i want to drink a whole bottle of bleach right now.
fuck fuck fuck.

i want to hear it sizzle.
i want to smell.
flesh burning.

comments

crossing the line.

comments

i'm alive. i'm alive. i'm alive.
breathe. breathe. breathe.


have you ever felt the feeling of drowning alive?
of existence without feeling?

i want to.
die.
just to feel how it feels like.

it's all just another warped game really.
to see how long we can hold on to reality this time
before we lose it again.

how many steps we'll inch, towards the edge
before we teeter, falter,
and lean back in fear.

how far we can go,
how deep we can sink
how much further we can fall

would you trade sanity for solace?
trade life for refuge?

where are we supposed to go when there's no where else to hide?

comments

the 23rd of the 23rd.
the second son of second sons.
a third of a third.
the coincidentally choosen.
the ones that were left behind.


we are the children of tomorrow who never grew up

comments

do only the things that matter in life.

comments

shit shit shit shit shit.

i was binging on a huge pack of almonds, dried jackfruit and chinese takeaway. which was absolutely sicking. and then i spent half an hour ramming my fingers, toothbrushes, chopsticks, the back of spoons, straws and what not down my throat. That, plus nice full dose of dry heaving. And guess what, no food.

so i went and gulped down 2 glasses of water and tried again. cause usually purging comes pretty easily to me. even though i've got pretty swollen glands nowadays. i have no fucking idea why, but all of a sudden there was blood on the floor.

it was just sick and disgusting.

now i feel like i've got a huge sack of food cement just sitting there in my stomach.and all i can think of is how much i NEED to get rid of it. and then there's the blood. it's happened before and the last time it cleared itself up but. ARGH.

i just hate this feeling. of just total utter fullness.

shit shit shit shit shit.
why do i always do this to myself.
no binging = no purging = no blood on the floor.
gosh. it's just that fucking simple.
you disgusting slob with no self restraint.
PIGPIGPIGPIGPIG!

someone needs to sew up your mouth and send you away to oblivion.
fuck why can't you grow a little self control and determination.
and stop fucking stuffing every single thing you spy into your fucking damned mouth!

serious shit.


no more binging for the next 20 days.
for real. cause i'm not going to purge it out for you you disgusting pig.
no purge = no binge.
you won't be able to afford to binge.
can't afford to binge.

comments

no we're not. I'm fucking tired of trying to patch up all the your dysfunctional inside.

I'm fucking sick of living in this oppression.
where everyday all we do is to pretend that we're all okay.
that' we're a normal happy family just like everyone else.
all the while, while we're falling apart inside.

someone break me out of here.
out of this place.

i've lost my words, the fluid beauty i've worked so long to amass,
 that would slide off my tongue, a comforting lullaby
of imagination.

all i'm left with is the crude language of
us. naked. and ugly.

stifling, our will to live.
numbed, high on laughing gas
and stark reality.

blunted, by ourselves.
we could have shone,
and lit up the night sky
we could have been.

the razor's  been kept,
we've taken our meds,
 and now it's time to say good bye.
farewell my friends,
though it's not yet the end,
we're off to bed
tonight.

dactylic meter. dactylic feet.
we're off like a beached whale,
drowned at sea.

limitless, our ability.
we just lost the lock to the
door of our key

yesterdays and yesteryears.
yesternights, today.
the sun smoldered away.

we tore our ligaments, bones and skin
so maybe the pain would heal
the bruises that were here to stay.
the invisible scars of twilight.
fading away by the sunrise

prose, jumbled.
jangling, discordant.
exuberant.

victory was never ours.
never to be.

we fell through the safety net
and disappeared into the
dens of mice and motorcycles
matchsticks and mayhem

rainbows, and optical illusions
empty images we tried to believe.
like the empty lies and the empty tales
you told me. trust.
trust.
trustme.

your hot breath, on mine.
16% life. 4% death.
78% jaded.

starbursts and moonshine
and the barbies we wrapped up in twine.

delusion favours the deluded
just as insanity favours the blind

stepped across the forbidden line
the deed is hard, but the deed is harder.

