Too hard. Too hard. Too hard.

Everything is getting increasingly hard right now. Getting out of bed is unbelievably hard. Dragging my arse out of the house, aside from the whole so-fucking-depressed-I’d-rather-be-asleep mindset, is like throwing myself into a tank of piranhas. An ED/Trauma thought feeding ground.

“You fat disgusting piece of shit! How could you leave the house like this? FAT. FAT. FAT.”

“You don’t deserve to eat, anything, let alone chocolate. You’re too fat. You need to lose weight, not eat chocolate.”

“Why do you think it’s okay for you to go out in public looking like that? VILE. DISGUSTING. WORTHLESS. WASTE OF SPACE!!!”

Sometimes, I’m close to repeatedly banging my head against a brick wall just to get them to shut. the. fuck. up! There are days, like most days in the last few weeks, where the safest place for me to be is bed. I’m doing anything today to try to shake the depression. Showered, put on my make up, paid my bills (ok, so if anything, that’s likely to make me feel worse but it had to be done) and am going to tidy the house. ED is loud, angry and intrusive today. Don’t feel strong enough to bother fighting her today.

Absolutely have to clean my house today. Then I can curl up with some dvd’s, potentially sleep and hope for a little peace.

Some days are just too hard!


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