depressed

Everythings cloudy again. Its been that way for a while. No one noticed. I'm terrified.

Fat.

I've lost 2kgs in the past 2 days. I can lie to myself and say it's enough. Deep down I know it's not. My goal is fitting into my favourite jeans again. I hope to do this before our trip to Qld, and then I can buy a new bikini and actually look nice. Not have a tummy and fat knees. I found a stretch mark on my left knee. I actually cried. I wish I could look like her ^ but i think that's a just a dream. I don't know why it matters so much, I guess it started to matter when none of my jeans fitted and I stopped feeling attractive. I have extra baggage, I know I do. It hurts :(

oh baby please don't cry...

'Listen. You know those days when you get the mean reds?'
'Same as the blues?'
'No,' she said slowly. 'No, the blues are because you're getting fat or maybe it's been raining too long. You're sad, that's all. But the mean reds are horrible. You're afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don't know what you're afraid of. Except something bad is going to happen, only you don't know what it is. You've had that feeling?'
- Breakfast at Tiffany's, Truman Capote

all you are to me is dead skin

Here I am, meant to be writing a 2000 worder on WW1's influence on art, with two sentences and a need to write a blog. Maybe not so much a need but a tool of procrastination. I look at history books full of artists who questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned and questioned...
I sometimes question, though never enough. Could it ever be enough? I think Cezanne or Duchamp would say nothing could ever be enough. It's impossible to grapple this in only 2000 words. I just want to write that it can't be done. They did so much in their lifetimes. Duchamp has hundreds of books on him. Beyond this his avant-garde art inspired every art movement from Dada until now as far as I'm concerned. I can only dream of being this influential.
I should get back to it...

i want this

Maybe a little insignificant and meaningless, but it means something to me. Without love my entire world would crumble.

things i do a significant amount more than i should

eat
sleep
read texts while i'm sleeping
never reply
shut people out
get angry at ignorance
get angry at injustice
get angry
change my mind
actually care about other human beings

After thoughts,

you can find this and the beautiful image in my header at http://adelevk.com/art/ (she also makes great sims custom content!)

when i was younger i saw
my daddy cry
and curse at the wind
he broke his own heart
and I watched
as he tried to reassemble it
and my momma swore
that she would
never let herself forget
and that was the day that i promised
i'd never sing of love
if it does not exist

I would not write about love if it did not exsist.

It's so easy to be with him. It doesn't hurt at all to love him. Before this past 6 months I thought pain equalled love, I got scared when it did not hurt. Was I a fool or just victim of bad experience?
The others think they can find me and bring about more bruises with hard words. They are so bitter from the realisation I'm happy, healed, without them. They're just the monsters I hide from in his arms.
He's my only exception.

THE ROBOT WITH HUMAN HAIR

i've lost weight
i don't know why it's so important
it just is

i feel so healthy and renewed

my mood seems all over the place
i just want to write about 1000 different things but afraid of who will read it

i'm afraid of judgement again
well fuck it
and fuck them

i want to be stick thin and i'll starve myself to do it if i have to.
i want to be sucessful and i'll step on people to get there.
i want to stand up for my friends and i'll tell you how it fucking works to do it.

i used to be sick, but i'm not anymore. a big fuck you to the people who said i made it up or said i wouldn't make it. fuck you.

don't feel sorry for me. i made it. i'm stronger than you'll ever be. you need to envy me.
so, this is why, we don't talk anymore.

i don't know where my head is at because the people this is for will never know me enough to read this.

everyone talks about physical abuse and how it's wrong. rape and hitting. but what about the mental abuse? what about the mind rape? he's going to be back soon. i don't want him anywhere fucking near me. i'm scared shitless. manipulation has taken it's toll on me enough already. i don't want one mean word outside a bar to cut right through my scars. my insides don't match up with my outsides.

i'm sick of worrying. i hate it.