Saturday, March 26, 2011


photo: francesca woodman

So close to graduation and I'm struggling to hang on. I broke down at my internship talking to my supervisor. One of the staff members has been questioning my weight/eating. I walk through my days like a black hole, sucking everything in, unfilled, and giving nothing.

No one wants to know, and I don't blame them.

Monday, March 14, 2011

everybody says it, my troubles are starting to show

I slowly lose my life 'cause I always stay inside
I self-destruct and I bring bad luck
And then I always change my mind
My friends they all go away
And my love it disappears
Try to forget that we ever met
And start over next year

I break my teeth, I bruise my heart
I get it together and it falls apart
I hold my breath, I bury my head
I run back home and stay in bed

Saturday, March 12, 2011


I don't want to always feel like I'm missing something, someone, missing out

Saturday, March 5, 2011

life has been unfaithful, and it promised so so much

The thing I hate most about the past is that it's always shifting, remembering always dependent upon where you are in the present. The present lies and makes the past "not so bad," when back then you were immobilized by it. You couldn't have known there was a way out a few steps ahead. The present makes light of the past with the knowledge and it's not fair.

Already I walk around school with eyes that see it as the past. In a few months it will be permanently behind me, and I'm already mourning it. the fear and uncertainty of the future makes me view the past few years as safe and simple. It makes me forget the anger and isolation, the barely-here, the loneliness. I spent the entirety of my time here buried in myself. I didn't have the "college experience" of friends and parties. I had plates of lettuce and bags of vomit, hidden boxes of razorblades and stashes of pills.

Year 1

was wasting away, shivering, the pain of bones against wooden chairs in long lectures. Stumbling across campus, hospital bracelet dangling off my wrist while moving into the dorms, my mother doubting I would make it through the year. She was right. But I can't remember anything but standing shivering on a scale each morning; an apple; the size of my jeans. the blur of waiting rooms and barely caught breath, frenzied nights of floating on nothingness, speeding through Nietzsche and rambling essays.

Year 2
was my return after another semester lost. My highest weight, starving but bloated on anti-psychotics. I don't want to leave my dorm, my old body swallowed whole by this stranger in the mirror. I remember nothing but blood and blades and my mental map of bathrooms.

Year 3 is a fog of falling asleep and nearly flunking classes, a haze of seroquel and zyprexa and lithium. My photo self-portrait showing my suffocation in this body, this mask.

Year 4 was only halfway through, no more strength to force smiles and lift myself out of bed. my brain too devoured to read a single textbook page.

Year 5, I'm at the end. It's taken me so long to get here, so many lies and faking and fighting. I didn't plan on making it here. I have no idea what I'm doing.