Im a fat cow. A fat obese cow. That’s me. I’ve put on so much weight. I stood on the scales this morning for weigh in and the numbers have rocketed. They’ve shot up into a completely different number. Not just a decimal point. A whole new number. I feel awful. Dreadful. That doesn’t even cover it. I feel ugly. Hideous. Grotesque. Words can’t explain how I feel. There are no words strong enough to explain how I feel. That’s how bad it is. I know to leave day patient care I need to put weight on. But seeing it is just awful. I knew I would put weight on but wasn’t expecting that much. It’s so much. I can’t cope with it. I know tonight I’ll go home and cut myself. Punish myself. Slice that razor across my stomach. My horrible fat bulging stomach. It deserves to me sliced. For blood to be seen to drip down my stomach to feel the sting as it submerges in water to feel the pain. I know I will. I need to. I deserve it. It deserves it. I also know I’ll go the gym. Watch the calories tick up on the treadmill. So how many I can burn off. Go up through the hundreds. Ticking by. Burning off food I’ve eaten today. I Also know my evening meal won’t be anything. I’ll have to eat. My mum will make me. But it will be the smallest portion possible. The fewest Calories. The least fatty. It will be minimal. It will be liquid. It will be soup. With barely anything in. I hate myself. Beyond belief. The stack of pills I have at home are coming even more appealing. The thought is there. I could just swallow them all. All 60 of them and see what happens. This would all be over with. Done. Finished. I wouldn’t feel like this. I wouldn’t feel anything. I won’t to feel nothing. To feel numb. Anything but how I feel now. I did this to myself. I bought this on. I need punishing. I ate over the weekend. I put the weight on. Therefore I need to punish myself. I need to. I have to. And I will.