I used to be foolish enough to think something would help dissolve the darkness: the right medication, that something to keep me going or someone, or even to find a purpose that didn’t have a downside. The purpose I have now, my fur babies, just cause conflict among my parents. They complain because of the pets, they can’t go on vacation. I feel obligated to tell them I’d stay behind but—given last time—I worry I’d lose the slippery grip I have on sanity. Therefore, leave both the pets and my family in a terrible place…but damn it, I’m in pain EVERY F***ING DAY!!! The wish to not feel has been too close to the surface for a WHOLE year!!!!
I used to see the hospital—as tedious as admission is—as a reboot. I can’t go for one reason or another AND I feel like I’m obligated to space out the visits with my psychologist as per my parents’ request. How many different ways can you tell someone nothing has changed? The dark clouds remain firmly in place?
Everyone around me has expectations: take a walk, learn to cook a dish, try something new, stop the negative thoughts and self-sabotage…And every day I seek comfort under sheets or in food, the self-induced mental abuse comes back with a vengeance. I should say I haven’t been seeking comfort in food as much as I used to—it’s actually been the opposite…and knowing I have reached a weight I haven’t been at in quite a while makes me want to keep up this self-deprivation.
I have become quite an expert at finding ways to punish myself…restricting food, all but making myself cry with nostalgia and now eating/drinking milk knowing full well I am bound to get sick. My body has decided to become intolerant of milk based products—my favorite food group next to sugar.
I fantasize more and more about returning to an old “friend” and tossing the sense of giving a f*** out the window. What would my parents say? The fact I have yet to develop the ability to cope with their drinking is causing me more than just the inward anger at myself.
I am seriously considering visiting this old “friend.” Maybe I just have a knack for texting my brother at the wrong times—not just to ask for help—but he has either ignored them or whatever. He has a life that he—unlike me—wants to live. Who am I to bother him? Or even expect him to remember to respond…I expect too much and I let it bother me.
Despite having Paint curled up next to me, Gracie in front of the fireplace, Ellie in a chair, Roscoe in his bed, and Lexie on a blanket—all sleeping—I detest my existence and my lack of strength.


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