Today I didn’t want to come home.
I wandered around the shopping centre, under the guise of waiting for my prescription for my old lady pills, lifting items and putting them down.
Wearing my blinkers to those who would wish to make eye contact and small talk, feigning sickness ‘Oh, can’t talk I have a sore throat and I don’t want to infect you’ to those who dared pierce my enormous personal space bubble.
Today I want to retreat into myself. It is all too hard. Too sad. Too angry.
And then I found myself, sitting in my car, stuffing huge gobs of food into my mouth.
Eating my feelings.
See what you made me do? See? I am doing this because of you, you know. Doesn’t that make you feel bad?
Just like when I was a stupid teen.
I am fucking adult. Regressing to stupid self destructive behaivour, punishing myself instead.
In the last few months I have packed on the weight, a combination of rehabilitiation, exhaustion and poor diet.
I feel myself spiralling down, confidence around my ankles, shaking my fist at the world silently screaming WHY ME? WHY ME? Haven’t I had enough?
As I lay awake in the early hours this morning, fretting about everything, I realised all my thoughts are negative. All my feelings are gut knotting, chest crushing, falling in a deep dark hole.
Waking each morning with the thought ‘Oh God, what is going to happen today…’
I keep waiting for the next shoe to fall.
Or am I willing it?
I cannot change others. I cannot change what the fates have in store for me. I cannot change the past.
I can change me.
I can do this. I have not had a cigarette since leaving hospital. Now I need to make another life altering decision.
I need to change me.
Sitting in the car, crying while I was stuffing fatty shit down my throat, not tasting it.
That is not me.
I need to get back the real me.
If, in the end, you still don’t like me for who I am? Not my problem. Your loss.
You and me, bitch…