand that you were once a free, happy spirit yourself. An innocent child, naivety dripping from the corners of your smile, with clammy hands reaching out to a mother as far away as you are to me.

I wouldn’t want any other mother but I’d love it if you were able to love me the way I do you. I’d love coming home to a mother who doesn’t dump her day’s depressions and frustrations in my tired hands. How I long to see you return the smile I encouragingly flash at you.

But you don’t smile back. It doesn’t come naturally. Instead I’m to be interrogated with a defensive “Why are you staring at me, where’s your manners?” .

Mommy, I cry all the time. In bed, in the mall, at work. I feel alone and emotionally desperate. I’m lost and feel an apathy to everything I once deemed important, and I have no outlet to my emotions. My dreams and asprirations are non-existent – like my social life.

And here I lay realising how sadly, slowly I am dripping into the same mould that shaped you. And swimming out seems too much of an effort knowing that there’s nobody waiting to help me out at the edge. I drown in all I promised myself not to be and cling onto the words of songs with fatigued arms strengthened by the slightest bit of hope I dare to have. And the lyrics echo their way around me. Words mellow and agitatingly calm; “There’s a way out”.

Call Me What I Am

pretending
to know how to survive the blessed days
we didn’t ask for

Call me what I am

Insecure, severely
sad to the core,
lost in a world
where everyone else is equally
as desperate as I am

I’m a fcuking mess
and hiding it takes
a damn lot of skill

I pretend to be in a decent state when the reality is that
behind closed doors I shatter and crumble into a small ball of vulnerabilities.

And alone as I may be
I know that nobody may be trusted
and alone I remain,
smiling at passerby giving hope that would never lead as far as a relationship.

Call me what I am,
call me what we all are;

Walking dolls stuffed
with confusion pretending
to know how to survive the blessed days
we didn’t ask for

BINGE

I know I binge when I’m emotionally in an unstable place. Food has always been my comfort. I should turn to people for comfort though and not fattening foods.

I don’t like smoking to suppress my appetite, purely because it makes me feel smelly and dirty and I’ve honestly been opposed to smokers my whole life.

I’ve been binging less and my binges aren’t as severe and over the top as before, but I’m still binging now and then. I motivate myself to stop binging by rewarding myself with a visit and treat at a cute coffee shop every binge-free week and $100 after a month of not binging. Hopefully it’s enough motivation. I know that is not going to be enough, I know I need actual emotional support.

I binge mostly at night, when my willpower is at it’s weakest, as I’ve mentioned before. I tried distracting myself from the binge by having a very small glass of my favourite Merlot at night. It works somewhat alright, but I still feel the need to binge. I must say tho that I think my lack of hobbies and things to do at night or after work is a big factor in why I binge aswell.

In school it was easier to not think of food as I had plenty of work to constantly keep me busy. Now though, I waitress, get home, have nothing to do after eating, so I eat more, and more (and more) and go to sleep. I need to find myself a hobby.

It’s something I’ve been contemplating for a very long time as I feel my life is in a boring rut. Any suggestions would be appreciated. I’m also interested in trying interesting jobs I’d never think of doing. Purely for interest sake and learning new things.

I’m really not in a happy place with life, and it’s in my hands to get me out of this deppressing dark hole, as nobody can help me if I’m not even willing to let them know that help is needed.

BINGE

I do hate myself, viciously. For overeating and having no self control. I get home from a long day at work and my immediate stress reliever is to stuff my fucking face with food. Not even particularly food I like. Just food. I’m startin to think I should just become a cocksucker for a living. Since stuffing things in my mouth seems to come much too naturally. I’m really uncertain of what it is thats driving me to this point where I just want to eat and eat and eat. Before, I was so skilled at denying myself food. And now look at me. I feel the extra flesh jiggling on my body as I walk. It sickens me. I’m going to try smoking to stop me from binging when I get home from a night shift. Not the best idea sure, but I won’t be gaining weight. I’m also going to restart my yoga routine and I definitely need to establish a set routine where I have specified meal times. I have realized how not having a set routine has driven me to eating more food more often. My body is confused I suppose.

I know it’s not the only factor leading to these binges tho. I need to figure my shit out.

BINGE

Fuck myself for no longer having any control. I had so much control before that the first oopportunity I got to screw up, I went all out. Now I’ve gone from nearly anorexic to a chick who’s gained about 20 pounds in 2 months. I’m uncomfortable, despite being at a weight others are more comfortable with. I feel my physical presence is too big for the minimalist personality I’m about.

I struggle mostly at night, when I’m comfortable in bed and the day’s bullshit comes back to me. I’m at my weakest in terms of willpower. The day is long, the work hard, the pay shitty and the boredom real as fuck.

And while all these lovely thoughts bubble up, my stomach seems to entertwine with my brain and heart and next thing I know I’m back in bed returning with a mound of guilt and snacks from the kitchen.

And no words could possibly stop me when I’m on my mission. I commit to my sins, knowing the harm it will do for it is already painted on my bones.

I don’t know exactly what brought this about. But I’m going to find out. Word for frustrated word, I WILL gain back control.

Petty Peeves

Ghost me
then crawl back
like theres no gravel
stuck to your knees

smiling
and telling sweet stories
like I was never
pissed off
at your inconsiderate
minipulative ass

Soak up my lack of enthusiasm
for the conversations
you try to patch together
to rub away the dusty past;

Where I wass your bitch
and you had a golden stick up your ass