The truth is, it’s my fault I ran out of meds on Saturday morning. It’s my fault because I miscounted. It’s my fault that I thought that my psych would actually get back to my pharmacy in a timely manner, and that I wouldn’t have to call them.
The past few days have been a steady downfall for me. And it is a huge reminder that I will be on medication for the rest of my life.
I will never go a day without taking medication for my mood. I will never be able to function without them. I will never be free. I watched a video on ‘forgiving assholes’, just to not be chained to them anymore. I wish that was my case. I wish I could sever the chain that binds me to the assholes of my past. Mainly one. However, the need for medication makes that impossible.
While I am not actually suicidal at the moment, that moment isn’t too far off. The urge to just…give up is in my reach. The hopelessness is setting in. That life won’t get better. That I’ll forever be crushed under the weight of my eating disorder. That I’ll forever look in the mirror and want to sob. That I’ll never escape this horrible relationship I have with food. I’ll never know what it’s like to truly strive for something, because my mind holds me back. Don’t do that, you’ll fail. Don’t even try, you’ll make a fool of yourself! Don’t try to think you’ll ever amount to anything, you’re nothing. My mind is my own worst enemy.
I nearly bawled while texting Daddy about my eating disorder today. It’s not something we talk about- because I hate it. I hate that it controls me. I told him I don’t think I’ll ever be much smaller than I am. I bust my ass, and don’t lose much. I gain .2 and I feel disgusting, fat, gross, and unworthy. I gain, and I gain a lot in a short time. Since last week? I’ve gained a good 5 pounds. It takes over, and I find myself hating myself while I eat.
Then I’m left with the guilt afterwards. The stomach ache. The urge to curl into a ball and cry. It’s nothing new to me, either.
It’s 7:15, and it feels so much later because of the weight on my soul. I want to go to bed, but the sooner I go to bed, the sooner I am forced out of it. When you deal with mental illnesses, and parenting, it’s even harder.
I’m holding back tears because I’m so drained. I’m so done with myself.
I don’t want to ‘die’, I just don’t want to ‘be me’.