The past three weeks was a pretty bad relapse. I restricted wherever I could, and I withdrew inside myself again. It got bad... I was always unhappy, always hurting more and more. It got to its worst point... I cut. Bad, worse than ever before. I slashed my chest just about to shreds. My mom found out, and she was upset. Angry, too. I understand why, I guess. It would be a hard thing to see as a mother. But.. it was hard for me too. I'm so very tired of waking up to another day of eating every morning. I'm so tired of having to smile and tell everyone I'm okay. There are days when I wish I hadn't ever told anyone that I needed help. Then I could just eat when I wanted, as much as I wanted, and be happy. I wish things could be different.
I wish I were a regular girl. I wish I smiled and meant it, and trusted people, and loved myself.
But we all have our own wars.
I lost a big battle. It's been a week since I cut, and the cuts, too many to even count, covering my chest, are still red and angry and deep. They haven't healed, and neither has my heart.
This battle had its casualties.
I'm so exhausted.
So tired of fighting.
I try to sleep, but it won't come, and when it finally does, it comes with the nightmares. So many nights without rest, and then days full of battles. I can only take so much, God, so help me now.
I'm a mess, you see.
Sometimes I just realize how weak I am, and I can't help but sob. and my chest still aches. The deep ones take so long to heal!
And now we wait, to see if sleep will come.
