I vomited last night. I took too many pills in the same time (anxiolytics and painkillers).
I didn’t want to kill myself. Really not. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted this other voice in my mind to shut up. I just wanted to be in peace. I just wanted to feel light for once.
I would like so much that everything works out. Most people in my family are not happy, and I don’t know what to do anymore to help them. I can’t even heal myself.
Why happiness is so hard to find ?
All these efforts for nothing…
It’s been 3 weeks that I haven’t binge and I was so glad, so happy. I had control on what I ate and I thought that, maybe, I will be able to recover.
But no. No. No, I will never recover from bulimia. I binged yesterday. And today I’m feeling like a shit, I’m acting like a shit and everyone is pissing me off so much that I want to kill them all. They don’t know how is a life with this fucking disease. They don’t have a fucking idea of what is a life feeling ugly and fat everyday, feeling like the worst person in the world. They don’t know the urge to cut, to see the blood. They know nothing. And I’m sorry for them if I’m a shitty daughter but I can’t help myself. I’m just done.
I would like to cry, but there’s no more water in that fucking horrible body.
I wonder how it feels to live without constant guilt.
I wonder how it feels to be free from yourself.
I wonder how it feels to not be me.
I’m so lost, and angry, and sad, and broken, and guilty, and ashamed, and alone.
All theses feelings in my head… I can’t take it anymore. It physically hurts me.