I haven't bothered to weigh myself lately, I know I've gained with my constant eating to fill the bottomless hole in me, and my voracious appetites of varying sorts doesn't help. I don't make sense to me anymore, and I'm losing my mind all over again. Depression is knocking and I have little to no control over the outcome anymore. I don't know if I really care. I don't know if I actually want to have that semblance of normalcy; it seems being crazy is one of the few things I'm good at, along with being depressed. It's sad, isn't it, that this is my mentality? Stay fucked up, I'm good at it.

This weather is fucking with my health (I'll pretend my rampant drug use and ungodly hours has nothing to do with that). When I get by myself the depression attempts to swallow me whole. I feel the desperation for someone to care, to come along and save me from myself. It's a terrifying feeling, to want so desperately someone else to come along and rescue me. It isn't going to happen, I know this. Even if someone did care enough to try, I wouldn't let them in. I'm too fucked up, too scared to open myself up to that kind of vulnerability.

What the fuck is going on in this whacked head of mine?

I keep eating, because I noticed that I wasn't, and food is the prime suspect for how I cope, even though it isn't coping, because I'm only adding fuel to the fire of my hell-bent self-destruction.

It's all quite ridiculous. I hope I come back out of the rabbit hole soon.

Shit.