thirty

I'll answer questions in my next journal. Right now, I have to get something off my chest.

I am a manipulator. I don't really know why, or even if I do it on purpose, but I am a manipulator nontheless. This eats at me every day. I can say that I genuinely hate myself for it and many other reasons. Many people have low self esteem, I know, but this goes far beyond that. I've dedicated my life to torturing myself. I work very hard to destroy myself bit by bit. People ask if I'm suicidal, and I say no. I'm not going to kill myself. I'm going to punish myself somehow through intense physical and mental pain. Every time I look in the mirror I have the overwhelming urge to tear my face off, peel it like it was an orange. Every second I spend with myself is filled with self loathing. Slowly, piece by piece, I'm tearing myself apart.

I would welcome death with open arms, but I'm not going to take the easy way out. I'm going to eat myself alive, over and over again.

Pain is nothing.
Sickness is nothing.
There are many ways to destroy oneself.

Some time ago, I made a concious decision to suffer. Truly suffer.

I'm going to rip myself apart.