Sick

I’m sick to death of a lot of things. 

I’m sick to death of eating. Sick of it. I’ve had enough. I’m nearly at my target weight which makes me feel physically disgusted in myself. I can’t wait to get out and restrict. I look repulsive. 

I’m sick to death of people wasting my time. It makes me feel even more alone than I already feel. Why start talking to me then to just stop. It’s clearly me. I’m sick of being open and honest. It gets you know where. 

I’m sick of the confusing thoughts I’m having. I’m sick of it. It winds me up. I wind myself up. I just don’t get why I’m feeling the way I feel. Part of me is heading in one direction another part of me heading in the other direction. I’m being pulled here there and everywhere. 

And I’m sick of the cryptic messages from my past. If you have a problem with me say it to my face. Talking behind my back isn’t necessary I’m sick of reading things about me and finding out through other means. I’m sick of all this mess. I’ve made myself clear. Move on leave me alone. 

There you go. Sick of it all. Sick of life. Mainly just sick of me!!

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