The number of times my body has circled the sun.
And what a night this has been.
So I woke up this morning and my family decided that they were going to sing me happy birthday. Nice gesture, so I was still down, but it made me feel slightly better, but I still cut when I got to school.
Then I went to school and only 2 people knew it was my birthday, everyone else just realized when they mentioned something.
blah blah blah
Now the fun part.
When I'm in the car on the way home with my mother she asked if would want her to go to the store to make something special for dinner. I told her no honestly not wanting anything because I have a shit load of homework and just want to try to get it done and go to bed by 11 at least.
Even though I kept protesting, she finally showed her true intentions.
She really just wanted to go to buy groceries because my grandmother wanted to come over. She wanted to be a "good host" and have food to serve my grandma. If my grandma really wanted to be there for ME she wouldn't need food as a fucking incentive.
Well, my mother comes home with the groceries and tells me to make the fucking cheesecake that I knew for a fact I would not eat. It just really began to get to me when I realized it was turning more into an event for my grandma instead of the true reason... my fucking birth.
I went to my room and felt like I couldn't breath! Not physically, but emotionally. I couldn't fight it any longer I had to use the one life line that has never failed me before... I cut again. It just put me in that medium between pain and relief. That dangerous calm place in my mind.
I really didn't want to eat (fuck when do I these days?) but my grandmother arrived and I went to the table.
Yummy... bean tacos... *monotone sarcasm*
I was eating it slowly, then it's like the fucked up presence in my brain flipped the switched and said "you will get this crap out".
After acting polite at the table I walked to my room and it's like a bomb went off. I began freaking out, crying, hyperventilating, and punching myself. (Now that I look at the last hour I think it was because I was just trying to act like I was "normal" when in my head all I can think about are calories, razors, and my longing for death.) I began to puke out what dinner I had... ugh. Has to be one of the fucking most disgusting things I do. When I was calmer I went in to cutting session number 3 for the day...
Now I'm here... typing my story for the day...
17 years ago I was born.
Who would have known I would end up like this?