(Source: things-i-tell-myself, via nibblemyfruitcake)

I’ve had the strangest dream involving the past, present and future so now I’m staring at my reflection obsessively. I am afraid that my face will melt— will I become a person without a face? I’m not real. I have a face with expressions, how can that be? I don’t feel whole at all. I’m terminally incomplete.

How did I go from studying media studies to fashion journalism to applying for ancient history?!

Can you tell how much of a confusing and uncertain person I am? I’m constantly attempting to recreate myself, but the reality is that I’ll never escape myself. I try and I try to fill this hole, it is futile. I’m stuck with this mind and body yet I cannot accept it.

desolate-destruction:

“there is no known specific cause for borderline personality disorder. It is believed that BPD is the result of a combination of biological and psychological factors. In other words, people with BPD are likely born with a predisposition of developing the disorder, which is then triggered by trauma, stress, or other factors.”

(Source: calyx)

Getting fat.

Changed my mind about a possible recovery… can’t handle this. Look at my back! 

Mirrors are deceiving. 

I don’t want to see anyone for a day, week, month, year, decade, centuries to come.

I’m worthless thus useless. I’m nothing and no one wants to be associated with me. I don’t want to be associated with me therefore I deserve to suffer then die. I ruin everything. Disgusting! I’m disgusting and I’ll never be able to get the filth off me. I pity anyone who has to deal with a creature like myself, how terrible, they wish to retch just by looking me in the eye. The filthiness seeps from my soul to the flesh then to the world. 

I am such a vile person. I believe that my heart is tainted, I’m ugly beyond repair, unintelligent, my conversations seemingly bore people or make them wish to jump off a building. I’m sorry.

(via missmairaisabel)

I’m both trying to eat better and trying to not cry at the sight of my stomach.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m not solid. I’m hollow; there’s nothing behind my eyes. I’m a negative of a person. It is as if I never thought anything, never wrote anything, never felt anything. All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.