ARREST TO PROVE

ink. 20.07.20x20.
i can hear them when they rummage through the kitchen, pulling out drawers and opening cupbaords. it feels like a violation, like they're taking things from me. i'm in constant terror, that the food i want to eat will be eaten by everyone else but me. sometimes i fantasize abt hiding inside the cupbards, carving out a place for myself and then jumping out to scare whoever tries to take what i consider mine.
i'm looking into moving out. i got benefits now. i get money now. i want to live alone and i know i can - easily even. years of taking care of everything and anyone else but myself, has reaped some benefits. cleaning isn't a problem, cooking isn't a problem, living isn't a problem, when you're no longer looking over your shoulder, trying to make sure no one else can see what you're doing, otherwise they'll steal it away. so now i wait or hope.
i wish it was open so i could talk to my case worker face to face, so she could hold my hand while i blow snot bubbles into my hoodie and pretend i don't have eyeliner smeared down my cheeks.

my friend told me she was worried abt me, because now i look skinnier than she ever did back then when all the evil stuff happened. maybe it's just because she has never seen me looking less than plump, maybe it's not that? but yes, she's worried. i don't like it when ppl are worried abt me. it feels icky, terminal, guilt ridden. and i can't fanthom why they would worry about me? why would they? i'm not worth worrying about, ever.
my sister says i look gross, my shoulders are boney, my hips hurt to lay on, chestbones are more prominent than ever. i look halfdead now. it's not even my fault, i'm just so tired and feeling guilty for all reasons under the song, too guilty to eat. do not worry, i'm fine, i'm okay, i'm almost dead so let it be that way.

eyes. 26.06.20x20.
it hurts to blink. i cried for what felt like hours, sand particles wedged into corners and now they're grating against my eyelids. i hissed, spat, yelled, screamed and cried cried cried in front of my mother, wanting to kill my sister, my family for all the shit they've done to me. yet i also feel like i was being overly dramatic, but as i don't know if my memories are real, what can i trust?
can i trust my family to tell me the truth? can i trust my mind to showcase reality when i need it? can i trust my surroundings, never knowing the difference between stone-cold-infused reality and bittersweet fantasy?

no one irl really believes me, they think i'm overly sensitive and dramatic ... maybe i'm, but it's not normal to react this way is it? to be so overwhelmed w emotions you sob over the bathroom sink, dripping tears and seeing how your face puffs up? other ppl have been horrified when i told them about what has happened to me, but is what i think happened, really something that happened? i know my family denies any wrongdoing, but i can't explain why else i've these fucked up behaviors, especially about food, privacy and emotional support. i don't like being touched, i don't like sharing unless i'm not feeling obligated to do so, i don't let others touch my things, i hate loud noises and can hear who walks up the stairs or who's home or what car drives down the street. it's making me so paranoid and anxious, but what if there's nothing to actually fear and be anxious about? what if it's all an elaborate theory my mind has made up to explain maybe the BAD things i've done? or that every thought and memory has been implanted in me, as to give me a false narrative? i've no idea, i don't know anything, i don't know if i EVEN want to know. the not-knowning and knowing are both things that scare me shitless and keep me up at night.

however i very much wish i was an only child ...

ribs. 22.05.20x20.
i weighed myself for the first time in 2 years. 47kg. i haven't even noticed i had come so far down. i can't fit any of my clothes anymore...it hurts to sit, lie down and move. i can feel my bones grate against each other. i'm disgusted by myself, but i don't want to do something abt it.

i need to stand up for myself when it comes to my family. i know 50% of all my issues has root in my upbringing. i stopped feeling like a kid at age 5, when my sister was born and then it was just being the scapegoat, i wish i had eyes like a goat, and always being blamed for everything that could go and went wrong. a broken plate, missing food, dirty floors, a sock left on the staircase, fingerprints on a glass. i got used to it so fast, that i now can't let go of the ever simmering guilt. it stirs right under my nailbeds, breaks into flames when suspicion arives, burns like coal in my stomach, hard and lumpy till i find a place i can spit it out and bury it.

i've an obsession w the number five. everything has be in fives, i've to do things five times when it's specific things. it doesn't feel right if i don't do it. like i haven't said goodbye playing w an ouija board and now i'm being haunted by my own neglectfullness. and other times it's 3 that flashes neonred over my head, reminding me to never stop counting. i failed math twice in high school and never learned the more advanced stuff. it scared me. numbers are scary and can easily control your whole life. 47.

