I hate being triggered. I hate it even more when I try try try to dig myself out. I can’t anymore.
A well-meaning relative posted a picture he took without my knowledge.
I do not seem to possess the ability to see myself as anything by huge rolling mountains of flab and fat. My thighs are trees. My arms are telephone poles.
I try so hard so hard to just be thin. That’s all I want. Why can’t I do it? Why can’t it happen? This stupid body and stupid mind thwart me at every damn step.
I’m tired of it. I don’t want to look at all those rolls and sausage-like swellings anymore.
In a brief surge of bravery, I tried calling yet another doctor. I know we need meds. Desperately. But no one is accepting patients so the pain and hate and depression just swirls and swirls and festers and I just don’t want to do it anymore.
I tried releasing some of it but even the self-harm felt empty and pointless. Like drawing with chalk on a sidewalk while it’s raining.
Can I please just sleep and never wake up? I don’t think it’s too much to ask.