Insides: squirmy. Bits are still shifting about. Still full of gas. Sometimes I really hate my body. Not so much the outside; that I've learned to accept for what it is. It's the inside that's awful. Sums up me, really.
Maybe that's what I'm like. Like a broken mirror... crystal? Snowflake? Yeah, that's appropriate. From a distance it's all glittery with hints of a lonely heart, but inside it's just glaring light reflected off of razor-sharp edges trying to hide the screaming darkness at its core...
Maybe I'm too hard on myself. I keep telling myself I'm a good person. I'm not sure we believe it.
I seriously hope this sickness is just pressurized intestines combined with my natural intolerance for food. If it's something else... If this is just Skeleton screwing with me there will be bloodshed. Honestly, sometimes these "defense mechanisms" are just too over-the-top. I don't need protecting in this case.
On the subject thereof... guilt again? I don't know. I do so desperately crave physical contact. Having someone to hold is at least as- a mearth of a lot more necessary than food. I just keep pushing it, over and over again, and we all know eventually it's going to go over the edge. Not that edge, the other edge. I'm just afraid I'll become too obsessed with the physical side and let myself get pushed away.
Why am I so afraid?
Psht, forget it. I may as well ask why I hate myself so much. I'm young and stupid and might not survive to know anything else. I predicted this would happen to me years ago but there was nothing I could do. There's never anything we can do to stop the ever-spinning wheels of Time pulling us further and further into the future, towards everything we will ever love or hate.
Now I must stop writing before I become completely emo for the night. Ugh. Sometimes I doubt writing out my thoughts is really all that productive.
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