brekkie - 1/4 cup oatmeal, 1 packet sweetener. 79.
lunch - 1 apple. 80.
dinner - Tofu. 3 small strawberries.  232.
other - 2 glasses water. 3 pieces gum. 1 mug tea w/ sweetener. 5 bottle caps candy pieces. 45.
-0.331 lbs

Cut for two hours today. Dizzy. Tired.
Dakota's coming over in five days. I don't want her to see how many more scars I've gotten since she last saw me. =/ I should talk to her but I don't really want to.

brekkie- 300mg lithium, 60mg oxycodone, 2 gummy vitamins, 1 small strawberry, 1 glass ice water. [14.]
lunch - 1 strawberry cigar. 1 liter water. [0.]
dinner- veggie burger. [315.]
other - 4 pieces gum. 1 mug sleepy time tea w/ 1 packet sweetener. 300mg lithium. 1 cigarette. [20.]
exercise - 1600


I am never never never taking oxycodone again after I run out. I swear. I woke up, took some, and in about an hour started feeling really dizzy and had a super bad stomachache, and like a ridiculous amount of spit in my mouth. I could barely stand up - which I didn't expect because I barely took any.
 Only eight left. Despite how shitty they make me feel, I'll of course continue taking them. I'm retarded.

Also, I would like to point out I'm ridiculously happy right now. Still. <3 akjwenakwnawjenakwneakwneawemaweaweaw.

breakfast - 11oz berry smoothie [400]
lunch - Tortilla chips, vegetable fajita, 1 glass Sierra Mist. [went out to lunch with family.  860]
dinner - Mint ice cream sandwich. 1 bottle blue lemonade. [630]
other - 1 peppermint. 1 small bottle Pepsi. [180]
+2070
Exercise:  1980
Weight: +0.03

Goddamnit. Why do I eat so fucking much? And, seriously? Ice cream for fucking dinner? I mean like, at least I could make good choices or something. Fresh fruit instead of the smoothie. Water with lemon instead of the Sierra Mist. Not eat the chips. Skip the lemonade for dinner drink and have like, water for once. Ughhhh.
You’re at a ‘healthy’ weight now, dumbass. Stop eating like you need to gain

You are the stars in the sky I stare up at and wonder how anything could be so beautiful.
You are the ground underneath my feet that keeps me from falling into the center of the earth.
You are the air in my lungs, making me breathe in and out day after day.
You are the heart in my chest, the vital thing at the center of my existence.
You are the sun shining down and making me warmth and happy.
You are my entire world, you’re my everything.
I’m scared to death for you, love. Maybe it’s that I haven’t talked to you - really talked - in a while and my sole form of checking on you is currently getting on your blog when I can. Maybe it’s that I worry about you no matter what. Maybe it’s that I think you’re having a really rough time right now.
I hope you know that I love you and I’ll always be here for you.
I’ve cried the past two nights over you. I miss miss miss you. I need to hear your voice. I need you to keep me strong. I need you to help me not fall apart.

I just need to lose a little. Just a little. Just enough to not feel like I’m choking all the time.
   I’m tired of feeling like I have to keep going. I’m tired of smiling and pretending I’m strong. I’m tired of eating my meals like a good little girl and only hurting myself when I really, really need it. Like today after shopping, stopping in the bathroom to draw shallow, swift lines across my thigh.
I’m tired of feeling like I’m filled with flies. I’m tired of hating so much. I can’t even describe how much it hurts to hate this much. To have to carry it, put out the effort to direct it, and be the receiver. I just want to lie down and give up. Recovery is a fairy tale. I don’t think it can really happen for me. I’m destroyed. People can say all they want that there’s happiness and light at the end of this, that I’ll smile easily and look at myself without cringing, but there won’t be any end, not for me.

Recovery is hell. Fucking hell.
Why the fuck did I ever agree to this shit? Because of Tiger, of course, but I can’t do this.
Every day when I do my bone-check in the mirror, it’s like a hideous version of my old routine. Lift shirt. Ribs covered in pale flesh. Suck in, still not there. Grab hipbones, but they’re receded into the skin. Look for the indent between the bones in my arm, but it’s gone. The hollow of my armpits that always made it near impossible to shave is filled in. Collarbones only slightly there. Jawbone melded in with the neck. .
I miss the cold. I forgot what a warm body is like. I forgot how terrible it is - throwing off the covers and opening the windows in middle of the night.

‘Slut’, single-edge razorblade, right calf. 

