So as I sit and write this I’m on my own in a pub getting drunk. Two doubles down. Head feeling fuzzy. Feeling alone. Feeling lost. Feeling crap. I don’t really know what to say. Today I saw my care ordinator and she couldn’t really care. She didn’t really seemed bothered by what I’d done or by the fact I sat there and openly told her that I’m going to try and kill myself again. She didn’t really care. Sums up my life really. No one really cares.
I know I’m going to do it again. It’s just a case of when. I know how. I know what I’ll do different this time. I know how to make it work this time round. And I will. I just need to find the time.
Day patient is hard work. I feel so fat. So massive. I feel like I shouldn’t be there. I feel ugly. I feel a fraud. I feel like a lier. Like I shouldn’t be there. I’m too fat to be there.
Yesterday I had a date and it went really well. I really like him. But he doesn’t know my shit. When he does he’ll disappear. That’s for sure. Who would want to get involved with me