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When is it that you have to choose between life and death. You can do it everyday when you wake up.
Or you could do it now.
I could choose now.
Don't know what I want. Don't know if down this path there's anything else for me. I might just be over with. Whatever it is that lies beneath might be welcome when you feel you're over and out.
I can't do this.
I know I will be desperately sorry when I choose.

When and if the day comes I will be sorry.
Sorry for everything. For them. For me. For the end. For the future.
So very desperately sorry.

I Am Not Material for a Sexual Harassment Lawsuit. At Least Not at Work.

So, this morning I was 111.

Which is a relief. Imagine that: 111 a relief. That only goes to show how fuckin much I have managed to gain over the last month or so, since the other day (Sun) I did the very idiotic thing of stepping onto my scale after a two days binge fest- I was 115.7.

Ok, unfollow me now. I wanted to kill myself, but the thought of leaving such an ugly and fat corpse made me regain my senses and start restricting aka stop eating like Godzilla.

So, right now I am  at work and there’s not much to do around here for a change, so I am posting instead. It feel s better than helping people scan stuff or serving coffee or translating my ass off.

I actually had another date with my boss. We went for drinks after work on Monday. So now he has my phone number. I can’t quite understand the situation. Nothing happened, if you’re wondering, and he certainly would like to do me, but I have mixed feelings. Let me be analytical about this.

1.       I don’t like older men, usually. He’s 13 years my senior. I like young(er) guys, I am into that early twenty freshness. But this is the first time that I think I might actually have sex with someone that older. Weird. I mean, he doesn’t look like Jason Staham or something, but he has that kind of attitude that intrigues me. Oh, he is Cancer like the bastard Sergio. Go figure.

2.       That being said, I don’t know if I wanna actually do something with him. Like being touched and stuff. I am getting really weird about being touched. Like ew don’t touch me. I instinctively move away, like I don’t even think about it, I just do. It used to be a little better, but it’s gotten worse over time. Mh. I am kinda afraid it will  get even  worse than this. So, I am not sure that I really want to and thus I am not sure about what signals I should give. I don’t certainly wanna be an easy lay. I am not going to be the young easy to fuck  secretary. I might become, but not THAT easy.

3.       After I have solved the matter of point 2. I will have to figure out how this plays out at work. I don’t want things to get weird or anything. But I know I can fake anything. So even if things turn out in an unexpected way, I know I can pretend and look like everything’s perfectly normal.

4.       I kinda feel like a whore, but whatever.

5.       What if it is a lousy fuck and it gets weird in that sense??? Oh gosh. That just came up to me. The Bastard (that is his new name from now on) was every terrible and horrible thing a man can manage to be, but he was also the best fuck ever. I am sorry for the choice of words, but he was. Like oh my god good. And had an amazing body and beautiful soft skin. Ok, I just made myself miss him and horny at the same time. Great. So, that is to say that on this topic I am quite spoiled. And I think through things way too much. For instance, what if I feel grossed out? Gosh. Ok, I am having a panic attack. Breathe.

6.       Since supposedly we are going for drinks again tonite after work I might have to figure all this out before 6 pm.

In other news I managed to give myself some pretty conspicuous scars on my forearm. Great. I am a genius. They are little, but they have a pattern. I made five of them one perfectly above the other. So it’s pretty much clear that they are not casual.

I am sleeping like shit recently. Like the last two three days. I might need something to calm me down and rest a little. I have some drops (I hate them, I am an old fashioned pill popper for Christ sake!) of something my mom used against migraines, but it actually is an anti-anxiety med. It works, but since I am not used anymore I get completely stoned and slowed down afterwards. So I am afraid that if I will use it to sleep the morning after I may look like I just smoked my breakfast from a crackpipe.

What I would really like to try is Adderall, but here that kind of drug is hard to find. There would have to be some doctor’s prescription and it is unbearably hard to get, not to mention the fact that my mom would at some point notice.

I gotta go to the toilet now and pretend to work.

Finally, thank you ladies for the comments  (Cinnamon, Evelyn and Mich- gonna do that tattoo artist thing-) and thanks to Cordelia for signing in with me. I am two followers away from 20! Yay! Someone likes me!!

Also, I have made (wink wink to Cinnamon) a fake FB account, here’s  the link. You’re kindly requested to friend me. J

XoXo

Twenty Days to Gain them Back

...and I am fatter again.
And finally single. And a working person. And a fucked up mess cutting again. With shorter haircut.
Haven't been blogging for so many different reasons, mostly because I am fucking depressed again, as I now notice from my own last post.
A childhood friend of mine died last week. He was 27. 16 days younger than me. A car crash. His girlfriend is 8 months pregnant. His mom is my mom's bestie.
A fucked up story. It happened the last day I heard from my dear ex boyfriend. I wanted to die too. But then my mom tells me he actually died. And for some time I had a different feeling about suicide.
Like, really? I don't know. I have always been a major advocate for suicide: if you feel like it then it's right. But then. I don't know.
And then yesterday dies Amy Winehouse. Ok, not a fan. But I started having this feeling that this year might be my last too. She was born an exact month before me, my friend died a week before her and I am now 27.


