Life is Fragile

Life is precious.

Every day, life could just slip away. It really could.

I don’t know the exact figures, but there’s probably a 0.0001% chance that somebody you love, pick someone, could be in some sort of terrible accident. Would your last words have been enough to do justice to how much you care?

It’s an awful comprehension to realize how truly fragile life is, how breakable. Maybe it’s fate; maybe it is all pre-determined, I don’t know. Either way, every day we teeter on the balance between living and dying, of loving and losing, of succeeding and of failing. 

No goodbyes, no preparation, someone could just disappear from your life. They could just be.. gone. GONE.

You wouldn’t know the last words you’d ever speak to them would be the last words. You wouldn’t know, until it was too late.

I don’t want to be cliche, and prat on about live every day like your last, and life is short, and dole out all those quotes. But beneath the pathetic cheesiness, they actually contain a very poignant message, which I believe needs to be communicated.

Thoughts?

Control

I don’t even know what this word means anymore.

Once, it meant less than 200calories a day. 

Once, it meant losing 5llbs in a week.

Once, it meant illness and pain and hatred.

Then, it meant realisation.

Then, it meant anorexia had taken it.

Then, it meant being lost in a spiral into this illness, becoming sicker and sicker.

Now, I don’t know how to gain control.

I’m so lost.

Rescue me?

Escape

***TRIGGER WARNING***
It's weird.
My hope, my interminable faith in humanity and in the people in my life, is fading.
I feel so trapped, but at the same time lost in the wilderness of my mind. It seems so impossible to explain; how every move I make feels constricted, and yet at the same time to feel as if I'm floating with no particular direction or path to follow.

I want to run away.
I want someone to recognise that the "I'm fine" "I'm just tired" "I'm not hungry" "I was just coughing, not being sick" bollocks that I dole out every fucking day is just that; a pile of bullshit. I don't think I am okay. I can't admit that, but I really am scared that this time everything won't be okay.
I want to escape, even if it's just for a while.
I want one of the people who claim to love me, who say they'll always be there, to scoop me up in their arms, and hold me tight, and tell me they love me.
I need someone to recognise how much I'm hurting because it's killing me, it really is.

This Friday was the date I'd planned to kill myself, after deciding if I was going to, I wanted to be level headed, to have thought it through, to make sure there was no chance of not dying. I won't go into details about method, but tomorrow was the date.
I realised this was a stupid idea, made plans to have my friend over. She ditched me. I asked my other mate to go to the movies with me. He can't because of "transport".

I need someone to want me enough to take me away for a few hours, to make me smile, to make me laugh.

This pain is too much and not enough.

I don't even know who I am anymore.
Truth is, if I don't find a way of escaping this awfulness in my mind, suicide will be my only escape.
I mustn't let that happen.

Fate

*TRIGGER WARNING*

I attempted suicide on the 7th of September 2011.
If I had succeeded, I wouldn't even be here. I'd have been dead for over four months.
That's a fucking weird thought. The idea that my parents might have forgotten the sound of my voice by now has really shaken me up.

My best friend might have gotten over the fact that I'd be dead.
My sister might just think of me late at night when she has nothing else to think about.
My school would have moved on, the teachers already forgetting the name of "the girl who killed herself".

Have I left anything of value behind? I don't know.
But maybe I'm here because of fate. Maybe I wasn't meant to die on the 7th September. Maybe I am destined to be sat here right now, writing all about it.

Partly, it gives me hope that there is a reason I'm here. Partly it makes me sad to think how easily I could have  been forgotten. And then another part of me wonders whether I really am meant to be here, or if I should have stayed in that bath, let myself bleed to death, let my parents find me...

Mind is fucked right now, I don't know anything at the moment.

New Years Resolution

First of all, hi, welcome to my blog.
I've been putting off starting a blog like this for a while now, it's always seemed pretty daunting to write totally honest blog posts, revealing my struggles and innermost feelings, all over the internet, with people reading them every day. Well, if people bother to come on the site in the first place of course! So, I made it a new years resolution, which is probably a bad idea since I never keep new years resolution. Last year, I decided I would keep my room tidy, and if I'm honest war zones probably look tidier.

However, this is a resolution I'm pretty determined to keep, and I'm a pretty determined kind of person. This blog is going to be an anonymous documentation of my struggles with anorexia, bullemia, self harm and depression, which have been demons I've been fighting since the age of 12. No, it isn't some kind of fucked up "pro-ana" thinspiration website, or some crazy self harm cult. I'm also not somebody who feels recoverED, I'm someone recoverING. I'll mess up, of course, but I also hope to inspire a few of you to fight the fight alongside me, because I know, don't ask how I just know, that there is something here worth fighting for.

If even one person takes some of this to heart, it'll have been worth it.
Speak soon :)