Shit Food Blogger

I don’t know how to say this.

But my father left before I was born.

I lived with my mom far longer than I should. Then I moved out. And then I moved back in. And then I moved out. And then she moved in with me. And then we slept in the same bed. And then she moved out.

I think I deserve a lot of things that I’ll never have. Mostly because I don’t ask for them. Probably because I don’t think I deserve them.

I have two friends. I know a lot of people.

I don’t have time to cook anymore. When I do cook, it’s something very simple. Pasta. A scrambled egg. Toast.

I eat dinner on the couch every single night.

I made up a fake daughter so I could have something to talk about because I’ve run out of things to talk about and then I got bored with her so I stopped talking about her which is why I shouldn’t have kids.

I’ve eaten one vegetable in the last week. A few bites of spinach.

I sleep a lot. And I’m always tired.

I stopped feeling happy about three weeks ago. I’m scared that I’m depressed. But I won’t go see anyone because I’ll be fine probably.

My lower back hurts.

My shoulders hurt.

I sit in the same position for hours, it seems. I tell myself to move, to shift positions, but I can’t. Or I won’t.

I’ve started using boxed mixes, and I tell myself they’re pretty good.

I’m afraid that I’ll never put enough energy into doing anything that matters and nothing will add up to something.

I think I’m always going to be sad. Or hoping that I’m not going to be sad. One of those two things forever.

If you were sitting across from me right now, I don’t think I’d know how to say these things to you.