I feel like shit.
Slice open a fat potato, slather the insides with butter and cheese, wrap in tin foil, pop in microwave. Fidget. It won’t be done for 30 more minutes. Musteatmusteatmusteat. I fidget, say nonono, but the answer is yes, is always yes, and I microwave a pastry. Then I eat peanut butter and crackers, granola bars, a grilled cheese sandwich I make on the stovetop. Beepbeepbeeppotatoisdone. Slice it completely open, top with more butter and cheese, shovel in fast even though it burns the roof of my mouth. Drink some berry flavoured juice, a lot of water, suck on ice cubes.
Mom’s in the bathroom and purging in ziplocks in my closet is one of my least favourite things to do. “I’m going on a walk,” I yell, jog out, fling open the gate, purge in the muckheap behind the stable. When I straighten, feeling much emptier, I look up and the horse is watching me with large eyes filled with intelligence. I kick some manure over my mess, and go over to pat him on the neck. “Hey boy.”
Go to town next. Stop at a stuffy, smelly little dinner with badly drawn cartoon characters painted all over the windows. Order bananas foster French toast. Side of eggs. Side of hash browns. Suck down full sugar sodas and nervously claw at the edges of the table while waiting. Nanananannafoodnananananneatnanananananananna. Food plops down on table, eatfastbitch. Feel too full but on the way home stop for cheap chocolate covered malts and at a fast food place for a chocolate shake. fidgetfidgetfidget, purge.
Finally, go to psychiatrist appointment.
“How are you doing?”
“Good!”
Liar liar liar.

I hate this. 

I miss you. I have no other way to say it. I miss you so much.
I hate distance. I randomly started crying over it last night.

I want to do something ridiculously stupid and dangerous. I want to find the big, big, biggest knife and cut all the way to the bone, not just once - over and over and over. I want to heat the teakettle until it is squealing and hold it against that stupid word I carved on my right thigh. I’d do anything to be rid of it. I can’t even say it or type it. I told Tiger, but I don’t think I could tell here. I want to burn that skin, then cut it completely off. I want to cut my face, deep. No, I want to cut the flesh of my face completely off. I want to swallow a bottle of pills. I want to drink all the alcohol in the cabinet downstairs. I want to smoke all the cigarettes in this house. I want to go swimming in the pond, with the 24 degree weather, in my underwear. I want to fuck random strangers. I want to meet a drug dealer and get needles and baggies and pills and things that will shut my head up. I want someone to hit me, hurt me in any way they can. I want to drive to the store at ninety miles an hour and buy a shitload of food, laxatives, diuretics, and diet pills. Then come home, eat, throw up, take laxatives/diuretics, and overdose on diet pills. I want to forgeeeeet to eat for a week. I want to exercise for eight hours straight. I want to take a hammer to my bones. I want to cut off all the fat on my body. I want to tear out my hair strand by strand. I want all these things I cannot have [because i am ’recovered’. she’s doing so well, everyone! totally better! lalalalalalal ignorance lalalalalalaa.]  I want to feel something. I want to be hurt.


1, left arm, single edge razorblade. 3 inches long, ½ inch wide.
[x] Dermis / [x] Epidermis / [x] White adipose / [x] Subcutaneous fat cells / [x] Nerve fiber / [] Muscle / [] Bone
[x] Vein / [] Artery / [] Tendon
Woke up with all the tendons in my arm throbbing. It hurts to move my fingers. It hurts to move my elbow. It hurts to do anything that involves using my arm.
 Fuck up. Failure.

I moved the hay bales out of the hayshed because I was going to sweep the floor and get rid of all the old  bits of  hay before it started molding. Mom walked out, started freaking out because Dad had just loaded it in there, woke him up, and started screaming at me.
“Everytime someone does something you just screw it up! Why? Because Arianna knows everything about horses!”
“Hi, I’m Arianna and I know so much about horses. More than anyone else and only I do things right.” She imitates me in a snotty, squeaky voice.
Clapping, she yells more. “Good job fucking Ariaaaaanna!”
“Mom, I was just cleaning so…”
“I know, you were just doing things riiight. Because only you can do things right. And you make sure to let eeeeeeveryone know that you know everything. About horses, about grammar and spelling, about every fucking thing under the sun. It’s fucking annoying. And you don‘t know shit about horses!”
The fighting when on like that for ten minutes, I came back inside, got yelled at more, and went outside behind the barn. I curled my knees up to my chest and cried like the pathetic little bitch I am. Not about the fight, not really, but because I’m just wearing too thin. I’m falling apart and everything hurts. Mom followed me, starting poking fun at me for crying, I started screaming at her to let me just be alone for one second. “I can’t let you be alone because you’re just going to carve yourself up. You’re such a fucking liar.”
I act like I know everything on the planet and I know nothing. I’m sorry I’m arrogant. I’m sorry I’m so annoying. I’m sorry I ruin everything. I’m sorry I’m pathetic. I’m sorry that I cry so much. I’m sorry that I’m a whining, pathetic little bitch who can’t do anything but feel pity for herself. I’m sorry that I act like I’m the only person that matters. I’m sorry I constantly complain about my parents when I’m the one who’s wrong. I’m sorry I can’t do anything right. I’m sorry I’m not good enough. I’m sorry sorry sorry. So fucking sorry.

I miss Tiger so much. I’m worrying about her a lot. I hope she’s okay. I miss hearing her voice. I miss saying ‘good morning, beautiful. take your vitamins!’. I miss rambling to her about little things. I miss her more than I thought was possible. I always forget what it’s like when I can’t be around her. It fucking sucks.