I am scaring myself because this might be the proof that I am going crazy.
This is what you call a delirious thought.

So I figured the best thing was cutting again. So I did quite in plain view, right above the tattoo that spells the former love of my life's name. Gotta decide what to do with that as well.
I really feel like not erasing it. I want it. I want it to still be somehow visible or there, only in another context. I dunno, might have some kind of flower or something like that tattooed around it. You gals have any idea?
I have to wait until summer's over, cos it's pretty dumb to have tattoos made during beach and sun time, so I have some time to figure it out.
Ok, decided this second to post a pic of it. There we go.

Notice the HelloKitty stickers that cover my entire laptop. I am a grown woman for christ sake!
Anyhow. That is his name. I hope he dies in a sea of sorrow and loneliness as he deserves.

And I have been eating like there's no tomorrow. I pretty much gained back like 8 lbs.
I have no retain as I am so fuckin depressed and have the lowest self esteem ever.
If I think about dating again or showing my body to someone else I may faint. I feel more and more disgusting and increasingly fat. Still no period. Since it's not weight related my only supposition is that god doesn't actually want me to raise one of his children. I really don't get his point, after all I am an adjusted happy and positive bitch, ain't I?

Work is ok. Ok, Gotta admit in this private and protected place that I might have a girl crush on my boss which is 41. You do the math.
He took me to lunch in the same place where this happened. Must say I was kinda panicking but then forgot about it and had a good time.

As of lately I would like to be on meds again. That tells it all.
I am waiting for the darkness to walk poor little Fidel. I cannot bear to show myself in daylight.


Love to you all, darlings.
I will try and be a better blogger person.

And a thank you goes to my two (two!) latest followers: Tiny Bones and Evelyn. Girls, you just made my Sunday :-)

XXX

07.08

Never trust.

Never trust someone else. never trust yourself. never trust your istinct or your heart. 

never trust your words. never trust a relationship. never trust a promise, never trust a thought.

never trust me. never trust him. never trust the ability to hurt. never trust the desperation and the sorrow. 

never trust them or their voices.

never trust a moment, never trust a stream of happiness. never trust the will to believe. never trust your faith. 

just never trust.

never believe that you will be able to stop yourself from being human. 

never for  a moment think that you will have the skills to be smarter. 

never trust me.

never trust yourself and your pale faible soul. never believe that their words are for you.

never.

never believe in the arms of another being. 

never believe in the arms of your emptiness.

never believe in the trust someone may give you. you are not worth it.

just. don't trust anything.

don't trust this.

don't trust the hurt and the bad. 

don't trust my sorrow, it will lead you nowhere.

don't trust your hopelessness.

just don't.

The weight of hopelessness

Fourth day of work.
I am already ready to throw in the towel. On something. On trying to stop being a fatass, on the dog, on the having a house by myself or on the job itself.
Last couple of days have been hideous. And as usual I am up like crazy. Like 112. 
I ate like a pig on saturday though Monday. Yesterday I ate nothing all day long then went to the Brazilian restaurant and stuffed my face.
I am bloated and grumpy. 
And still my period is missing. Of course it is not because of the weight. It may be because of my crazed hormones. So, I am still not willing to get checked it out because they could actually make me go on some kind of birth control or hormone pill. That would mean retained water and shitload of cellulite=gain again. 
So, no deal.
Plus, I am sadly not trying to have a baby now, so it is perfectly useless.
Today has been bad too. 
Behaved at the office, then bought some things at a supermarket that sells all this biological stuff near my office (I think I have already mentioned it) and ended up buying some drinkable chai yogurt (that I had for lunch), some mini cinnamon rice cakes (that I finished right this second) soy yogurt (my dinner:57 cals) and some other stuff. 
This is what I ate today.
Too much for someone that ate like a con before the injection.

Sometimes all this crap, these calories, the keeping a journal and a close controlling eye on what I consume feels way too much. It feels stupid. Boring. And something to be glad it's not there.
But then, after some time of not thinking about it and ignoring it (but actually not behaving normally though) the need to have it back creeps in.
I can't explain it myself. I don't know. I just have to have it back. To live a diseased food relationship the way it gives me more hope of happiness: thinking that probably I will be able to starve myself long enough to reach the weight and shape that I want.
Because that's what it is. Hope.
That things will change. By restricting or starving. Giving up hope is bingeing. And that is why I can't take it for long.
Hope is the only thing that gets me going.


Love darlings,
Not so cheerful or energetic tonite.

<3