done.

comments

we're ok now.
right?

comments

for today, we could be real.



and forget about all the moments of regret.
the haunting thoughts that roam
the halls of our memory.
always looming, somewhere.
shadowy figures,
and shady pasts.

comments

do you ever feel torn in between trying to live and trying to become?
between trying to burn as brightly as you can and trying to sculpt yourself into perfection.

so maybe for a day i'll try. maybe for a day we should try.


to war.
to arms.
to live.

take a chance.

comments

Wednesday:
Total Calories: 2,270
If every day were like today...   You'd weigh 54.7 kg in 5 weeks

Thursday:
Total Calories: 4,316
If every day were like today...   You'd weigh 64.0 kg in 5 weeks

Friday:
Total Calories: 955
If every day were like today...   You'd weigh 48.8 kg in 5 weeks


and that's with the fattening 350 cal banana split + 115 cal chai latte i had to eat with my bunch of friends.

comments

confused. but i guess i should be grateful and optimistic.
we make our own history. we'll re-write the books of time.
maybe tomorrow will be a better day.
believe. with every pore of your soul.

we are invincible.
giants in this oppressive world
trying to shake us down.
never relenting in it's quest to quash us down.

we are who we are.
we are the ones who still believe.
the ones who can still believe.

breathe.






** And i finally bought my pill box! it's so pretty and rainbow coloured and all**

comments

i am. i am. i am.
i exist. i exist. i exist.

i breathe. i breathe. i breathe.

i'm alive. i'm alive. i'm alive.

i'm not dead. yet.

comments

breakfast: icecream + oreos.
lunch: chicken+almonds+1 apple.
dinner: 1 egg.

i need to stop eating weird crap.
i feel like i'm eating my meals upside down.

comments

i hate how everyone in our family is so manipulative.
because we;re constantly treading on water,
so fluid and elusively vile.
how there's this lovely false pretense of courtesy.
and we go about our day smiling and milling compliments.
strung phrases of alphabets we don;t ever mean.

how we put ourselves, our bodies out on the chopping block,
threateningly submissive
willing everyone else, with a silent ultimatum
so all you can do is to give in

so you won;t be THE ONE
who broke the momentum of all our lies.
so everyone can keep on living and pretending.

i don't even want to wrap it up in nice phrases anymore.
i hatehatehate how you have to get everything done your way.
and whenever you want that you snivel and tell me
are you going to do it. if you don't i'll do it. and then put on your emotional black mail on me.
fuck. fuck you.
like i don't already have enough crap
that i have to keep to myself without your stupid blackmailing.
shut up.

like how once you've tried this trick and it works.
then you keep pulling it on me.

i feel like dorothy hare. misty wilmot. dolores price.
lost. stuck. forever in the middle.
silent screams. repressed before they can even form
at the back of our throats.
like the baby unborn.
aborted before it even had time to form.
at least give us some scars to show
for our silence.
silent sacrifices.

there are none.
                                       left.

comments

if we ever forget,
please remind us to breathe.

comments

we are a generation of lost children.
kids who never grew up.                         
                                             [or got the chance to]
the ones left sitting by the window sills, dreaming.
in the arms of our imaginary mothers, believing.
spinning stories, and tales `
of the wonders that lay beyond these concrete forests

we hummed ourselves to sleep,
to the tune of these mechanical lullabies.
electronic bleeps,                                pre-recorded.
the soft droning of the television set.
a black box of static, comforting even,


numbed our senses and numbed our minds.
blanked out all the troubles, thoughts and worries
temporarily.

i think.
we were never kids. only ever
babies. or young adults.
stuck, trapped forever in between the state of growing up
and growing older.

we believed.
and danced. to tunes we've never heard before.
built. castles in our dreams.
much more elegant, regal and exquisite(d)
than our Lego box sets.
and still we pretend.
to be genuinely pleased. engrossed. absorbed.
in the trinkets, you piled in our stockings.
every year.

the soft crackle of the gramophones,
worn curves of the old mantelpieces
in the garage, consumed, hidden, disappearing
under the grey drapes of the years.

