two hundred porcelain puppets, that's you my lovelies, you folk right there.

thank you for following my dears, it means a strange amount that you should care about my life.

i'm still suffocating in thee place. 

now i have chest pains and tingling arms, strange black spots before my eyes and a chair instead of legs. i have the symptoms of cardiac arrest and i'm seventeen.

when did the world stop making sense?

did it ever?

i am all or nothing; ultimate power or utter vunerability. if i eat anything then i'll eat everything so i must eat nothing at all. it's been said before but it's so true and i'd rather starve than spit blood and acid.

i act out my life like it is not really my own but as if i am pretending to be me, to be someone else, or just to be anything. i watch my life unfold before my eyes and i feel powerless to change it's direction. and so, i feel directionless.

i want so much. everything i feel is so intense. i am too much for my own body and self to handle. here it is, my renunciation; i cannot cope. 

"it hurts that my best friend may die. you'll end up deciding when it's too late. your eighteen in seven months. you need to eat." - you are the reason i am trying because you are right, this ends two ways ...either dead or trying to building something resembling a life.

hugs and prayers and falling stars.

x xx