Bound.

Razorblades.

 I have always been keenly aware that the only way that I seem to be able to some what function at the low level I do is just because I do.  I do so much all the time, some see it as I do absolutely nothing. I do to the point of exhaustion with endlessness in site.  I do just to stay even keeled, in control at all times because everything else is so fucking out of my control.  My sanity rests literally on if I went to the gym for 2 hours and did yoga.  I have beat the living shit out of myself physically to prove that I am strong … because I am mentally so weak.  This is the only thing that I have. I have seriously compromised my overall well being and have begun falling into injury.  I can’t do. I don’t know what to do.  It is what keeps my eating disorder in check … the rigidity of my life, the same egg, quinoa and red bell peppers, I know they are ok.  I don’t know what is ok when I can not keep my routine.  I get on the elliptical of monotonous tourture and listen to Massive Attack and my brain just balances to a level that I can lowly function at.  I hate this.  I hate that I am so vain, I hate that I have created this beautiful body that I am killing myself to maintain.  The fact the way that I look apparently is the be all and end all of my self worth because who the fuck cares what I have on the inside.  I wear so much ugly.  I am obsessed and I enjoy it.  I take such pride in things that no one else would remotely see as important like how amazing my abs look, they really do.  People would find it more important to have. . .I don’t know a job, some independence, I don’t know . . . real important things. Fucking their future husband should come first before twenty rounds of elbow to knee. Maybe I should flush the puke down the toilet so Sparrow doesn’t see. I forgot, it sometimes just comes up.  I think sometimes I have come a long way. I at one point in my life lived on Twizzlers and Tortillia chips I ate them for dinner and just drank coffee all day with a whole bunch of sugar in it.  I thought this was normal until I was introduced to food at 30. I have a small group of foods that I allow into my life freely with this new situation I find these “safe foods” unsafe.  Like I don’t deserve to eat because I didn’t do anything to burn my dose of calories, again the low self worth thing … truly disheartening.  I know so many people with eating disorders and I think that it is so pathetic and sad.  Who do I think I am with out my control of my activity? I am them even worse you know why?  Because I judge, on the inside I do, of how sad how out of control they are.  I judge when people gain weight, how do they do that to themselves and then the kicker … why don’t they have some self worth.  Fucking hypocrite. Now, now, really that is some shit.  Want to hear more about self worth? Why don’t you go ask the stripper who takes her clothes off for twenty dollars a pop and thinks that she is not exploited. My own words, “I exploit men not the other way around.” Ok. because that twenty meant something to them, just as much as you meant to them twenty bucks and you can see it all.  Self worth at one point is was about empowerment, how the tides shifted, I was always a bottom just topping for the time being. What money does, what being in a falsified control does.  From the beginning they were never my rules or my game.  I was just another pretty face that men wanted to fuck. Plain and simple.  No self worth and a tube of lube what they would use to jerk off to you  after they left… all for the whooping twenty dollars.  It just made sense when you made a thousand dollars in five hours how could you not justify that.  You can put a price on anything unfortunately I was something that you could buy.  

 

-ApplejAxe

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~ by applejaxe on March 16, 2012.

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