My chest hurts with anxiety. I want to cut it open and let everything pour out of me. I can’t though, and so it all just sits there, stuck. I can’t breathe. I haven’t cut in about a month and a half, but it is the only thing I can think of doing right now. I’m trying hard to control the urge, but I don’t know if I can sleep tonight if I don’t do something, anything about the way I feel right now. 

Maybe I will just take a bunch of sleeping pills, and if I am lucky, I won’t wake up for weeks…

drugsdonotwork:

When I eat I feel like that’s all I am. The girl that eats. The fat one that can’t control herself.

(Source: confessionsabouteatingdisorders)

I will always be a failure. I have nothing to give. I have no plan; except for this.