I am my own cowardice.

Only three cuts on each arm tonight. Two were exceptionally deep but there wasn’t much blood. I haven’t been drinking as much water as I normally do. I still need to eat more protein. I could definitely taste the lack of water. After the third cut I had to take a break because I was getting light headed. I still am. The ones one my left arm are the deepest, I can feel the wind from my ceiling fan playing inside each red ravine. I need to get more rubbing alcohol. Now I’m going to lie back, relax, and in a little bit I’ll let the music carry me away into the realm of dreams.

Things being brought up that I haven’t thought about for a while. I don’t know why but something about tonight has caused me to revert back for a while. Ten cuts. Five on each arm. Four horizontal and one vertical on each. A third of a roll of toilet paper. Half of what I had left of rubbing alcohol to clean up and sting a bit more. I remember this feeling. After my third cut my eyes rolled back and I sighed. The endorphins must’ve kicked in. Free. Enlightened. If just for a little bit. Every time I move my arms I’m reminded that I’m alive. Two fistfuls of blood and alcohol soaked toilet paper. Roll up two razors, both slightly dulled but both clean. Twist on the cap to the little train engineer’s light. One flush. All gone. Now only the constant stinging. I can feel which ones are deeper. I could taste how healthy I am. Too irony. Need more water and protein in the day to day. Gotta cut down on the sodium. Now it’s just slow scabs, smeared blood, and the tangy scent of alcohol. All the while not thinking. Well except for one thing. If only there was someone else. Someone to cling to when this hunger takes me. Maybe ten less scars then there will be?

Anonymous asked: The way your post about nerds described them makes it sound like nerds are borderline autistic. Was that your intention...?

Oh um, sorry I didn’t get this until now, this is a personal blog and I don’t really check for messages. I don’t think that description was that of an autistic guy, all I was saying was that some girls seem to define “nerdy” as a guy with glasses who knows who Captain America is. Also speaking in a historical sense, nerds aren’t really amazingly outgoing. Hell they’re not normally outgoing, that’s part of what I’m getting at. Nerd guys are normally plain, quiet, and shy. I don’t think that makes them borderline autistic.

I’m both glad and angry. But mostly glad.

Together my mom and I have forty-nine bucks. She doesn’t get paid till the thirtieth and the manager at McDonald’s needs to return my calls about getting into and orientation. I’m secretly glad we don’t have either because I plan on eating nothing but baby carrots for the foreseeable future. Four carrots three times a day, after which I’ll do thirty sit ups and thirty windmills. I might go for bike rides every now and then as well. I’m just doing this so I can lose about twenty or twenty five pounds. I’m not anorexic or anything, I don’t want to drop to an unhealthy weight, I’m just going to force a quick rapid drop while keeping my metabolism up so I can lose the weight and keep it off.

I know this isn’t the healthiest thing but honestly I sorta like the pain my stomach’s in right now, it’s a constant reminder that I’m alive. Along with that it keeps me from just falling asleep and never waking up because pain is something you don’t experience when you’re dreaming. I know this isn’t the smartest thing but it’s me making the best of a shitty hand.

I just want to be loved. That’s what it keeps coming back to. A few decades ago girls wanted guys with muscles. Now it’s all about those skinny toned guys. I don’t want to be a skeleton, just at a healthy level so that whenever I talk to a girl she won’t write me off as a guy who would have been perfect if not for the spare tire. No matter what all of the girls in the past have said I know that’s the reason no girl to date has accepted my offers to take them out.

If skinny’s what they want skinny’s what they’re gonna get.

Just thinking about old friends.

One in particular, a blue eyed girl, has me particularly upset. One day she decides not to be friends anymore and won’t tell me why. She promised me she would tell me why. I try to reach out to her, to keep things open, I says to her “Hey, if you ever just wanna hang out let me know, I miss hanging out with you,” and she says “I don’t.”

I mean I get the whole moving on thing but those are some pretty harsh words. I know I’m a horrible person but when I pour everything out that I’ve been holding pent up inside me for so long, I deserve more than “Quit being such a bitch.” I’ve told you I have no one to talk to. I just need a soldier to lean on. Right now I’m using herb as my crutch. It’s not the smartest thing, but it helps me get by, and best of all it allows me to be social. Who knows, right now maybe smoke sessions with my dealer and his friends is what’s been keeping me going recently.

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A Lovely Touch

Right now I’m craving one of the most basic of human needs. Not hunger, not thirst, not even sexual desire. Well, I don’t know, that last thing might have something to do with it. I just want to be touched. I don’t mean like lol git my dick wet touched, I mean hands and fingers running down eachother’s napes, necks, hips… To be held. To be caressed. That’s what I crave right now. Some girls can give that feeling to me in a look. That’s how I’ve gotten by all these years. But now… now there’s no one. Now I don’t know what to do.

I’m driftingthrougspacetime. I think it’s okay to put that here because the people who follow me on here are following me because this is my personal blog. For some reason I just thought I’d let you know.

My wallet was stolen, my mom has broken my trust yet again, I eat nothing but shit, my dog is suffering from a case of mange picked up at petco, I’m overweight, I’m unattractive, I’m unfocused, I’m jaded, and I can’t take much more. For the past three weeks I’ve thought about ending it all. Sometimes it seems like what I can get out of life just isn’t worth what I put into it.

I have no ID, no social security card, no driver’s license, no atm card, and no cash. I’m behind in my classes. The only thing that gives me joy is sitting in front of Revue and talking to the people who stop by to chat. That’s it. That’s what I’m living for. I lost my best friend because she wanted to drift apart. I’m okay with her wanting to end the friendship but every day I hate myself more and more because I didn’t even fight for our friendship to survive. I have no one to talk to. My last attempt to have a conversation with my mom ended with her scolding me for thinking about something so stupid.

I sat outside the psychologist’s office on campus last week for fifteen minutes trying to convince myself to go in because of how depressed I was feeling. I guess I got over it so I left instead of going in. I worry about my future every day and every day I’m seeing less and less of it. It’s like I’m trapped in a Skinner’s Box with electrodes attached to the pellet bar.

I asked my mom how to say “Independent” or “Self sufficient” in arabic. The closest thing she could think of was Lahallack which means “Alone.” At this point that seems to be a better name than Rafidi. I changed my name to Rafidi in honor of my grandfather but my mother has brought nothing but disrespect, alienation, and shame to that name for me. That’s a harsh thing to say but it’s also the truest.

There’s no one left. There’s nothing left. I don’t know what I’m going to do.