So today I had to hand over all of medication. Today I bought it all with me. To overdose. But I spoke to a member of staff and confided in them. They took my medication off of me. I told them I’d written my suicide letter. They hugged me. I told them I keep thinking it and want to die. They listened. For the first time in a while I feel they actually care. But it still doesn’t change my feelings though. I still want to die. To cease existing. To stop breathing and it all to be over with. I still believe no one would miss me. No one would notice. I want things in my life to change. But hey haven’t in 28 years so what’s going to make it change now. Nothing. Therefore the only option is death. And I really want it. I wish I hadn’t confided in staff. I wish I still had access to my medication. I just want to get drunk. To get that fuzzy head. To feel better about myself. I have zero motivation and could easily just stare at my four walls all evening. I have no get up and go. I’m meant to be at the gym tonight but don’t want to go. Yet ana is screaming at me telling me to go. Telling me I need to go. I need that exercise. I need to burn those calories. I don’t know. I don’t know what to do
Loneliness. No one can understand unless you’ve been alone yourself. It’s horrible. It’s one of the biggest causes of my depression. And I feel it every day. Today I live in hope of a message from a friend or a message from anyone. 2 minutes to kill the loneliness. To feel wanted. To feel like I have a purpose. Instead I sit here. Flicking through my phone looking at other people live there lives and get on with them. I sit here thinking of suicide and how alone I am. How I have no one to talk to at the end of the day. How I can’t share my stories. How I’m no one to anyone. How it’s just me in this world and no one cares. No one would notice life without me. No one would care. I wouldn’t be missed as I’m not even noticed in life. I’m no one. I really am. I’m so alone. So empty. Desperate to speak to someone. Anyone. It’s the worst feeling. It really is.
I feel so low. So alone. So lost. So confused. So down. So fed up. Fed up doesn’t even cover it. I feel like life is just passing me by and it’s all I can do to get up and get through each day. Yesterday all I really wanted was to pig out on garlic bread and takeaway food, followed by sweets and ice cream. But I couldn’t. Anorexia wouldn’t let me. Instead I felt physically sick I was that hungry. Anorexia is taking my life from me. If I had eaten garlic bread or anything for that matter then I’d have instantly reached for the laxatives. I’d have deprived myself of more food starving myself and Compensating for what I’d consumed. It would be on my mind all day long. I’d feel like a fat pig. Disgusted with myself. Hating myself. I’d be sucking my stomach in, holding my hand over it hiding it. If would have ruined my day. So instead I just sit there. Hungry all day long. Yesterday I also got let down my a date. Apparently he can’t cope with what I’m going through and it’s too much for him. Yesterday I longed for a cuddle. But no one was there to offer that. Yesterday I longed to be normal. To eat when I wanted. To live a normal day. But I couldn’t. Instead I lived yet another day controlled by anorexia. Ruined. Wasted. I hate my life I really do. I hate everything about it. I don’t have anyone. I’m extremely alone. Extremely depressed. Longing and wishing that my over dose had worked. That my life was over.
Who was I kidding. I feel so bloody stupid. I met this guy. Who I really liked and I was honest. I was upfront. I told him my issues. I thought honesty being the best policy. Clearly bloody not. He said it’s too much for him to deal with and then lectured me on how I should be focusing on myself and not dating. What a dick. I felt low before this but now I feel so shit. Who’s ever gonna want to date me. I’m damaged goods. I’m messed up. I’m destined to be alone forever. My best friend has distanced herself from me too. I literally have no one. Talk about knocking you when your down. Fuck life. Fuck it all I hate it every part of it. I hate life. I bloody do!!!!!
