My Self-Injury is named MacGuyver

Not even kidding. See the giant smiley face I carved into my leg this morning? His name is MacGuyver. He likes long walks on the beach, and when his maker doesn't eat. For noms are evil, and the body is best left purified and starved.

homnomnom. HI MACGUYVER!

Yes. I totally named my SI. I'm ridic like that. Totally need a new hobby, NOT GONNA LIE.



So I'm getting kicked out of my house. Boy has declared I'm the most perfect thing to walk this earth and I've found out that I am terribly not happy with anything. I've barely been doing anything but working, my computer has died, I have no life outside of my place of employment, I feel immensly dirty in the realm of sexual relations, and I am officially going to be attending Catholic classes come September for potential conversion.

I also handed my suicide pack to a Deacon today and went, "Ok, you can have this now, because I'm about to use it". I only went to the church for two reasons, and they rather contradicted each other. The first one was that I wanted a place to make me feel not alone, so I wouldn't be so tempted to omnomnom on some sleep aids. The second...was to be in a place where it would be quiet and peaceful enough so I wouldn't feel so alone when I did omnomnom on those sleep aids.

omnomnom.

I feel better now. Obviously, I didn't eat them. But I did eat a KFC Sammich and fries. Most of both. I've lost 6 pounds since Monday, in the ultimate "I fucking hate my life/food/YAAAAY ANXIETY!" fast EVER. Today is the first day I've tried to get anything in, and I did it after the church, after talking to the Deacon, because I think I just wanted to stop being dizzy. I've collapsed like, twice. It's been awesome.

I still can't stand the thought of food, and I'm afraid I"m going to start craving it again. I keep hearing that I'm so skinny. The Deacon said he couldn't believe that something would exist to make a girl as beautiful as me want to end it. Boy says I'm the most perfect thing to ever exist. G, the one who was all muscled that I lusted like a loony after at the gym wrapped his hands around my waist and went, "....FUCK you're getting so tiny. You're starting to get too tiny...." and my boss C, at the gym (aka, Harry Potter) who only likes anorexics, was like, "We should have sex," which ended with, "....and then there were trannies", and it was an interesting story. I mean, we didn't have sex. And there were no trannies, but the conversation line went from us potentially sexing to there being trannies and a porcupine.



Oddly, I think he's as fucked up as I am. It makes me feel nice to know I'm not alone in my silent misery.


I feel disgusting. ANd now exhausted. Truly tired for the first time since Monday, when I stopped eating. I don't have anywhere to be. I took the night off of work. I've done my gym job. NOw I have laundry, and I don't know what else. My computer is broken, so I'm on my parents, and I won't have access to it for long since I'm...you know...getting kicked out and all.

Fantastic times.

Woot woot.

I feel so gross for eating.

I'm going to go pop more diet pills and aderall, and maybe purge or something.
Then I'm going to sit here and feel EMO or BE LIKE "STABBY STAB STAB CONCERT" and "CUT MY WRISTS AND SLASH MY THROAT, I MUST BE EMO!" all song like.
HOORAH.




......the end.