Motherboard Mv 42 V 1,3

I know that I disappear for a while.
not feel like writing.
not feel like doing anything.
'm not doing anything .
eat, that's what I do, eat and pretend that my body has really needed.
sucks! I wanted to reach 50 kg, even those I reached, after a month ...
fill only if I wrote this blog sucks but I feel that now is closed inside.
Yes, because that is how shall recover the (non) review the situation on my body, my hunger.
I'm sorry ...
I'm so sorry ...

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Skeletal

So, yeah, baby, skeletal, bony, angular.
Yeah, baby.
Dot.
to close in an embrace.
no light, no. Unfortunately not get the idea.
Light is too good as a term. Skeletal
.
skeletal skeletal skeletal and again.
I'm sorry, perhaps, but not too much. They left me to myself. Oh, I'm told I'm crazy, which are self-centered, which is strange, that I HAVE stop. I do not need your shit. Skeletal
, more and more.
No, I do not think so. What I say is true, but it is reserved for the crap they are.
I have reserved the bones, those sharp, those that hurt when you turn in bed.
I liked to spot your fine words blog, give you hope. Instead I should learn to shut up, because what matters is what do, not what we say .
See? Skeletal
this regard.
I deserve to die. Why
yesterday, and I laughed as I did not do the time, surrounded by people who love me, clouded by alcohol, when unfortunately I ended up throwing up because of the vodka, even drunk I thought, "Well at least all the pizza, all the ice cream all my money, my dignity, my joy, my will to live, are there, without having made any effort and will not have to count calories, because they are all in the toilet "
Yes, I deserve to die just because I can not appreciate. Why do I have everything I could have, a guy who loves me, friends (far, but I have) two best friends who want me to what they want for themselves and end up in the same spiral unabated.
" How many calories did the host? "Today I thought about this in church.
Skeletal, more and more skeletal.

Motherboard Mv 42 V 1,3 Ram

" I was trying to breathe, with his legs to his chest and arms that surrounded them. Inhale, exhale, and so again, but could not. That chest continued to rise furiously, taking away my breath, I'll cut off halfway and not go out anymore. He was there, leaning against the wall, with tears in his eyes for the effort. Then he remembered what he had seen in a movie and began to concentrate on the bed, the drawer under the mattress was a glossy green, the knobs had strange patterns around it and the paint was ruined by the many times that it was opened and closed, even beaten with kicks and punches. He looked at the pool, the white sheet where his sister slept soundly the night of his most peaceful, the other drawer where his clothes were all crowded, which were ordered right every time, went to his bed, with red bedspread, her mother had put him in power, because she did not like, but then in the context of the room was very nice.
The breathing became almost normal and she realized he had regained control. Stared at her soft arms around his thin legs. It seemed as if my wrists could not succeed to hold the weight of those feeble legs were so small, they seemed made of paper, a precious paper, ready to break at any time, with the bone protruding round slowly, in Depending on how he was turning his wrist watch or hid behind the shadows. He felt so, how that his little bone on the wrist. Seemingly fragile, thin, but still hard, break a bone because it is always difficult. He hid in the shadows of its past and disappeared in those moments of breath cut off, when to stand in the light was too painful, took refuge in his memories of anthrones, dusting and filled with light posts that were intended to remain in the dark. Redraw the boundaries, all tinged with bright colors, sometimes changing the image, gave him new tweaks and then admired the finished work, but when the heart began to ache, began to beat faster and faster, sliding more and more blood and vein at the wrist was crazy, that he felt the first, and then the breath is cut off when he saw nothing that this design redone, rebuilt, so good: with that angle of the light differently, with more defined boundary that was spectacular, it was work, but it was nothing but a silly plan of his mind and lungs that did not want to respond slowly erased everything, leaving that bitter in the mouth that tears were trying to thrown back down ... "

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It's like I'm not me.

This morning, I wake up. belly gurgles.
But that will, yesterday I filled with 5 and profiterols about 80g of white pizza, do not complain.
I go to the bathroom, I take off my pajamas and I pull out my best friend (or enemy?) I go over there.
51.09
??
What? mo And he wants? How did I lose all sti grams?
I wear glasses when he was a three that I had mistaken for one. But that remains a numeretto 1. I dressed and I look in the mirror. Are the same as yesterday. Perhaps the stomach is a little flat, but that's normal, is empty. I am neither happy nor sad, they are not.
I have a banana stuck in his throat to avoid the risk of having sugar drops and then I started reading this. Giulia (skinnygirl) wrote that he wanted us to do a list of things that we like. I reflect on yesterday with a dear friend of mine.
I like:
- the cloudy sky and rain (but it makes me a little melancholy)
- I like nature (but never go for walks in the mountains because I suck insects prefer to look at the scenery)
- I like the picture (I stole the camera, at the beginning of July, now I do not know when shall recover)
- I love my boyfriend I do not find anything that
is this ...
- I love acting, dancing, writing, hanging out with friends, feel useful, help people, pray, eat, smile, run in the rain, the sun, the sea, customs, clothes, being with the family .. .. I liked a lot of things. Now I do not know why did not I find it so interesting and counterproductive. But I'm not sad, just do not feel anything. And this is more frightening. If I tried something, then I would feel alive.
These days I seem to no longer exist, not live.
and I do not feel enough.
I'm sorry, maybe I should not even write any more here. Fill people with sadness and melancholy and perhaps I'm getting almost hypocritical, I speak well with all the urge and say things objectively right. Sometimes I wish I also believe in what I say.
But it's more like I'm not myself, as if I were someone else. Kissing Girls
s