I am wide awake at 11pm and I hear do squats, now. It feels familiar. It feels calming. It feels like a goal I can quickly accomplish.
I don’t do them. But I want to. I want to give in.
I gave in last night. Eat ice cream & purge it. Now. And I did. So much relief flooded my system. Then, as expected, so much shame. Who am I? Is this what I want? Should I die instead? Why am I like this? Why am I so awful and disgusting and fat? I deserve nothing. I am a terrible person. I don’t want to be here.
I’ve felt smaller every day since Monday. I’ve felt more in need of support than I’ve ever needed.
I’ve been unable to use my voice properly. I’ve only been able to survive. And all of it has felt awful.
Where I needed a phone call, I got crickets. Where I needed a physical person, I was alone and lonely. Where I needed to cry, I told myself it was useless. No one can hear me because I am not valuable enough to be heard.
How did I wind up feeling so alone in this fight when just days ago I was beyond relieved I felt true safety to even fight at all?
Why does support feel hollow? It’s you, you need to be done. Or break. Stop trying to make things happen that will never happen! No one cares. This is old, and dramatic, and pointless.