10/19/2019 2:31 a.m.
had my wallet stolen and account drained but fortunately i was able to go get a new card and license and be reimbursed. gonna get lunch with my dad tomorrow and then head back to edmond. need to call back that psych facility and set up an interview so i can finally have an income.
i feel so off this week. my head is full of cotton and i don’t feel any happiness. i don’t really wanna be around anyone and i’m worried about my roommate. i’m worried i’ll never get better in regards to food, depression, dissociation, intimacy. my heart hurts in like a dull ache kinda way but so does my uterus so who knows. i’ve kinda resigned myself to the fact that i’ll die soon, i don’t know how but i feel it coming. i wonder if i’ll even make it back to school.
my dad asked me if i had any regrets today. i don’t think i do, really just wish i knew things earlier, like letting a grown man touch you won’t make your being gay any less of a sin. or that no one in high school (or college) is gonna stick around and it doesn’t get better, so don’t start hoping as a teenager and then let it slowly kill you. or that you never stop feeling out of place, with anyone, so just accept the isolation and embrace it. it’ll make things easier when you die.
sometimes i think the only thing i was good for was being a plaything for predators and now that i’m old and fat and ugly and impure there’s nothing left of me worth keeping around. now that i’m gross i’m not the world’s porcelain doll. i’m not pliable and something to instill hope in. i’m not my dad’s blonde-haired, bright-eyed little girl. he has a new one now and she’s loved like i never quite was. she deserves it though, i love her and i know she’ll do great things.
but what if i’m just instilling the same pointless hope in her that my dad did in me growing up. what if i’m setting her up to disappoint herself too, to make a suicide plan at the age of 12 and be totally fine with it. i couldn’t live with myself if that was the case.
i want to cut across my hairline and just peel back my face. set it down on the counter, rinse it off, start sewing a new one. scrub my bones and stroke my sinew. cut myself open so i can finally prove that my core self is what causes my problems, nothing concrete. nothing hiding, curled up and putrid, tendrils hooked into my fat and in it for the long haul.
i don’t think i can ever come out. i can’t be a whole new layer of disappointing faggot to my mom. my dad will say i’m just endangering myself. but dad, i’ve been walking on a cliffside my whole life. i’ll have to die before my voice gets too deep, put something that burns and kills into the syringe after my last shot.
maybe if i go let the raging ocean pull me under my bones will end up on your shore and i can finally meet you. we shouldn’t meet while i’m alive, you’ll be too disappointed and disgusted. too polite to say so. too weathered to care.
maybe i’ll set myself on fire, let my skin melt and slough off. feed nature and let my particles float into the air. maybe i could see paris. maybe i could see colorado.
i’m not hungry anymore. i’m just tired. i should be checked into one of these facilities, not working at one. but i can’t afford that, and i don’t want to be separated from my phone.
when i go i don’t want to leave anything more than the shape of my gross body impressioned into the carpet. it’s that cheap replacable carpet anyhways so they’ll just roll it up and put some new ones in. i think i’m going to bring some of my old stash home so i can be high the last few days. i’ve worked so hard to overcome this addiction but what’s the point. i’m no different off it with how fucked my chemicals are anyways.
idk what else to say, i’m gonna order a new wallet and maybe something small that i’ll cut myself for buying tomorrow. maybe watch some netflix. maybe dream an escape. goodnight for now. and if this is the last journal post on here, just know i did everything i could. sorry.
