shitt, its long, but please continue reading.

I was 10 or maybe 11 years old when I first startet to write. In a book with a horsecover. I wrote mostly poems, but afterwards I could write several pages. Always in the same way I do today. I write about myself, just I don't mention any names, and always trough self perspective.
As I think I was, in a depression, or maybe just an outsider. I used most school days and classes to sit and write. Time passed, the book was almost filled.
I was a smart girl, and I noticed the teacher stopped sneeking over my shoulders when I wrote. I noticed she always where inside the classroom before the classes started.
Then one day she told me to stop my writing, to focus more on the social activities, and see a bit around me instead. That very same day, I wrote than all the shitt I could think of in that book, about my teacher, how rood it was to read others private stuff, how she rather could tell me that I was disturbing her lessons, if she really wanted me to stop. I left the book on my desk, and I understand she read it.
I never stopped writing, still later I did it more secret.
She never complained again.

When I was thirteen I again used writing to something more than just fun. It became "my way". If I don't count the cutting, it was the only way to escape myself.
It helped. I got better, I now wrote short stories and even more poems, in both english and norwegian. I had this diary on the web, and I wrote in scratch books, and just on word programs. I even startet to paint my feelings.
My writing followed me trough the time I were not allowed to go outside, trough the time I lost my very best friend (she tried suicide and got locked in for several months. I was not allowed to talk to her, not even now, her parents blame me for her problems. Like I make people shizo, yeah..). I explained myself trough the writing, why I threaten that girl with my knife, why I ran away from school, and why I almost fainted once a week. It helped me when my parents searched my body for scars... I can't count all the times it was my savior.
As my mum actually is clever, at some points, she noticed and went trough all my diraies, all that I've ever written.
That day I wrote 4 pages about how much that hurt me, how much I "hated" her and never could forgive her for leaving my dad.
She never touched my writing again. still I hid it more safely, to a place she never will find. And now, I just write on my own computer and have a password to open it.

I'm not going to tell you that I hate you for this. Because I don't. ( You know who you are. I guess you're sitting at your room right now, in that blue chair, probably smoking (rød), I know you read this. ). And I'm not mad at you, and I'm not going to leave you for this. Maybe I understand why you do this, why you read it... Maybe I don't.
But I don't believe you'll give me an explanation, ever. Maybe I want you to. Maybe I don't. I guess it will be a relief to me, if you had the guts to admit it, but on the other side... I wouldn't do it either.
It's alright to me. I'm used to it. I won't wake up tomorrow and think about it.
Whats done is done, and its okay.

If you want to know anything about me, if you need an explanation from me, just ask.
I will probably give you an answer.

Now you know my secret. maybe I never hid to well, maybe you figured out a long time ago. I don't know, and I don't care.
I just want you to know this started way before I met you. And it's not your fault, at all. and I just fainted once, and I will not die.
And I'm not sick. You know I'm not.

I keep asking myself one question though. How the hell can you love this?
how can you love what I am? what I've become?
I feel ashamed.

Maybe you want me to eat... Maybe you're worried. Don't be. I've got people to call, who knows. And they know what to do, if something bad happens.
Please don't worry about me. I've got things under control, I promise.
And please don't try force me to eat at any time, I'll let you know if I want something. don't stress about this, you just make me stressed, then I'll start... yeah, stress.
it will just make things worse.
Don't be afraid to eat in front of me. Mostly I don't feel the hunger and you're not exactly making me jealous.
"and please don't try this at home",
I beg you... please, please, please.
don't think about doing this yourself.
I will never think about food in a normal way ever again.
this can be hell, it has been hell, it will be hell again.
you don't want to go trough this.
If you want to do something for me,
then don't starve yourself.
please...

I love you, I still do. this haven't changed any of my feelings for you.
I mean every word I wrote about you, and I hope I have the guts to tell you face to face once, how much you mean to me.
I hope you don't think about me with the same shame as I think about myself because of this.
I love you, don't forget that.

shitt, its long, but please continue reading. I was 10 or maybe 11 years old when I first startet to write. In a book with a horsecover. I wrote mostly poems, but afterwards I could write several pages. Always in the same way I do today. I write about myself, just I don't mention any names, and always trough self perspective. As I think I was, in a depression, or maybe just an outsider. I used most school days and classes to sit and write. Time passed, the book was almost filled. I was a smart girl, and I noticed the teacher stopped sneeking over my shoulders when I wrote. I noticed she always where inside the classroom before the classes started. Then one day she told me to stop my writing, to focus more on the social activities, and see a bit around me instead. That very same day, I wrote than all the shitt I could think of in that book, about my teacher, how rood it was to read others private stuff, how she rather could tell me that I was disturbing her lessons, if she really wanted me to stop. I left the book on my desk, and I understand she read it. I never stopped writing, still later I did it more secret. She never complained again. When I was t

I just puked to "emily" and stopped to "let it be".
without feelings I cleaned up after myself and with no fear I lighted a cigarette.

because there is no one in this world like Emily,

There will be an answer, let it be.

my teeth will rotten, I don't care.
my hair will fall off, I don't care.
If I throw up, I don't care.

