What the hell has happened to me?

I need to lose weight. I need to build muscle. I need to save the people around me pleadingly banging on the knocker on death's door. Lindsay worries, because whenever she lets someone in, lets a friend become close, they die.

I have a mission, I suppose. To not die, and break the trend.

Aim high, right?

Bryan turns 22 in 2 days, leaves for the Marines in 4. I envy him, but at the same time know that I could never make it in such circumstances. Hell, I could never even be admitted with my conditions. I'm on 3 medications for my mind. One an anti-psychotic. They don't want psychos in foxholes.

Every day that I am not thinner, am not bigger in the right muscle groups, is a slap in the face. I haven't cut in a few weeks. Mum just recently noticed them. I'm amazed I was able to keep it hidden this long. Well, since the cat is out of the bag...

Right leg: FAT, face razor, parts removed. It's fading rapidly. It was not deep enough to last.

Left leg: "Qui me alit me extinguit" (Who nourishes me, extinguishes me). It's Latin. I used my cards. It's deep, it took over 2 hours to get all the letters done right. It's going to last.

Mum thought I'd been putting names on me. I never did names, just letters. A K for Katie, an R for Robin. Come to think of it, Darien probably deserves one since he's so important to me. But, meh. I'll get battle scars eventually.....somehow. I don't find it entirely unlikely that in some point in my sordid future I'll be in a skirmish which leads to a wound. He is the warrior, after all. No scars but what is earned. I'm rambling.

Romantic front: Katie's page is blocked from me now. Whatever. It was depressing looking at it anyways. No word from Avery. I guess she doesn't miss me. That...sucks. Valerie and I have been talking. It's friendly. Nothing will come of it. Jess and I and her current beau were scheduled for a threesome. I was looking forward to it. Shit happened, it's on indefinite hiatus. I'd bought the condoms even. Sigh. Darien told me to try and steal her from him. The prospect had occured to me, but it's evil and I have no desire to be with her. I've got to stop studying dynamic behavioral psychology. Manipulation is easy, and fun, and it poisons your soul. I looked at Rachel's page the other day. She has a master now, and is only looking for chicks. It's weird, more than upsetting. Honestly, if someone else wants that mess, power to them. There were so many aspects of the sex with her I fucking hated. Ah the things we'll do for intimacy. Some girl from my town is a maybe for no strings stuff. I'm not attracted to her, but damn if I'm not lonely.

I can feel the darkness, that cloud of psychosis, growing behind my eyes. I described it once to another BPD, and she looked at me like I'd seen into her soul. No one else gets it. It sounds silly. The place behind my eyes is heavy, and opaque, and obtuse, and it scares me.

Unrelated diatribe: Modern courtship processes are nothing but a formalized form of prostitution, and marriage is a sham imposed on us by the economy. Diamonds too.

I want Lindsay to stay with Alex. I want Darien to stay with Jennifer. Love is so fucking rare. And I don't think either of them really have it anymore, but they could believe they do again, and we are whatever we believe we are. At least in the mind, and really, is there any other place that matters? Reality is reality, but who wants to live there? It's depressing. I know, this is against most of what I say.

I'm a conflicted little bastard, aren't I?

I'm building my shield with my Father tomorrow, hopefully. Crossed axes within an ouroboros. Blue and white scheme. Light blue and deep blue. Specific colors apply, but I'm too lazy to look them up.