Well, it's been a year. Evidently something about summer leaves me in the mood to write. Or maybe I just come here when I'm desperate, which is far more likely. Not that this will change anything anymore since I made the blog private. I just tried to force yself to throw up. Couldn't pull it off. My finger tasted horrible, and thought I did "gag" it didn't induce nausea. I'm the heaviest I've ever been. I didn't get on the scale because I"m afraid of what it will say, but yesterday I was 118, and I definitely don't feel any skinnier. My eating habbits are so unhealthy. I just eat. Everything. And it's all sugar too. Time to cut sugar.
Goal 1: No candy
Goal 2: No soda

Goal 3: Muscles.
Goal 4: No half conscious snacking.

I'll know I've reached my goals when I have lost 20 lbs.

Here's to the freshmen (-)15!

theres a little piece of me thats dissapointed in myself for taking ibuprofin again. I've made it months just living with the migraines and the aches and pains. But I like this feeling. I like tracking the drugs progression as the pain slowly ebbs away. It's comforting. It's comfortable. It puts me in control.
I can't focus. My mind is fuzzy. My eyes aren't actually looking. There's so much i should be doing. So much I should have done.
So much i gave up.
Fun. You would think it to be a fundamental. A building block. A basic concept.
I have no notion of it. I can't remember the last time. I'm trying  so hard to remember wheen life was exciting. what was it like to get up in the mroning? Did I used to have questions?
Now I'm falling asleep with five hours worth of homework due in 8 hours. I haven't slept well in months. I haven't showered in a week. I haven't brushed my teeth in two. I haven't comprehended anything in months.

Is it?

Is it still selfish to kill yourself if it's just so you won't hurt anyone else?

Let's try this again.
Today wasn't terribly eventful. I did make it through a technique class without scratching myself so I guess that's good. And I think it's been long enough that you don't really know what that means.
I don't know when i started  Scratch that, I do. It was during our "Broadway Bound" performance in May. Back in 9th grade I had fake nails, round and smooth. That's when the pencil "drawings" began. But for the past year or so I haven't had fake nails, because we couldn't afford them. Come May. I messed during my solo, or maybe one of the other dances, but when I went in to change costumes I just ran my nails down my arm. I'd scratched myself before and nothing had come of it. I guess I scratched a little harder that time. The following Monday I came to school with scabs down my arms. Maddy asked about them, but I just claimed wardrobe malfunction (gloves). The story worked with my mother too. At any rate, I kind of liked it. I know that sounds sadistic, but it's the truth. It was evidence right there on my arm. Proof that I really had messed up. And now it's just something I do. When I mess up, I scratch. When I'm mad at myself, I scratch. And when it's really bad, I do my best to truly break the skin. This sounds so wrong. I shouldn't be doing this. I'm going to have scars. I already kind of do. I'm ... am I a cutter? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet? But, no. I don't use blades. I don't watch wistfully as streams of blood roll down my wrists. It's not the same right? Maybe?
Oh well.
Moving on. Variations was bad. my feet hurt horribly and I barely got up on pointe at all, but oh well. Then lunch. I was a fool, as usual, and got food. I should have just skipped it like yesterday. And I should have stayed away from my father tonight. In one night I gained back all the weight I'd lost in 2 weeks. Then we had pas de deux. I didn't elbow Roy in the face today, which is improvement I suppose, but I hate that that's the standard. We had a couple really good turns, even got in a quad finger turn. But I think I kind of messed up his finger, and I know that I was dead weight in jumps. He couldn't even finish the set. Why is he always so nice about it? I feel awful. I did scratch during pas. I didn't notice then, but when we were on the sides in choreography later I noticed a rather large and dark scab on the top of my right wrist, today's playing field. Then choreography. Not much. I messed up a little, but she doesn't really care. Yoga; uneventful. Took public transit home and practically fell asleep on the train. When we were approaching one of the final stops I finally sat up and a man nearby who was getting off looked very relieved. Came home. Wasted time. Ate. Got fat. The usual.