Congratulations, I just managed to create a world callousity.

You'll reach trough to me, as the only.
And I'll throw your words up with the rest of the food,
if you try stop me.

nothings wrong.
I'm fine. its just another day.

"For those who understand, no ecplanation is necessary, for those who don't, none will do".

need to get something out, dunno what.

Yeah, we won the tournament this weekend. Well how fucking great.
Played all the matches, and half the final. why half the final?
Because I got a breakdown. How fucking nice.
Stood outside the door in my tiny shorts and smoked a lot. Crying.
Called my friend, she said something that provoked me.
That helped.
I know why...playing the final means involving much and a lot of sacrifice.
If you loose, that is bad. It was all for nothing.
At the time, because I'm afraid to get back to the "black hole" I was in before christmas... I watch myself. blabla.

Drank yestarday. I can't remember that much,
but jeah...feel like an idiot. Feel really bad now.
Feel insecure.
He talked a lot to a blond girl. I know her, she is a good friend of mine. But I really don't want her to know that much about me.
I'm not afraid he'll do anything to her. And I trust the blond girl. I do.
I just.. don't want him to tell her about me.
I know he does, she told me again.
(I wonder when he'll learn that I find out of things, anyway)
And he tells her what he should be saying to me, well, I feel that way.
He asked her what to do with me, that he was afraid to loose me. That I'm not eating.
(which btw is bullocks, I do eat, man!)
and why couldn't he tell me that? I would have felt better, and I could have given him exactly the same answer she did (because I must say, she answered pretty well).
the problem is, he does not believe me.
He does not believe anyone who tells him he is beautiful, has a good personality.
well, I don't either. thats our fucking main problem.
But at least I've decided to give this a try. Me and him.
and he can talk as much as he like to that blond girl. As long as he feels fine.
He can fuck her. I do care, but as long as he feels fine. I'm in for it.

I've decided to try with him, to not fuck things up like I used to because I rather feel good with him now, and get hurt later... then live in misary for a pretty long time, without him. Involving puts you in a good situation to get hurt... I know. I just, don't want to think about it...
I know all things he tried to before, always ended up shitty. (a friend of him told me that, yeah man, PEOPLE TALK!).
and I can't promise him I won't hurt him anymore.
actually, when I think about him, I can't promise that this won't end up shitty either.
But I promise that I love only him, and I won't do anything to anyone else.
I promise if he tells me that my actions hurt him, I would change them.
I promise that I'll be there for him, if he tells me.
But he don't.
And I can't read his mind, as he can't read mine.
he have to tell me. I rather get hurt of what he is saying..
I just want him to say something.

Yeah, the walls. He is sleeping in the guest bed.
I am tired, I just can't sleep.
So I'm drinking yestardays booze. hurray!
I just can't lie still. This is my house. I've lived here for all I can remember. And I remember. a lot.
This is the place my mum left, I were afraid to come home to for several reason, which bitch did my dad take home this night, is he crying, did he take suicide, will he hit me, and so on.
This house is personal. And when I'm inside this house, I mostly don't feel. (and why? because this is the house of hurt, this is the house of pain and deciving).
I could lie next to him and watch him sleep, I like that. He is beautiful,
but I don't feel.
I love him, I hope he knows.
I'm not there because of other reasons.

In the exact same room, my brother locked himself in the christmas of 1999, parents divorced but trying to celebrate christmas together. He cried and hit the walls.
That was the last I saw of his feelings.
Maybe they are there still.
Maybe he just lost them there. Maybe I can find his heart.
Would I give it back to him?
No.
I would save it someplace safe, and treat it well. A bleeding heart deserves that.
My brother are fine now,
without his heart.
And I want him to stay that way. Fine.

I want him to touch me, so I can feel nice looking.
Haha. I'm drunk on a sunday morning.
I love him. I cry, and I love him so fucking much.