dust bunnies. eliminated.
zapped away with the whir of vaccum cleaners
and the crisp white aprons of the cleaning lady

i wondered. and asked,
your imaginary (absent)  presence
if i could keep on in the jar.

the landlady would never have to know.
it'd be our little secret.
except you were never there.

and she said she had to do her job
a massacre. i imagined. the battle.
a war, of epic dimensions.
like perhaps that of star wars.
intergalactic. i presumed.

a war. a call to arms.
they with their wit; primal; ancient;
standing, in unity.
against the raging unit of electricit.y
the odds were against them .
but never would their courage fail.
nor would their beliefs.

they would battle till the end,
a fight to break free.
they were fighting for a noble cause.
so with valour pooling in their hearts,
they stood their ground.
they believed.

one day, after generations,
maybe, one day they'd prevail.
there was hope.
one day they'd turn the tide against the machine.

in our little hearts we rooted.
for the tinny little dust bunnies standing their ground.
filled. with premonition of their imminent fate.

we'd all fade into obscurity.
sucked into the whirlwind of havoc.
consumed by consumerism.
ground back into dust, before we even got to heave our last hacking breath.

we sold our daydreams to progress
the need of the greater good.
sold our souls to democracy.
we lost the inner child we almost had.
we pledged ourselves to our country.
a foreign land. that we'd never understand.
it's not ours.

never bought. sold.
going, going. gone.


years ago, we would have answered the call.
to arms. to charge and tear limbs from [other] limbs.
for an idealistic notion we thought we understood

now all we do is to dance around,
on tippy toes, side stepping each other
like the awkward sidewalk mime
of politics.

to waltz round the court,
dressed, elaborately in our fancy terms,
jargons no one knows,
shinning, polished and refined.

the words the slip off the tip of our tongues,
 words too oddly foreign today.

language, falling apart.


we are the lost generation who found.
solace.
                                                      when something happened.

the ones who won,
a war never fought.

the ones who never gave up. fighting.
we never knew we could.

lost.

comments

shit.
note to self:
never head bang on unevenly tiled walls.
i'm still woozy from it. tested myself and i'm still wobbling all over trying to walk down the living room in a straight line.

i think i had a minor black out. cause i "woke" up with blood in my hair. not soaked, but definitely matted. and now i can't even lie down cause that send blood gushing back down my skull and it fucking hurts like hell.


bad idea.

fuck. i've already broken my wrist twice. three times.
and it's a strike.

hahas. fuck it.

head banging in more severe cases can cause concussion, loss of cognitive ability, and even lead to a degeneration of motor and spatial abilities.

more commonly seen is the loss of memory (both short term and long term).

shit. thanks.
i needed that.

maybe i should try ice burns...

comments

i've gotten so good at pretending i've lost myself.
it's all an act. except i don't know when the curtain falls
life's but a stage. one i'll never get off.
lines blurring. time slurring.
when does the show end? when did it begin?
when did it start? when does it end?
the grande finale. we're working our way there.

masks. we've gotten used to them.
like the makeup we wear everyday. (or not)
it's become us. a part of.
the person i am.

secluded. a lulling, false sense of safety.
we hid, from the world.
numb. ing.  novocain.

the lists, of everything we wanted to be.
dreams, painstakingly etched with our souls.
everything we've got. we tried.
i think. until the next cycle.

dazed. glazed. glassy.
empty souless eyes. windows, shinning.

maybe it's not because nobody gets us.
but that nobody can.
see past the walls. shutters. blinders. window sills.

stop whining.
a quick dose of (bruises). sharp.
i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry.
i am. i am. i really am.
i never meant it. never did.

i know you're breaking. cracking.
under the strain. the toll it's taking.

stop whining.
take another sharp stab.
forearms are good. so are elbows and shins.
as is banging your head on the wall.
dizzying, but nice.
not the knuckles though. they dislocate too easily.
and the tendons tend too tear too quick.

i'm ok.


