The bible didn't mention us

Strung out, needle in arm
And the ocean is bleeding salt on your wounds
So I sat, as armies marched
But you found me awake but asleep on the porch

And don't you cry, my darling
Nashville is forgotten
And don't you cry, my darling
New York is the ocean

Brooklyn, quiet and cold
When the bars close
You're stuck counting cracks on the street

Then war breaks, and you're swinging the gun
But when the bomb drops
You're stuck counting cracks in your teeth

And don't you cry, my darling
Nashville is forgotten
And don't you cry, my darling
New York is the ocean

Strung out, needle in arm
And the ocean is bleeding salt on your wounds 

----------------------------------------------------------------

My mood is heading down, I can feel it.  It's a tug and a pull and then a fall from a cliff.  I can't help but wonder why I even bothered coming here because I can't handle things without my eating disorder.  I'm not only having urges to cut but things that I haven't done in years are crossing my mind.  I want to burn myself with salt and ice, I want to dig my nails into my arm like I did when I was little.  

I never thought I would actually say this but I have to get out of Durham and Roxboro is even worse.  My mom wants me in Roxboro but I can't do it.  They both reek of sick and eating disorder. With Roxboro, I hate running into people I went to high school with for many reasons.  One of which is that they all know I left and they know I left because I was cutting and because my mom was hitting me.  It reminds me of the three months I spent in John Umstead, the screams and yells and me sitting silently on my bed, arms wrapped around my knees and shaking.  The sounds still bother me, I went to visit someone when I was and had a panic attack.  What bothers me the most is that she still denies any fault and just to feel like you're fucked up and crazy and it's all your fault is the worst. 

I feel like I should be writing about how much I want recovery even though it's hard but that's not how I feel.  I want my body back, I want it back so badly.  I tried on the jeans and shirt I wore pre-hospitalization and the difference is horrendous.  I stare at my body as if it is some foreign object, something that isn't mine.  It can't be mine.  I feel like I am 12 years old again going through puberty, seeing the soft belly and the hips get wider, the boobs get bigger.  If I could just be 15 pounds less.  I don't ask for much, I'm not asking to be emaciated I just can't handle THIS.  110, 110 is a good number, it's a solid not emaciated but not fat.  I don't know what's worse having the Buddha belly or seeing the redistribution.