It’s tooooo hard. It’s too bloody hard. I’m tired. It’s too hot today. It’s dark now. I’m tired. I have to do the washing. Today is a work day. I’m tired. We have plans. I just want a bite. Only a taste. I’m tired. I’m depressed. I deserve it. It’s a party. I’m tired. I have too much to lose. I ate that, so I may as well eat this. I’ve failed now. I’m tired. I’m quitting. I’m tired. I’m a failure. I’m tired. I’ll always be fat. I’m tired. I’m a loser.
I am so fucking sick and tired of this dysfunctional merry go round of hell. Get me off this ride. It’s making me sick to the stomach.
I hate myself. I am a mess. And I feel alone out here. Where are my people? I am suffering in my ability to tell people I’m OK when I really just need a hug. I am too good at appearing self sufficient and tough.
There is no hug at the bottom of the ice cream tub. Tell me again. There is nothing for you at the end of the chip rainbow. The pot of gold is all that you have and fail to see because you can’t see the blessings for the fat thighs. I am drowning in food. My shiny, crazy, funny self is drowning. I hate everything and nothing. I don’t want you to see me for you will judge. The mean girls are circling and gleeful. I would rather stay here and hide, alone and tired.
I have miles to go. Miles and miles to learn to open my eyes and wake up from this nightmare that is my issue with food.
Open your eyes, Merrill, open your eyes.