the thing is, i don’t cut to feel alive. i cut because i am alive- because as long as i walk and talk and interact, i will ruin people’s lives. i am a screw up. i don’t know why it happened. i don’t know how it happened, but that is the way it is. i cut because i have to. i cut because i need to get what i deserve.
(via desensibilisation)
my dad is such an ignorant fuck. he walks up to me and says completely out of nowhere with this condescending tone that just makes the hair on my arms stand up “why would you ever cut again?”
first of all, it’s been a month, which is pretty amazing for me lately. second of all, shut the fuck up because you talking to me like that is one of my biggest triggers.
38382) I love eating. I love not eating. Starve or binge. There is nothing in between.
my mom bought me maderma because i “shouldn’t have to live with the scars.” not sure how she hasn’t figured out that there are a thousand times more scars that no one can see.
day five: 157.5
day six: 156
day four: 159
i don’t understand. i hate everything, as per usual.
