In a box, watching traffic.

I hate what this "disorder" does to me, and my social interactions. Leaves me cold and alone at this bus stop. Leaves me unable to just say, "oh this tummy ache? No reason to worry, self inflicted, diet pills. That's all." leaves me at 112 and so alone. Sure I can talk to him about everything, but it's never the same talking about things that are currently going on, then it's a fresh wound, not like old ones I've already dissected and figured out myself.

Dear maria, count me in. There's a story at the bottom of this bottle, and I'm the pen.

Let's see how far I can fall this time. Let's see how far I can stretch and bend to feed this. How many lies will it take this time. I'm scared to count, but too curious to stop.

Hard to explain this drive. It's been too long since I've felt it this strong. Too long, and that scares me as well.

That photo? It's an old navy size two.

I'm a size one at urban planet.
I'm a size zero at old navy.
I'm a size zero?

Let's push it further.
Let's play with fire shall we?