So umm, life. I'm in Guys and Dolls at the Hale Center Theater in Orem. It's been a lot of fun. The most social life I've ever had. (a.k.a. dinner after the show once a week) The whole cast is super sweet. I have fun bantering with Eric, who's 9 years older and married, but has my mother convinced he likes me.
She's such a a fool. I feel like she's more of a teenager than I am. She talks exactly like Lexi, except Lexi is 17 and my mom is 51 so everything sounds wrong coming out of her mouth.

Lost train of thought

I realize I haven't posted consistently, but I'm in the mood for a journal, and since there's no easy way to play catch up I guess I'll just fill in the blanks as I go.
Today I woke up a half hour late for (dance) class.(at ballet west) But I still managed to leave on tme so it wasn't really a big deal. Paid for parking, walked to the building. Sitting in the halls was fun. Roy was being rather jovial, in a good sense, which made me feel a heck of a lot better since I feared he'd hate me forever after I knocked him in the face in pas de deux last week. Then we had class with Renee who I absolutely love! The class was good all around, but he was amazing. He was in such a good mood, so excited to be there. He was quoting Star; Wars at one point, mid explanation, because that's where a  previous statement had linked to in his mind. Later in classs he sang "Gaston" from Beaurty and the BEast while marking the grand alegro, and it was such a fun grand alegro! Then pointe which wasn't amazing. lunch. Lunch was an adventure. I went to buy  ffood because i didn't packa ny only to realize that I didn't hve my card whit me and I'd used the last of my cash for a parking pass. I actually wasn't all that hungry. then technique with christiana bennet

Listen

I don't know anymore. I've givn up. I'm trying, but not really. Everthing just seems out of reach and so I've chosen to stop reaching, but it's left me empty. There's really no point anymore. I know I can still do these things but I see no reason  to. What will it accomplish? Money? There's never enough. Family? They're just people to hurt inadvertantly and drag down with you when you drown. So what is there? "Success"? So subjective and unattainable it can never be cahieved. So abstract yet seemingly realistic. The kind of idea a person can cling to. But it's just an idea. A figment of the imagination I never had. A convoluted concept thrown at you before you can even copmrehend its hypothetical meaning.
I'm in pain. not the crushing despair that will compat me into the nothing we all truly are, but a dull ache. The kind that's just a permanent reminder at the back of your mind. That tiny tedious voice which is somehow all consumig. There's no escaping. It's always there, knocking down every structure of any stability. I'm shaken and afraid and unsure. No way to live a life, and yet to way not to. Trapped. Steered by the reigns of a small little voice.
Is this the "holy ghost" or conscience? A small and ever-present voice; is that not the definition? The voice of reason ruled by the all knowing being. This is why we developed religion? faith? A grand idea to describe a small little voice. A sad voice.
Or something less grand? One small word for that whisper only you can here? depression
Or something else entirely?
Who is that twisted little whisper?
Is it simply me?



listen

To Belive it ...

I can't think. There are always words but they never come. I can't connect ideas anymore. I have to try so hard just to focus, just to drown out the world long enough to comprehend what I should have been doing, let alone what I should be doing and what everyone else is doing. It just doesn't feel worth it anymore. I'm only doing things because that's what I used to do. That's no way to live a life. That's no way to grow. I look at myself and I Hate what I see.
I want so badly to feel loved, but it's impossible. I never see enough to be worth it, so how can I feel it? And it's the thing I'm most afraid of. The thought of what it could become. What my parents have been through. What I've been through. Everyone. Everywhere I look I see heartbreak. I see one deflated spirit after another. I don't want to believe it.
I just want to get away; I want to escape it all. But I feel the weight of anchors pulling me away from the surface, from the break in the see. That brief view where two worlds collide. I need air. I can't breath down here. My fragile framework was not meant to sustain this much pressure. It's getting stronger and I'm caving in. I can't breath. I can't see. I'm spinning. The current is spinning. And still the anchor is sinking .. Where is the floor of sand-brushed stone? Where is the end? What is this space between the weight and the light? Why am I trapped here? Is there no escape? my hands are not tied and yet I' am bound. Have I no choice?