PS: Sorry about this morning.

comments

there are wrist bangers. but never on your feet. never on the intricate network of veins, arteries and capillaries that stretch across the webbed tendons of your feet. they heal too slow and don't hurt enough. except at awkward times when they shouldn't.

bad idea.



comments

i just cut myself over who got the pan for toasting a single piece of bread. fucking shit. this new year is NOT turning out well

fuck no one listened to me when i was a kid to hear me babbling on about how tomorrow i would have an extra day off at school because of blablitty blah blah blah.
fuck no one even asked about how my day was.


fuck you.

and i'm not allowed to mention the word biasedness.
i'm supposed to keep my mouth shut and pretend that everything's alright.

i'm supposed to be some kind of trophy daughter for you to show off to your fake friends.
to out do each other.

and i'm supposed to be damned fucking happy doing all this.
fuck. i am not okay. my brain cells are whirring at 100miles per hour.

i'm fainting in the middle of my room. cause nothing that's supposed to be in my blood stream is there.
i get a million migraines before the day is over.
i sleep at 3 in the morning and wake up half a million times in between.

i hate the noise that you fucking make all the time.
i don't even know who the you refers to.



i forget how normal food tastes like.
everything is either the devil out to tempt me. untouchables.
disgusting vile chunks of pure fat.

or they're another binge. of sugar highs, a serotonin shot coursing through my veins.
the hunger. craving. and it's not even real.
it's only for something else. intangible , they would tell you.
something you'll never grasp,hold or see.
something that almost doesn't exist, except in your head.


i'm not angry. liar.
lies. lying. lied.
like everything doesn't matter and i don't care.
like the bread crumbs scattered all over the page.
or the black smudges left over the sheets.
or the bruises you'd ask about, when you already knew

how reality tells us that we'll never break out.
how we deceive ourselves thinking that we're making progress, moving,

forward. except we're just going around in circles.
every bend and corner, the false disguise of surprise.
we've been there before. trapped.
forever in this space and time. lost,
to the fairy tales they fed us from once a upon a time.

rewind. the glaring messages. in your face.
beautiful breathtaking images. and perhaps for that one flickering second if flashed across the screen
you imagined, that it could be you. in that stunning red dress.
red. always red. a beautiful rich velvet read. scarab beetle red.never maroon. always red. blood red.


like the waves of anger that you can never express.
ones that you can only swallow back down
everytime the acid singes your throat.


waves of defeat. retreating. cowards.
what ebb and flow? cowards. rearing up to the moment.
letting everyone else around to egg you and push you to the brink.
only to realise that you can't and won't ever (be able to) fight back.


your beautiful praises. never given.
or dished to us. me. only the harsh words of criticism. everyone's alone.
only saved, and slathered, on someone else


i'd like to feel it burn. the bubble of bare skin.
the charred smell. rising. maybe then i'd feel real again.
a real abandoned little doll. after they got tired of playing tea.


less than perfect. more broken than fixed.


how is it that i've read so many books on people saving people,people saving themselves, people being saved.
but i can never save myself.


that i've spent so much time documenting my eating disorder, but never documented myself.
without a record. gone disappeared.

i can't die yet. or wither into obscurity.
i need to bid my time. to rise. to rise.
to have something to show for.
to exist. to live. to be real.
before i can end it all.


everything we do, we do it to feel alive.
like we're finally real.


like we've broken out of the wooden body of Pinocchio.
like we could actually breathe. and not live, suffocated.


te amo.
love. love. love. love. love. love. love.
love me.
please.
please. please. please.
please.please.please.please.please.please.
love me.

jarring. it doesn't even fit.
awkward. even these heavy hearted pleas.
blurring into each other, until they look foreign on the page.

can't recognise them even more.
don't remember. what they mean anymore.


they were right. (who are they?)
but they were right.
art comes from those who suffer.
extremes.

never from those who live their happy lives, optimistic.
painful. it's always painful.
all the things we've swallowed. never truffles.


they're the ones who gawk. confused. and in half understanding.
a quarter. maybe a little less than a fifth.
and exclaim with the pretty pink handkerchiefs.
only they're silk mouchoirs. or some fancy french term.
with rhinestones and feathers.

