So weak. So weak. My brain isn’t working right. Again. I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’ve split myself open and poured out all my secrets, all my freaking guilt and pain and… everything. And now I’m empty. And alone. I don’t know what to do.
Tired… shaky… weary…
I don’t even know what I’m sorry for. I’m just… tired of trying anymore. I don’t know what the heck I need. I don’t know. I keep thinking I knew, but then… nothing works.
I told my counselor. I told her everything about the hard parts of this past week. I told her about how I wanted to die. I was honest. I gave over control. And now… I feel helpless. I don’t know where to go, what to do. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for letting myself down, for letting everyone down. I’m sorry for always choosing what’s wrong and destructive to me. I’m sorry for embracing anorexia. She was never nice to me. She told me I would be pretty. She told me I would be loved. She told me people would want me, like me, like being around me.
She taught me to hate myself. She taught me to see myself as my own greatest enemy. She taught me to never forgive, never forget, never let up.
But was it she?
Or was it me?
Where’s the line?
I don’t know.
All I know right now is that my body hurts. I’ve let everyone down. I’ve been trying so hard to get through this. I… I’ve failed.
I’m sorry, sorry to myself, sorry to my friends. I’ve let you all down. I’m sorry for failing. I’m sorry for choosing destructive things. I’m sorry for choosing my stupid addictions over my health, my relationships, my friends, my family. I’m sorry for choosing to hurt them, even when I loved them all so much. It doesn’t even make sense. Did I love them? Did I care? Wouldn’t I have stopped all this if I really did?
Is it even possible for me to love? Or am I too messed up for that.
What if… I don’t really love people? What if I’m just being nice to them because I want someone to be nice to me? You know, the whole, “do unto others what you would have done for yourself.” I want to be loved. I want to be listened to. I want to be wanted. So, what if that’s the whole reason I care about people? Just because I’m disgustingly desperate for someone to care for me.
I’m a stupid fucked up piece of shit.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I literally should be dead. I’m so tired of living this way. But I don’t know how else to survive. I hate myself. I hate what I’ve done. It’s a mess. I am sorry. I am sorry.
I’m sorry I’m alive. I’m sorry I hurt everyone. I’m sorry I hurt myself. I’m sorry.
I… don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s falling apart. There’s nothing left to hold on to. I’m alone in the middle of an ocean I created, trying to stay afloat… but I’m so tired. And I can’t swim anymore.