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
So I’ve been an inpatient now for 3 weeks. And the longer I’m here the fatter I feel. I feel like a fraud, I feel guilty, I feel I shouldn’t be here. I’m eating so much food consuming loads all day everyday. My weight keeps going up. I know that’s the gist of things and it’s meant to be going up but it’s so hard to deal with. So hard to cope with. I hate seeing I’ve put weight on. I hate that feeling. My stomach is growing. My thighs are growing. I’ll be out of my size 6 jeans soon and in to size 8. I know this shouldn’t matter. But to me it does. To be it really matters. To me I’ll see that as failing. Evidence I’ve got fatter. I know it’s just a number but it’s a scary number. Realisation I’m getting bigger. I feel so big that I’m convinced people are staring at me. I’m convinced I look out of place I’m convinced I’m massive and stuck out like a sore thumb. I’m convinced all eyes are on me because I’m so big. It’s a horrible feeling. And it won’t go away. I’m desperate to lose weight. Desperate to leave inpatient behind and lose all the weight. Desperate to see my bones again and have a gap between my thighs. Desperate for my stomach to cave in not bulge out. When will these feelings go away! When will it get easier! When!? I keep thinking back to Saturday and wished it had worked. I can’t cope with this life. One second I can laugh the next I can be in tears. I’m surrounded by 10 people all day long but feel the loneliest I’ve ever felt. I really do.
Life. Some people live it and love it. Some people don’t. Some people excel at it. Some people don’t. Some just get by, some struggle more than others. Some find life a battle. Some just plod through it some fly. Me. Well I fail. I wasn’t born to live. Life wasn’t meant for me. I’m massively failing. Letting everyone down. Being alone all the time. Having no one to talk to. Feeling like a tag along or a spare part. I can’t even eat. I have to go to hospital for that. I’m just a mess. I really am. Tonight I tried. Tonight I made the effort. I went to a party on my own. But it’s just made me feel worse. Made me feel more alone than ever. More uncomfortable. More awkward. I want the grits to swallow me up. To fall asleep and never wake up. Life sucks. Well mine does anyway. I hate it. I swear I wasn’t meant to live. I’m just a failure. That’s me I’m sitting here writing this alone at a party with scars all up my arm and on show. I’m a catch right. Fuck life. I hate it
I’m so low. So down. So depressed. This week has been a truly rubbish week. I’ve had personal things going on. A relationship breakdown and I started as a day patient. The day patient unit is tough. Tougher than hospital. I feel like all I do is sit and eat, sit and eat and sit and eat some more. I feel lazy. Greedy. Ugly. Horrendous. I hate myself. Hate myself for eating. For being in this mess. It’s all my fault. I want to drink myself into a coma. Drink makes everything better. I’m drinking tomorrow. I don’t care. I’m doing it. Even if it’s on my own. Which it will be. I barley speaking I’m just muttering words. I can’t bring myself to talk. I’m in a right state. I’ve cuts all up my arms. There’s so much on my mind I want someone to talk to but don’t know who. I just wish I could fast forward a few months when hopefully this would be over. Or rewind. I don’t know what I want. I’m lost and crying out for help but don’t know which way to turn
Yesterday I cut. I got the blade and cut. Sliced it across me arm. I saw red. Blood. Dripping down my arm. The sting as I washed it. It felt good. I needed to cut. I needed to punish myself. I deserve nothing. I’m horrible. A waste of space. An awful person. Wanting to die. To fall asleep and not wake up. I deserve what hell I get. The cuts are just superficial and I’m not going to do anything silly. So please don’t worry about me. I’m not worth the thought.
So last night it took me 2 hours to get to sleep as all I kept thinking about was suicide. And overdosing. I was so close to taking an overdose. So close to popping all my medication and swallowing it. I don’t know how I didn’t. But I dig deep and stopped myself. I’m so desperate for this all to be over. So desperate for it all to end. I genuinely believe that the only solution is death. I genuinely believe that for all my problems to end I need to end my life. I don’t see any other way. I have so many problems. So many issues. And I can’t see a way out. Apart from death. Death doesn’t scare me. It should. But it doesn’t. Instead it’s a solution. A solution to end all my worries. I just can’t seem to do it. I don’t want to upset my family. I don’t want to do it to them. So instead I’ll stay with my issues. Stay with all my problems. And stay alive. For them. Not for me. When will life get better? When will I want to live? When? I don’t know. I genuinely believe I wasn’t born to live. I genuinely believe I was a mistake. I’m definitely not a success. I’m a failure. A failure of life. That’s me. A messed up human who can’t manage life. I have too many problems. Too many issues. I’m covered in scars. And that’s just the physical signs. Mentally I’m screwed. Mentally I’m messed up. No good to anyone. I’m damaged goods. Destined to be alone forever. I’m a mess.