I haven't really been very motivated lately. I don't really know what to do. I am at a loss. Other than work and reading... I really don't care about anything else. For the past two weeks, I haven't even logged into my school courses. I wanted to drop them, but they said that if I did, I would have to pay all the tuition and fees myself, becasue my financial aid would not disperse. SO, I am going to 'stay in the classes' and then just not go back next semester. I was so sure of what I wanted to do with my life. Go to school, graduate, get a job helping others like myself. However, all of that now seems irrelevant - so far away. I felt as though I were wasting my time in school. I am now the official store manager and on my way to gaining another store in the next year or so. Quite honestly, as pathetic as it may seem, I feel like maybe...
This is it. This is what I will have to show for the rest of my short life. Subway. I mean, I guess I could make this work. I just can't see myself sticking with school anymore. Last year fucked me up beyond belief and I guess that's why. That's why I feel like, if I can get control of at least one thing in my life, and drop the thing that terrifies me, maybe everything will be better. At least for now, maybe.
I am going to tell you guys how much I weigh. Just because of the fact that I think it may motivate me to get back down. The past week-two weeks, I have been purging AT LEAST twice a day. It has gotten to the point that every time I use that toothbrush, I feel the lacerations on the very back edge of my tongue. But no matter how much it hurts, I cannot stop. Because I know, that no matter how scared I am, I will always feel better once I get it out. I even started to purge at work. We have our own employee prvate bathroom, so I don't have to worry about anyone coming in while I am in the stall, dieing.
Sometimes, I look at myself and see someone who is smaller. Someone who others may envy to be this size, but barely a second after that thought crosses my mind, I snap out of dreamland and back to my world of tear-soaked pillows, crying in the dark, screaming in the empty house, hoping no one will come home while I am bent double over the void that take my problems momentarily away. I must always remind myself of the girl that once was. The girl that smiled and had friends and had a life. I see that girl as though looking through an old warped stained glass window. She looks at me with pity and trust. If only I could tell her - scream to her - to talk to someone, to trust on others as she trusted in me, in herself, rather than push everyone away and pretend it was thier fault. They no longer cared, no longer wanted to sit with her at the lunch table, invite her to parties, invite her to the movies and a night of staying up all night talking about how we were the outcasts, we were the different ones, the ones that were better. In reality, it was her, me, that ran away from reality, from friends, from everyone who ever cared.
Even to this day, I realize I am... detached(?) from my family. My brother and sister love hanging with my parents, hugging them. I couldn't even bring myself to touch them without cringing. Even for my graduation photos, I remember, the picture seemed staged. My posture gently detached from the touch of care, from the touch that meant a bond. There was no bond, just a void. A crater that fell through and through the day my world came tumbling apart. I wish I could tell that little girl that, the first time her mother left, her own heart would break. Everything would not always be ok. That even though after a few days, her mom will come back, she will leave again. You cannot watch anothers heart break without experiencing little hairline fractures of the heart yourself. The heart can only take so much before it crumbles to pieces, no longer able to hold itself together with hopes of forever and someone to come along and fill in those fractures with thier own heart.
They say 19 is too young to be a cynic. But when your heart gets broken for the first time before the age of 11, whose to say. To stop believing in love does not inquire a lack of hope that love is out there, but merely to accept the fact that it is less likely to happen that it is to not. TO look in my eyes and see deep would be to allow your heart to experience the gripping hairline fractures of a witness to pain, a witness to what it is like to live every day in the clutches of something you cannot beat, but cannot succumb to either. So, what is left to do?
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