freakymandy's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- messing things up I don't regret getting into the ED shit. I might use to have. When I was initially trying to recover but after two years of trying, the sense of hopelessness and helplessness begin to seep into me and I'm pretending like it's okay. There is no use of regretting anything right now, I realised. What I hate, is what ED makes me. You know how much I really, really want to recover. I've tried opening up, only to get busted. Only to get rumors started in school. All these, because I'm trying to get some fucking help from the damn school counsellor. My world crumbled halfway in 2003, and then I tried to pick up the pieces and went on to accomplish my goal to recover. It was a strong move, in my part. I chose to ignore what people might say about me.. or even if my friends found out about my diary, I'm not going to care anymore. Because I'm telling the truth. I don't need to be scared.. I'm assuring myself. Last Saturday I went to swimming. It was a relaxing time. Somehow it reminded me of how much I used to love swimming, until I decided to lose my tan and went for the gymnasium option instead. I guess I'm starting to swim now, and go to the gym less often. Water seems to calm me the tensed me down. What is it with water and animals? Me. An animal. A human being. A mammal. An animal with intelligence. A slave to my food obsession. That doesn't make sense. I can't make sense out of it, but a strange force keeps me in this obsession. I'm not about to say what it is. Because I don't know. Perhaps I am addicted to feeling safe. My self-esteem is... okay, I guess. I'm always standing up to my beliefs. Maybe I'm deprived of love and care. I care alot about others, but maybe others don't realise I need somebody to care for me too. I wrote a poem about it.. maybe it was for me..maybe it was for something else. Here's the poem. In other ways that my parents can't. They confessed to me before, saying that they did not know how to express their love towards their kids. Me included. I am fucking sure my brothers don't know who I am, or have the slightest idea. Family. Segregated. What's the point of living together? Just keep reminding me of how fucked up everything is. Tangled in our own complicated web. It'll be better if I'm out of this home, and get my own. Complete with solitude, with my consent. Why mess up my place and my things, when you don't even give a shit, Mom, Dad? You love me, but why can't you show it? Why do you always make me believe that you do, when you often show me otherwise? Why show me mixed signs? Can't you be straight-forward with me? Why do you keep hurling me words like, "useless" "bitch" "unwanted" to me? I don't like it. You don't know. Were you once like me too, so you're trying to seek revenge. It fucking depresses me to watch happy sitcoms with happy lala families. As much as it's made up, I'm still jealous of those kids. I can't feel safe in my home, I can't even tell them about my problems. My friends.. I don't know who to trust other than Farrah. Yet I know Farrah is feeling uncomfortable knowing more and more about my inner self. I'm confused. Why is it so hard to trust? Am I not taught how to. My parents don't trust me with anything but freedom. They give me too much freedom, which makes me fear more things. They don't give me guidance. It's like dumping me into an Amazonian forest with no maps to navigate myself out of the area. If I had a daughter in the future, she would never ever would be like me. And I would never ever be like my parents. I would be a good one, or never at all. I don't want someone to live aimlessly because of my lousy parenting skill. 12:54 a.m. - 2004-08-30 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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