And so the little woodland creature crawls out of hiding again.
Still here, immortal.
The bulimia is bad.
Not to me but probably to anyone who would observe it enough to have an opinion about it, they would probably deem it something to make a fuss about..
Maybe just a little fuss..
At least *a* fuss..
It's every time I attempt to feed myself now.
I don't know why I need so much?
Maybe I was never taught what was a normal amount to need.
Or maybe I was never taught not to fear the amount you *actually* need and not try to blame your fuck ups on not knowing the "right" amount to need.
God knows, really.
But I ache and I just want to sleep and keep down something other than Jell-O.
I am also coming to grips with my lonliness.
I said it.
I AM LONELY.
But that's my fault because I'm scared of people.
But no, no I'm not.
I love people.
I'm scared of myself.
I fuck up the shiny happy people picture.
I'm the awkward one, not the situation.
Everything is perfect! It's all right there for you and YOU think yourself into fucking it up.
Because you expect it.
And I always write these horrid paint-splattery entries that sound so depressed, no?
But the odd thing is that no matter how deep the hole I'm in at the time happens to be, I'm not depressed, I'm just...smug.
Now there's a word.
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