Ah Shit

It's Saturday. (Now Sunday)

This might not make sense... But here goes.

My boyfriend had already paid his and my part of the rent on the apartment we were trying to get. I don't get paid for another week, so he had to pay my part of it.

When the apartment fell through, he only got $100 of the rent back. But he hasn't actually gone to pick it up yet.

Today is Saturday. The last day I can spend in that house. 

Am I packed? Nope.

Do I know where I can go? Nope.

Do I have money? Not until next week.

I'm stressing so bad I can't even.

So yesterday I called my grandpa and he came to me me and pick up the few things I will be taking with me... Wherever I go.

I worked last night from 5 - 10. And I pretty much slept at work last night too. Though, much sleeping didn't get done. I was constantly cold and therefore kept waking up. Since neither my boyfriend of I have much money right now we are gonna be staying at work until Tuesday when we can get our checks.

My boyfriend talked to our boss and worked out a way for him to give them to us early so that's at least a positive.

I've been looking for places for rent around here, but so far I haven't really gotten any replies. I just want somewhere to live, but unfortunately my boyfriend and I can't get our own apartment right now.

I feel bad for him, because he is working twelve hour days and hasn't had a day off in at least 2 weeks. I, on the other hand, can't get enough hours. I think I only have 24 for this pay period. I have this Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday off as well as the same days off next week. I get so frustrated because I mean, a girl here who is only temporary has more hours than I do. How the fuck does that work?

And especially since S (my boss) knows that I'm moving out and currently homeless and could so use the extra hours just so I would have somewhere to live.

But I guess overall I like working here. I can chill with my coworkers when I'm not busy, I get to see my boyfriend whenever I want, I can smoke weed (and with the boss when he is around) and the people here aren't so strict about everything. It's more of a mellow atmosphere... In other words, my kinda place. (;

I've been having random bouts of nausea these last few days. I can't seem to figure out why and I can't seem to stop it. Joy.

This month of August is not proving to be as useful as I've wanted it to. I need to change that, since its still early in the month. It doesn't have to be a complete failure.

I don't have to work today until 4, and I am absolutely lost as to what I should do to occupy my time. I can't go "home" since I don't have one of those. I don't have any friends who I could call and meet up with to chill for a few hours. Everyone has their own life. They don't need me.

So, here I sit. Outside my work. Where I've pretty much solidly been for the last 24 hours. I don't like to be inside because I can't stop panicking about what people think of me. But outside there's nothing much to do either. I can see my boyfriend when he comes outside, and I can smoke weed and blast Skrillex in my headphones.

But it's a nice day (72 degrees) and I wish I wasn't lame. Oh well, I guess.

All of the food I intended to consume has already been taken care of, and now I have the rest of today to burn it off.

I've been smoking a hell of a lot of cigarettes lately too... Replacing food with them. I can feel the effect on my lungs, as its harder to breathe because smoking and asthma don't go together.

It's a terrifying feeling to not be able to get oxygen into your lungs, and to constantly feel like a 200lb person is sitting on your chest. All. The. Fucking. Time. Will that make me stop, though?

Probably not. And that's sad.

I don't have an asthma inhaler because I guess my asthma isn't "bad enough for that".

I'm not "sick enough" to admit I have anorexia.

I'm not "disordered enough".

"Skinny enough"

Not enough.

I don't even deserve to type that. I'm fat.

Disgusting. I'm a pig.

Lately I've starre to obsess over my wrists. They're huge to me, and it bothers me a great deal. My boyfriend swears to me that my wrists are tiny and that if they got smaller I would be too "fragile". No.

They're huge.

I can pinch the fat covering them. I can't see my wrist bones.

Therefore, they are not okay.

Every time I catch a glimpse of my old scars, it only reinforces the notion that I need to cut. I have to see more cuts on my body. I'm uncomfortable to say the least without them there. But what can I do? I shouldn't want to cut. I do.

Why?

I couldn't even tell you.

So... This has kinda turned into a splurge of all the thoughts that keep running around and around in my head these past few days. So... Imma just stop there.