Fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. Fat. That’s all I see when I look at myself. Where is this self-love people keep talking about because I can’t find it? I hate the way I look. As long as I can remember I’ve struggled with my body and the way it is. I just want to be thin. Genetically. My past hidden anorexia is rearing its ugly head again. I see food, no matter how healthy, and my brain tells me, “don’t eat that, you’re too fat!”.

My mania doesn’t help. I have no appetite. No hunger. My depression kills my motivation to change anything. I want to lie in bed and cry for the ridiculousness of it all.

So I self medicate instead. I take an anxiety pill. And then another. I don’t want to feel. I’m tired of feeling. So coping mechanisms it is. Numbness, blissful numbness. Then sleep. Am I making sense anymore?? Then I’m gone again…


Categories: Anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Mania, Mental Health, Self Esteem, self-care, Writing

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