"You're stupid as hell"

That voice in me shrilled again as I spread caramel icing on my third ice scream sandwich. 

"Yes, thank you for your insight" I sighed back, exhausted, before sitting down and sinking my teeth into temporary relief. 

It's been the 5th day of a nearly week-long episode. My hair has gone unwashed for days, my clothes smell, tinges of gray are peeking through my roots since I don't feel like coloring them, and flecks of eyeshadow and mascara remain on my eyelids from Tuesday's makeup. I'm the heaviest weight I've ever been. I'm the  most broke I've ever been. I cannot stop the constant flow of negativity, sadness, anger, rage, jealousy, and worthlessness that clouds my brain. 

And somehow, by some miracle, in the midst of all this shit, there is a poor and clueless man that loves me deeply. 

We'd had our third fight this week last night. I was acting like an unbeatable nintendo game; every word he said was my "game over." I would end up crying, angry, or becoming horrendously offended and leaving the room. 6-7 times. We ended the night with him finally snapping and breaking up with me, only to retract it 5 minutes later and holding me close. I woke up at 3 AM to him sniffling on my shoulder, crying and praying to God to help our relationship. But sadly, when I woke up, I felt the same. Misery, self-loathing, shame, emptiness. Poor guy. 

Trying to act happy just so I can see him happy feels like defying myself and my feelings, which would only make me angrier. It would remind me too much of the times when I was sad or angry as a child and my mom screamed at all of us to smile and show the "Joy of the Lord" despite our true feelings. The beloved cunt of a matriarch would spank us if we were "rebellious" or unhappy. So I smiled and kissed her ass, positively terrified of her wrath. My inner child would murder me if I dared fake happiness for the sake of someone else's emotions ever again. 

So, I am at a stalemate. My poor partner is trying with everything inside him to help. But every word out of my mouth is "no." 

"No, let's not go dancing tonight. I'm fat and hideous, I can't let anyone see me."
"No, I don't want to come see you at work. I'm disgusting and everyone would be so ashamed of me. You're dating HER? The fat slob?!"
"No, I can't afford therapy or medication. I'm already 3 months behind on car payments. I don't have insurance, either. I work 5 days a week and can barely afford food."
"No, please stop."
"No, no, no."
"No"

No.

So my only option is to shut myself away until it stops. Whatever it is, this haunting, inconvenient, disgusting illness that cripples me, my happiness, and my entire existence. Whether it manifests itself as a horrifying rage or a pair of wet, tired eyes. I will quarantine it. And my heart will break as I hear him cry, alone, in his room. 

Away from me.
