I haven't been on this site in years, and it feels so strange to be back. The last time I was active here I must've been about 16, and now here I am, 19 and all. I'm going to be starting college this August, and I'm working on getting my driver's license. I think I'll use this area as a sort of blog space for me to just let out my thoughts and feelings, sort of like a diary I guess. I haven't seen my therapist in about a month now. So let's begin...

Starting things off, we have my disordered eating habits, which I think means bulimia. I also smoke a lot (nicotine and weed), and my doctor thinks I have PCOS. I've been seeing a sugar daddy to make money, because my anxiety gets so bad when I'm in a large public area that I can't focus on my job. Yes, that sounds like a shitty excuse for quick money doing risque things, but I'm no prostitute. Also yes, I clearly have a really unhealthy lifestyle, but that's what I'm here to work on.

See, I've started doing loads of other things that I probably won't mention here just yet, y'know, small stuff like photographing abandoned buildings and accumulating a strange and deep interest in the macabre. Things like that have come across to me as extremely therapeutic, and I've found that writing helps me really get everything out all at once.

I need help with my writer's block. I need help with lots of things, but please, let me write again

Black as day, like the whitest night

Colors in my soul, I feel them fight

Liquids mix, and it feels so right

Sky meets ground while I choose the light

Scrabbling for air, as my lungs go tight

Oxygen levels drop, and I’m losing all my might

-and I lose-

My very sense of sight

Now I’m falling, blind, and full of fright

And I think, “Will I die this time?”

That’s how I’m found: Lying on my side.

And all is silent while your realization decides:

You’ve watched me die tonight.

I never understood what I wanted in life. I never thought about life and death or reality and time. I always assumed I'd have all the time in the world to discover who I'd be... But I was wrong. I was terribly mislead. With each passing day, I feel my soul crawling back from whence it was before. I don't understand what's happening. I can't sleep, my eating patterns are irregular, and my emotions are nonexistent one second and then entirely too present the next. I'm afraid I've already reached insanity. I don't understand. I don't want to be alive. Was I even alive before?

She could see past life. She could see into “nonexistence”. She could see past reality and she could see the beauty of the depths of all that was unknown. Life and death and love and loss and pain and ecstasy all were one as she came to realize that no, life isn’t more than death. Life is nothing to death. Life is simply part of death.

I don’t sleep.

I’m sleeping now.

I’m tired.

I’m sad.

I’m sad?

I’m numb.

Entirely numb.

I want to die!

I want to die?

I want to sleep.

She was a lonely person. It’s not that she didn’t enjoy other people. She just enjoyed the void of emptiness growing in place of emotions. She liked the way silence surrounded her and seemed to be omnipresent.

She wasn’t suicidal, though she was utterly taunted by death. The thought of such emptiness... She could be omnipresent, too.

It’s hard to not feel empty. Narcotics were supposed to help, but they’ve only taken me to a scarier place; a scarier plane of existence, or state of mind, however you see it. Music only mocks me with nihilistically-thought-provoking sounds.

I am not particulary afraid of anything or anyone, and I’m not even really sure if I dislike the feeling of numbess; the feeling of nothingness. I can’t describe the sensation. It’s a cold scratching at a layer of my insides which I should not be able to physically feel. It’s kind of like drowning in sweat that has been left to sit on a person long-done with their race. A person just entering a cold building, making the sweat become the basis of a shudder, after being a provider of comfort in a difficult situation.

Existence is a word in which can bring to mind just how BIG the world is. But no matter what, it seems, that we as humans... will never comprehend just how vast life itself is. It sometimes feels as though I am being suffocated and mocked by how easily a life can be snuffed out of existence. We exist and we create relationships, and bonds, and sometimes other humans... yet all for what purpose? To cease to exist at the hands of a mad man with whom we are thought to know? Not a single creature on this planet, and perhaps other planets beyond our knowledge, understands what comes of us. Do we truly possess a soul? Are we truly forgotten? It seems as though I am asking a question asked much earlier than my own time, but I am not. I am merely telling a tale of humanity. No matter what happens in life, no matter how much we are reassured in life and death, we shall always have an inkling of humanity within our curiosity, like a compulsive animal. We are compulsive animals. We are human.