it's spectacular. so intriguing. awe-inspiring.
because everyone has someone else to stand up for them.
when they're down.
except us. me.





















sucker. you pathetic sucker. like any self pity is going to help.

i kind of want to just breathe.
how come i'm always supposed yo back down?

funny how in your whole life's experience, the one thing they never teach you is how to write suicide notes.

nice ones. ones that will haunt people forever. the same way they haunted you for the same number of years you were the alive.

how you can never manage to spill your ghosts in ink.
how they shimmer and waver and disappear right a the tip.
and you realise that you'll never be able to do it right?
that your demons will stay with you no matter where you run.
and that you'll never be ever rid of them. and the world will forever be blind to their existence.

that everyone else will only see the things that you've been lost to.
and not your soul. not the demons that were plaguing you since the start of it all.
they will never see what you've seen.
never the horrors that lurk uninvited. behind the cracks that nobody ever remembers to dust.


compulsion. boxed up. everything has to be.
tagged. labeled. kept in a record.

i could rattle my heart off. and spill my world.
ever heard of re-fills?

it never works. when you spill the stories, you're only spilling the stories.
nothing's changed or is going to. cept only someone else knows about every single disgusting detail of your vile life.
dirty little secrets. that's a song right?
has been. faded similarly, from obscurity.
but they'll remember.

as you deceive yourself that one day someone will find your words at least mildly lyrical.
maybe not.

comments

enough moping and self pity.
i'm starting a feed your inner self diet.
hilarious huh.

so basically it's to put myself through a strict regime so that i can get some order into my life. so i don't keep feeling so fed up and pissed off at everything. but also because i feel like i'm aging and i've got nothing to my resume of life except for the fucking fact that i have eating habits odd enough to qualify for the Guinness book of records.

7:15am: Wakeup
7:15 - 7:30am: Finish washing up and everything else.
7:30 - 8:15am: Run 3km + Hanging exercises
8:15 - 8:35am: BATH! :D (makes me happy)
8:35 - 9:00am: Cook and eat breakfast.
9:00 - 9:20am: Pack lunch and my other stuff.
9:20 - 12.30am: Read, Do work.
12:30 - 1.00pm: Eat packed lunch.
1.00 - 4.45m: Read, Do work.
4:45 - 5:10pm: Travel down to the gym
5:10 - 6:10pm: Get some freaking exercise done. and maybe go swim.
6:10 - 6:30pm: Shower
6:30 - 7:00pm: walk back home
7:00 - 7:45pm: Dinner.
7:45 - 9:00pm: Clean my room. RE-file all my stuff.  (OCD at work again)
9:00 - 10.00pm: get all my emails and stuff checked. (too many triggers online. figured that the less time i'm actually online, the better.)
10:00 - 10:30pm: 100 situps. 100 pushups. 100 lunges. stretching.
10:30 - 10:45pm: shower.
11:00pm: Beauty sleep! seriously. caffeine makes your skin like crap. lack of sleep + caffeine = even crappier skin.  trust me. for someone who sleeps at 4am in the morning.


hahas.  a crazy good girl schedule right?

so meal plans...

Breakfast (capped at roughly 200cals):
1 egg white/oatmeal/cereal
1 cup of milk

Lunch (Capped at 200cals):
1 Salad
1 Low-fat Cheese

Dinner (Capped at 200cals)
1/3 of whatever i'm forced to eat.

Snacks (Capped at 100cals):
Fruit or
Seaweed or
Milk or
Almonds or
1 Single piece of Royce 90% extra bitter chocolate.

Drinks:
Black coffee
Tea
Water

So totally everything out, that would be intake: 700+
Calories burnt: 500 (i hope)
Averaging about 200 cals.


Cant wait till school starts though. usually school = no breakfast + no lunch obligations + legit excuses to eat even less of dinner.

Aim: lose 5kg.

comments

maybe someone should petition a restraining order for how ugly i look. or send me for some compulsory plastic surgery.

freak.

comments