Right now I can't eat. I used to believe that it's a symptom of anxiety but it's actually an unconscious suicide. I just wanna puke if I put anything in my mouth, even a toothbrush. The food feels alien, repulsive. I don't want to die, I don't wanna live like this, you know, even though I don't have any reason to live.


I'm tired of being confined to this mind, to this body. I'm tired of suffering both emotionally and physically. I would trade physical suffering for emotional any day but when my trauma actually happens I can't just not think about it like I thought I could.


And you. I've done everything to keep you but all I actually did is push you away. Funny, I read an entire book and a slew of articles about my illness when I got diagnosed but I was none the wiser. I know my symptoms, I know what people with my illness do, but I don't see it when I do it myself. And you tried. You tried to help me, to understand me, to educate yourself, you wanted me to get better. And I kept my shit to myself, I never split, I asked you of special treatment only when I was sure I can't keep it together otherwise. You always reminded me you loved me. Until the moment you started to withdraw.  And I knew it couldn't last forever. No one can forever care for someone who is always in a state of crisis. You started you barely give me a time of day. You spend a lot of time with others. I guess they reminded you how normal human interaction feels like and you didn't want to go back to my hellhole of a life. It was the first time I went aggressive. I accused you of not caring about me, I demanded to explain why everyone always leaves me. As if I didn't know. Next morning after a sleepless night I admitted myself to the psych ward.


I won't tell what shit I've endured there but after a couple of months I returned even more anorexic than I was before and freedom of my old life seemed paradise now. I told you I'm sorry. You told me that it's okay and welcomed me back. But there was no affection anymore. You say it's because you're depressed but I see that you still can be affectionate to others. And I don't have a right to object. I drained and left you. I tell you to please be done with me and you change the topic. I tell you that I love you and you don't return it. And I can't leave you myself. You're truly different.


I want to be someone else. I wish other people's help was actual help in times of need, not something I require to live every day. I don't want to teach others that they shouldn't help me, love me, empathise with me, I don't want to turn the lives of those who do into hell. Every step I make I fall, everything I touch I break, everything I want turns out the exact opposite.   I don't like it and I don't want it and I didn't choose it but my life ruins itself no matter how hard I try. I'm sorry dear. I love you. You're the best thing that happened to me in my entire life