warnings and such:
1.all rights belong to the author,don't copy without written permission blahblahblah
2.This story involves bad bad bad language,sort of [I mean it's English so I don't see what's the biggie but just warning you anyhow]
3.This story contains vivid descriptions of a person struggling with an eating disorder.
4.Same sex relationship.
note from the author: sorry about the delay..was busy.Thank you for the e-mails,they're heartwarming hahaha
oh btw please e-mail to this adress: burglary_yeras@yahoo.com
I've always compared life to a road.If you look forward, you might miss something on the sidewalk you're walking on, then trip and stumble.If you look at the sidewalk, you won't see the whole picture,and then you won't know where you're going.I think I've always been looking at the sidewalk.Living for the day.Looking at each step.It must be, because if I would have been looking at the whole picture and seen where I would end up few years, from when I first shoved my fist down my throat,I wouldn't have done it.I would have said "fuck it".But I didn't.I was looking at the sidewalk and trying not to trip.I wasn't looking at the whole picture.I stumbled anyway. Inspiration Shit, I hated the way some people never ran out of things to say.It was a constant problem for me.All I ever said was "fuck" ,"You got a ciggie?", & my most famous one "excuse me I need a bathroom break".How did people find the will to do something,to go on,to make great things?How did they find the inspiration for life?In what?Where?For how much?I didn't even know where to began to look.Things in my head could be compared to a storm.Thoughts that couldn't be put together,that didn't fit like fucking puzzle pieces,no,they didn't make any sense at all together.Group therapy,Family therapy,Cognitive-behavioral therapy,Nutrition,Prozac,Hypnotherapy ..All those words.Words that didn't mean a thing to me.They were all on my "to do" list.Yet I couldn't bring myself to even think about them.They were boring,fucking meaningless.The kind of rage I feel.Sometimes I'm afraid that it will boil over and spill like milk.I do not know why or where it comes from.
"Aiden sweetie" I do nothing.I sit and pout.I pout and sit.I'm so young.So young and I'm halfway in my grave already. "Aiden talk...talk to me," and she breaks down.NEWS! I sit.I sit and do nothing as always.I replay some old song in my head.Words,that don't have any particular meaning to me right now,yet they stick like gum.It's quite fascinating how sometimes you can't get shit out of your mind. I think about smoking.It doesn't make anything better anymore.It doesn't signify any rebellion or romanticism anymore. "I want to get a tattoo" She looks at me with tears streaming down her face.I see something flicker across her face,it's a recognition of talking to an insane person.She is convinced I'm insane now. "Are you out of your mind..?" What did I say?Am I out of my mind,no..I believe she is though.Fucking cunt,I hate her. She snorts "no certainly not,you're not getting anything until you start talking to me" I roll my eyes and she does her best at not snapping at me. "I want to get a tattoo," I repeat and get up. "Where do you think you're going!?" she screams out.She's so pathetic.I walk forward and she grabs me by the arm,quite painfully I might add.At the instant of her touch I flinch and get her hand off of my arm.I run out of the room.
The trees outside of the center are all dead.They do not look happy.They look how I feel,if that makes any sense whatsoever.I think,but after a while thinking starts hurting.I don't feel the same in these bones anymore.If the next days will be like today,I will die soon.I know it.I think about it and it hurts,and it scares me.I don't want to just stop being.It's so cruel,this whole world.I would like to write of how I cry bitterly right about now,just for the dramatic effect...but I don't.I look about,with tired eyes that can barely see anything anymore.Despair.Despair.wasn't that a movie title?Yeah..I think I remember.
Luc is talking to me,but I am so far off.I do not hear,or rather I do not want to hear.I don't wanna know all about my situation and how they're gonna help me get out of it.They're not.If I can't do it I won't let anyone else do it for me.She is looking at me intently with her piercing brown eyes.I would complement her on her pretty eyes,but I don't think she cares much for my compliments.She is saying my name,but I don't acknowledge her.She is very tiresome,just like Grace.I close my eyes and she asks me if I'm okay.I somewhat nod.What kind of a fucking question is that anyway..nooone gives a fuck if I'm okay.I don't give a fuck if I'm okay.I want to get it over with,death.I want it done,over.Fuck.If I only had the guts to kill myself everything would be so much simpler.I feel a hand on my shoulder.I wake up from my one minute sleep. "I think our session is over for today.It would be best if you went to sleep now and we'll talk later" I get up.I stop ,wanting to say something ,as it only seems appropriate.I start walking again.I have nothing to say.I'm out of words.I go into my room and it's freezingly cold.I get under the covers.It's still cold but better.I squeeze the covers hard with my hands.Something wet slides down my face.It leaves a track.A silent track.Wet.It gets warmer as I start remembering everything nice that's ever happened to me.At first it's really hard because I keep remembering all the bad shit and I can't focus on anything good.But I regain control of my mind after a while and everything gets easier and.. warmer.I remember Cal.I remember him touching my bare shoulder.I remember him tracing little paths on my arm and than kissing it.God knows why.I love him.We're so different.I hate him.Yet we're in it together..so I'll love him forever.