something occurred to me as i was writing in my paper journal.

i do wish for death. i long for it, for an escape, for relief, for the darkness.

but i've attempted suicide and failed and landed in hospitals and psych wards and clinics and god knows where else. the attempts were quick - a large handful of pills here, two quick slashes of the wrist there...you get the idea.

now the idea of a quick death doesn't appeal to me. that's weird cause most people who want to die want to just get it over with, right? but i want to savor it...i want to feel it coming a little closer day by day until it finally arrives...

i think that's why i'm restricting so severely yet so calmly. every day is a little death, and sick as it is, i'm enjoying it, and looking forward to the next day and the next little death.

each day brings me closer, and although i look forward to the end, each day is bittersweet. i don't go to bed hungry. i go to bed content that i am that much closer.

starving + bleeding