Yeah, I didn't think I'd keep it in me for long. Five laxatives down and chased it with two pieces of toast. Thinking I'll get rid of everything. Maybe take five or ten more later tonight. I wanna feel sick. I wanna feel floating on empty and light headed and dead. I can't hear anymore about these people in Boston, or this boy near a boat. I can't take my friend's son shooting himself in the face and I don't want to face ending my vacation going to the funeral. I know all of this makes me crazy terrible. I'm a greedy awful human. But I'm not going to lie about myself. Especially since it's only me and the vampires reading this damned blog. And I'm happy as fuck about that.
If my professors knew. If my family knew. If my husband knew. I'd be done for. If people found out that I like to poison myself what then? No more MA for me. No more getting ahead in my program. Nope, just that fake ass sympathy people give you when you are mentally ill. I have been mentally ill my whole fucking life. I scratch at my skin until it bleeds and people just think it's a nasty habit. I liked after my surgery, how people wanted to be nice to me. I was treated like I was little and weak and people looked out for me. I'm exhausted of being in control and in charge. I'm ready to dive into sleep over how much I can't stand being on top of everything. I want to spend the rest of my vacation and all summer sick, and suffering in the backyard in a hammock. And then the reward is that I'm happy and little little little.