The spider that’s on the ceiling near my bed has just moved approximately two centimetres backward. That’s scary.

I woke up at ten but didn’t get up until 11 o’ clock. Had breakfast on the terrace. The spider is fucking moving as I’m typing this. Anyway, I did my makeup and went to roller-skate with my sister after lunch.

When we got back, I went on Tumblr and just went through pictures of underweight girls. I saw necks, and chests, and ribs, backs, arms, legs. Legs. Tiny, fragile sticks. I started to cry. I don’t know exactly why I cried, but I did. I tried to imagine myself looking that ill. I tried to imagine myself looking unbelievably skinny. I looked at the pictures and imagined what it would be like to be able to feel my hipbones every time I reach in my pocket, to feel my ribs every time I take my bra off, to be able to fit my whole thigh in one hand, to look like death. The whole thing appealed to me way too much. I know that I could never fast for more than two days though.

I shaved my legs, put the laundry to wash. I tried to make myself study Maths, but in vain. Tomorrow our class is retaking that stupid test. I guess I’ll get up extra early and study. There’s also a Geography assignment that I haven’t done due tomorrow. 

My (ex) anorexic friend told me that she had made out with her crush at his birthday party yesterday.  I haven’t been invited to a real party in almost two years. I feel jealous and happy for her. The first feeling is slowly but surely overpowering the rest of my feelings. I’d say I hate myself, but I’m really as conceited as they come. To say I’m not beautiful or that I’m not the most divine living thing to ever exist would simply be pretending.

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