when i figure out how to die without hurting my mom’s feelings it’s over for me, bitches

the most disheartening feeling is spiraling again after being okay for a while

date idea: u come over and nap with me

You didn’t deserve to be treated that way, remember that.

https://www.instagram.com/p/BZp9yOznxsK/

someone: hey are you okay me with no hesitation: *starts crying*

you know what’s hot?

open and honest communication, genuine effort to understand someone else’s perspective, love and affection,

The worst part about nostalgia with an eating disorder is that you know you weren’t happier when you were sick. the nostalgia isn’t telling you that you were happier, it’s just telling you that you didn’t have to deal with things the way you do now in recovery. 

When you were sick you could swat away these feelings and those memories and all those problems with a bag of chips or a jog on the treadmill or a few pills or a few hours more until you can eat. 

You didn’t have to think about the hard things, the things that hurt you most. Yes you still felt the terrible feelings and thoughts from those terrible things, but they were numbed, subdued. It’s telling you it was easier because in a way, it WAS easier. 

But that doesn’t mean it was better. And you know that, and the nostalgia knows that. But you can’t help but yearn for that subdued effect because you could “deal” with things so much easier….. by not dealing with them at all.

Recovery makes you face those things that you kept trying to numb and subdue. It’s hard and it hurts and all you want to do is turn back half the time. But you know, all the time, that it will never give you what you want and that the pain will never end there. So you either recover, or subject yourself to a life of pain.

i mean it’s not like i spend every hour consciously saying “i hate myself.” it’s just that when things go wrong my first response is “of course” “i deserve this” “this is because i suck.” if someone asked me “do you like who you are” i’d be stuck. i don’t feel like i’m 13 and emo anymore, but i kept the sidebangs. i feel weird saying things like “i’m a burden and waste of space” but i feel like that. just maybe not in those words. it’s just like i swell too big for the area. like i splash over the sides, a party foul, the spilled drink. i mean how extra would it be to say something like “i don’t like myself enough to keep living”. doesn’t that just cause other people pain. doesn’t that just make people worry. but on the other hand i’m stuck because i feel numb, vague, blurry. like i should evaporate. like i do nothing but cause people distress when i should be helping. like okay. i don’t hate hate myself. but if the car was coming i wouldn’t get out of the way in a hurry.

do u ever feel so unwanted and alone and u just sorta want to cry

a note to a younger me

holidays are getting better. they used to be bad, you know? you had so much inside of yourself that it spoiled even good things. how can you be happy about dinner when you hate eating. how can you all sit down as a family when the rest of the time, you’re fighting. how can the world be merry and bright when the bones of you are darkness, everlasting.

for a long time nothing brought it back. maybe you expected too much from 24 hours. from each other. from yourself. 

six years ago, at this time, you had “cat scratches” over almost every inch of your body. yes, they will scar. no, it will not stop you from finding love. you were eight pounds underweight. you were a compulsive liar, hated your life, hated everything. couldn’t breathe too deeply. you didn’t believe you had a future, right? no presents would undo that. you are sitting on the floor thinking: i need to sleep forever, more than anything.

you have tattoos now. one of them matches with your little sister. she’s one of your best friends. you’re still - i’m sorry, bad news - depressed. but you finally had the opportunity to get help and you actually found the courage for it and went to a therapist and you got diagnosed and it turns out all those nebulous bad feelings have five (yeah, five! can you believe that. we’re so extra) different names. when we quit maladaptive coping mechanisms, we found better ones, healthy ones. we found healthy. you write, like you’ve always wanted to, and it’s kind of working for you. yes, you’ll be living with certain things for the rest of your life. they still don’t know how to fix your hands or your mind. but your recovery isn’t about fixing yourself. it’s about learning how to feel full with the hand you were dealt. you stop surviving every day like you’re in the middle of storm. you learn the storm is home, and it doesn’t have to stop you from every garden you’ll grow. you’ll learn, and after a while - it’s just rain. you’ll be okay, even when it pours.

anyway. i know how much you hated these days. the darkening sun. it’s called seasonal affective disorder, look it up. it’s like. double depression. fun stuff. i know you always ended up feeling lonely, even in the middle of a loud room. how you couldn’t find fun no matter what you did or who you talked to.

what you’ve learned is how to take it slow. how to mull over good things. yes, you still wake up empty. but you’ve learned that you don’t need to wait for a big thing before that emptiness stops, that the only person who can fill you up is you, that hoping depression goes away for a holiday never works, that instead it’s constant work to build and rebuild a dam, over and over, so that you wake up empty but not broken, so that you are sad but not permanently so. it’s tiring, but it gets easier every brick you lay. every time you walk that path, you wear down the mountain. you feel excitement again. six years in the future. for what might be the first time. not anxious, just excited. hopeful. these two small things that you have no experience with.

i think, even, kind of, we’re happy. it’s a slow kind of year for us. but i think it’s working. and when we can, we feel things.

yeah, that’s the gift, my love. we’re getting our emotions back. sometimes slowly, sometimes too quick. but i know you’re at the point that you’re so numb, you can’t even find animals cute. the world is so dull that a knife is a spoon.

but we get it back. we get it back. 

merry christmas. it’s worth it. you wind up somewhere better. how about that.

me: i don’t mind being alone also me: *feels abandoned for no reason at all, needs constant reassurance that my presence is wanted, cannot see how anyone would want to be friends with me, is not able to focus on anything because of the intense feeling of imaginary rejection*