A bad day

trigger warning

At the end of 2013 I ended up in inpatient treatment for 3 months. For my ED, OCD, BPD, depression, …

It didn’t help me. The people working there were condescending and didn’t even try to help their patients. Ever since then, I’ve refused to step on a scale because I knew that knowing I was no longer severely underweight would turn into me being hospitalised again.

Today I did something stupid.
I stepped on a scale.
I saw the number.
I calculated everything.

I feel so ashamed. I’ve hated this body before already so much, but now? Now I need to work even harder at getting back what I had. It’s stupid, you know? Because I’m well aware that that’s not the solution. I know that it won’t help. It didn’t help back then after all. But who cares, right? Why bother with staying alive.


About thetasteofwrittenwords

Ema. Twenty-something. Panromantic asexual. University student, artist and writer. Proud feminist. View all posts by thetasteofwrittenwords

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