One day. One freaking fucking day is all I’m asking for. One day without the mental problems. And all the other problems. Because I have per definition, reached my limit. And I can’t take it anymore.
Two weeks without throwing up, fucking two weeks! And how do I celebrate it? By throwing up. And while the eating disorder took a few days of, mr. anxiety and mrs. OCD took over as the host. Which has resulted in a lot of cigarettes, a wrist full of cuts, and a lot of walking back and forward checking everything. I hate it.
Then my phone won’t work, my charger breaks, Instagram crashes. Mom and dad still fighting, little sister making trouble, older siblings being mean. The guy I’m dating is a boring son of a bitch, who won’t answer and who still is online dating. And I’m right back at the beginning with no food in my stomach and lots of cuts.
I hate being gay, I hate food, people, eating disorders, cuts, and just everything really.
Well you gotta love life huh?