It's been a while since I've been here

And now I'm back. Quick little update: Movie was amazing and I have the photos of my costume up on my facebook. Feel free to check them out. As for the film itself? It's as if they were a spy inside of my head, looking at all the amazing things I wanted to be accurately translated to film and at the least adequately performed by the cast. Each and every expectation I had was surpassed, and not by just a little. If you haven't seen it yet, go do so immediately. If you don't the community will cast you out, like a leper! Just go see it already. stop reading this, get in your car, and drive to the theater.



Onto more personal matters. This is a blog, after all, and I shall use it to rant and complain as that is the main purpose of such devices.

I've dropped down to my all time lowest weight today of 183.2 lbs. This is fantastic for me, but I'm going to have to keep most of my family out of the loop or they'll force an intervention on me. 2 pounds higher my mother said I looked "gaunt" and I'm sure she'll throw emaciated at me soon as well. But if enduring this is the price of health than so be it. My father weighed 167 after he got out of basic training. there's no reason I shouldn't be able to hit 170 and remain healthy. If he was in acceptable condition to go to battle at that weight than I should be more than up to performing my mundane everyday tasks.

I guess I'm optimistic about more weight loss, but I seem to have lost sight of my goal. At the beginning I just wanted to be a little healthier, maybe look a little more attractive, and I guess I've done that. But I don't know what I'm doing it for anymore. When I hit 200 I said I was happy and stopped. That was also when I was with Sarah. I think I was happy. Then that ended. I dropped to 190, said "I'm comfortable at this weight," and that happened to coincide with quasi-girl (lets make this easier. From here on out let's just call her Camilla. Good pseudonym.). I was happy with Camilla. But then it ended. She was scared, and would not risk it. I haven't really been happy since then. I'm almost down to 180 now, and I don't see much of an end in sight.

A concerned party today told me to make sure I don't "whither away," but I think that's what I want to do. Work out so much and eat so little that I'm just skin and bones. My sweat and soul poured out into the sky, evaporating away to the heavens. I'm tired of this body, tired of this life. I could turn to my knives, any of my many beautiful knives, to make myself feel better. But it would just be another quick rush, a momentary lapse from it all.

When you create a scar, the way I do, time seems to stop. You slice, living between two heartbeats, two ticks of a clock. Everything is silenced but for the blood dripping down your body, captured by the pull of gravity, and the rush of happiness, slave to the pull of chemicals released in your brain.

I don't know if I do it for the rush or for the scars or for self-loathing. I don't know why I stopped. I don't know if I'll start again. For now, I'll run.