nails. 14.05.20x20.
i fell asleep while my hair was wet, so it started to slightly curl and get frizzy. i look bald when u look at the crown of my head, but i haven't gotten around to dye my hair, to paint over the blonde i've always hated, how it has been associated with the worst periods and memories in my life. when i was bullied for over a decade by everyone. when i was sexually assaulted not only once, twice or thrice but 4 whole times in the span of a year. when i couldn't figure out why my whole world was falling apart. when it was bad bad bad, like cutting into a mango expecting juicy goodness, but being met with a rotting pit, so bad bad bad.

my nails are long and sharp, i envision myself scratching off my face, two deep cuts down the sides, tearing my eyes and cheeks in two. it doesn't feel like harming myself at this point, just something i've been waiting for.
i had a dream in my nap earlier. i was living in a house with other ppl, always fighting for the rewards given out to the sickest of the bunch. i wanted to win so bad, craining my neck and pushing out all the evil in me, but i was always passed over for more wispy ppl, the ones you can't help being jealous of. i woke up and suddenly the worry my sister and my mother had expressed over the recent weightloss i unaware had been dealing with, was something i couldn't help laughing about. it didn't feel like something real to me. i don't take their worry seriously, not after all these years with constant hatred burning in the pit of my stomach for the body i knew i could never have. now i have the wish granted i almost killed myself over at 16. it just feels too late. a body is worthless. so much rest upon it, i don't want the responsibility of having to care for it, i never asked for this.

when i say i wish i had been an abortion, it's mostly in regards to my mother. i truly feel like i've ruined her life and i feel like i cermented her fate when she crashed into that tree when i was barely 6 months old. how does one stop feeling guilt about past happenings? parasitic, that's truly all i am. i wish i had been crushed in that, melted into the tree and tossed away.

cupid. 12.05.20x20.
why is there so much competition in mental health groups??? i constantly feel like i've to be "worse" than anyone else, that i can't just exist with the shit i already have, i feel like i have to be MORE and BAD than the person before me. i've always felt that way, since i was tiny, always been compared to anyone else, especially other girls, i was somehow never truly good enough, just some rando girl even in my own family. i wanted to be SPECIAL i wanted to be SPECIAL, mother, (MOTHER) I WANTED TO BE SPECIAL FOR YOUR DESIRES!!!.
there's no support for those that don't hve it bad enough, they're just attentionseeking bastards, uhhh show me the baby cuts you fucking coward, ahh you're not skin and bone yet why should i care, oh so you haven't been raped-raped??? lol get outta heere. when is it enough? when is the shit you've been through enough for others to see that i'm doing badly??? everything went under the radar for years, since no one saw, they never saw me ... they only saw someone quiet and ugly, hiding in the library corners and never having any friends that didn't speak poison behind their back. no one really knew. so when i'm talking abt these things in flippant manners, since that's what i've grown accustomed to (nobody wants to hear or understand)), then they look at me with disgust, i'm not welcome not welcome at all. i never have been welcome.
i started cutting more and more to prove to others, that hey i'm fucked up pls help me, but again, why care abt a single strand of hair when your whole head's full of pristine locks?

why do i feel the vibrating need to be special, to be noticed? is the neglect i've been suffering from since i was 5 and my paretns finally got the child they wanted, someone they actually planned for and wanted to hold in their arms, to welcome into their home and family? or is the hatred that followed me from playground to playground, childsized peebles embedded into skin-to-ground conatct on every weekday afternoon? or is the violence boys and men outfitted against my will, 11 years old and a "HOT PIECE OF ASS" & "HEY, YOU SURE LOOK MATURE, WANNA GIVE ME A LIL' KISS?" or UNWELCOME hands crowding me against walls and pushing down stairs? or is it the dread of knowing you'll never be enough, that there is something wrong w you and you're the only one who can't seem to grasp onto what it's? or is it the plain and boring feeling of insides slowly melting into one hard mass in the center, settling in your bones to form a new and more fragile human being?

or am i just feeling sorry for myself?
for knowing my shortcomings and flaws outweigh any possible good in me ...

but i hate the measuring contest in any sense of the word and world. there'll always be someone who had it worse, but why does my strained voice not matter anyway?