(this thing is helping me, writing helps me..)

so I can tell you how many kcal there is in one dl milk, one pizza slice, one piece of bread, 1g ptatochips, how you don't gain waight when you eat apples. How to run to get rid of the carbs, how to run in another way to get rid of the fat.
I can tell you how many days you can go starving before you have to eat four times a day to keep your body burn kcals.

So I did not binge on friday, thank god. Wel maybe I did.. I ate a lot. but i just purged it all up again. thank god. and it worked. I hate purke, I just keep thinking about it and stuff. but if you fucking eat to much,..

Maybe, I'll let you thing whatever you think. care.
At least, when one day is finished I can lay down and relax, still in control, on my way to something better. When everything's fucked I still have this one thing in control. this one thing where its clearly up to me.

so I can tell you how many kcal there is in one dl milk, one pizza slice, one piece of bread, 1g ptatochips, how you don't gain waight when you eat apples. How to run to get rid of the carbs, how to run in another way to get rid of the fat.
I can tell you how many days you can go starving before you have to eat four times a day to keep your body burn kcals.

So I did not binge on friday, thank god. Wel maybe I did.. I ate a lot. but i just purged it all up again. thank god. and it worked. I hate purke, I just keep thinking about it and stuff. but if you fucking eat to much,..

Maybe, I'll let you thing whatever you think. care.
At least, when one day is finished I can lay down and relax, still in control, on my way to something better. When everything's fucked I still have thsi one think in contro. this one think wgere its clearly up to me.

so I can tell you how many kcal there is in one dl milk, one pizza slice, one piece of bread, 1g ptatochips, how you don't gain waight when you eat apples. How to run to get rid of the carbs, how to run in another way to get rid of the fat.
I can tell you how many days you can go starving before you have to eat four times a day to keep your body burn kcals.

So I did not binge on friday, thank god. Wel maybe I did.. I ate a lot. but i just purged it all up again. thank god. and it worked. I hate purke, I just keep thinking about it and stuff. but if you fucking eat to much,..

Maybe, I'll let you thing whatever you think. care.
At least, when one day is finished I can lay down and relax, still in control, on my way to something better. When everything's fucked I still have thsi one think in contro. this one think wgere its clearly up to me.

I think he found it out. and he is kinda asking alot, still not.
a bit hidden. My answers are not lies, but not the truth.
If I had to lie, I would do it.
Maybe he is worried.
Or maybe t just looks like it because he don't get his drugs till fucking friday.

Just a little bread today. Are going to jog again, tonight.
looking forward to it. Need it now.
Its snow outside, that could be a problem.

Feeling actually great, but counting the days to a certain breakdown.
Afraid to sleep, maybe I'll turn rotten.
And ugly and stupid, or to face a day I can't handle

I'm afriad he'll ask why. Why, fucking why all the fucking time.
Why?
1. it stops me from eating too much.
2. I don't think.
3. I really get an incredible fantacy.
4. If I can't control other things, this is something I can. It gives me power.
5. it feels great have that self dicipline.
6. I'm GONNA LOOK GREAT.

that's just some.

I feel for a cigarett,
but he is sleeping on them.
that sucks.

he looks so peaceful there.
eyes closed.
"I know why people kill the one they love.
thats the only way to obsess another person".
I wish he could stay that way forever.
peaceful. safe.

Well, it was a great week. I really mean it. I was full of energy, as I hoped.
And I scored great at every test. and... yeah man.
I reached my goeals every day. Each of them I had energy to go to school, do my homewrok, work political, train, jog and meat my friends.

Now, things are a bit harder.
I've eaten too much today,
and I'm not aloud to go outside to jog. Maybe because of the weather. or maybe because my trousers I used to wear two years ago ACTUALLY FIT!
I'm so happy! but anyway, my father will go to bed soon. Then I'm off, to the rain. Going to jog! can't wait.

last week I ate almost nothing, and as I returned from an hour traning, i fainted. I got really scared... but I really don't care. it means I'm exhausted. It means I burn chalories. without even noticing. how great can things be?

for now, I've got somethings I don't want to think about. Or write about at any cause.
thats why I'm eating, eventhough I'm full.
when you do that, you create a emotinal wall. You can't feel how sick you are of food, you canæt feel how sick you are of yourself.
But I know one thing that also work; joggin, starving and training.
then you can't focus. you fuck that you're exhausted. you fuck the fainting.
you give a total fuck in everything.

well, tomorrow I'm home alone. I've planned to eat a half slice of bread.
maybe I'll take three pills.
tomorrow is gonna be a good day. e really great day.