Not afraid.

I'm not afraid of dying. Pieces of me die all the time.

Work harder. And harder. And harder.

Infront of me are ten pretty, little pills...

I'll take one because you lied to me...
I'll take another for all the family trouble...
I'll take two more for the fat on me...
I'll take another because I hate myself...
I'll take another for all the rumors...
I'll take one for all the  nights I've cried...
Now, I'm shaking I'll take one because I need to calm down...
One left... am I beautiful now? Does this make me perfect?...
Take it...
I'm done. I'm perfect now.


I'm ready now....

This is where you see who I am.

I think that it's time to show "me"...
This is my fatness, my obese body and my fat face.

Don't be shy, you are now allowed to laugh quite loud!!
See the ugly truth!

Desire.

I personally think that this fear which you're having inside you when you're standing on the edge is rather a desire.
The desire to just let yourself fall - or to spread your wings and fly.

This is one of my drawings. Reflecting my feelings pretty good I think.

There is a storm inside my head.

So much going on at the moment.
I am not doing well... Not at all. I had a preliminary talk in a treatment center. It was so hard for me to go there, so many feelings, so many thoughts. Will they take me for serious? Am I sick enough for getting help? Do I really need help and will this be the right way of help for me? So many thoughts are wandering through my head since then. The therapist was quite nice and I had a good feeling in that way but I am not sure if I will choose this clinic in the end. I need help, I know it. I don't want to live like this anymore. Either way I choose the way of going into treatment or I'll die. I know it. I will die by suicide or my "accident". I don't want to live like this anymore, so these are my two choices. I have to choose. To live and let my illness go or to cling to it and die. Seems to be an easy decision, right? But it really isn't.
This illness, all these diseases have become part of me. They are like part of my personality, a part that has become quite big over the years. So I would have to let go what makes me the person I am right now. It's a bad, sick part of my personality but nevertheless it is a part of it! So what would you think if you got to let yourself go? To loose what spots you. It's quite hard. It would make me a nobody. It would make me look like a blank sheet of paper. All that was written on it was erased. Only the marks of what was written on it once are left. My scars. They will stay forever...
And then there are the scars that no eraser, no doctor, no medicine will ever be able to heal: The ones on my soul. And these are the ones that hurt the most. Will I ever be able to forget? To completely let go? Will it be that easy?
I don't know... The only thing I know is: If I won't change, my diseases will change me. Even more than they already did now. They will turn me into a monster, a living dead. And one day, I will be gone forever. And I will never come back.

Help.

My thoughts all the time.