Usually I’m able to, at the very least, recognise most of my irrational thoughts, except these past weeks I’ve been having even more of those and I’m starting to have a very difficult time recognising them as “not genuine” because from first to last they simply ring true to my (unstable, disordered, sick, whatever you want to call it) mind.
One of them is that I cannot help but consider me dying as the most reasonable course of action. After all, I’m a burden (I know I am, I’m not blind) and whenever I try to look at my life from the outside, it just seems like that’s the only way life will work out for everyone involved; never mind that it doesn’t seem to ever get really better for me anyway.
(On that note, though, don’t tell me that it will because damn, almost 10 years of mental illnesses don’t just fade out and get better, because damn, almost 10 fucking years of mental illnesses means that they found a way to crawl into every ruddy crack of my life and that they’ve been trying their effing hardest to ruin it, so please, spare me those words. I know they are spoken out of kindness and the wish to comfort, but today I simply can’t stand listening to them because they sound like nothing but lies.)
Another thought that found its way into my head is that before I went into inpatient treatment, before my weight was restored at the end of ‘13 etc. I’ve been managing my life better, and in combination with other thoughts – that’s one hell of a feeding ground for my eating disorder to leech off. Because it encourages the voices in my head to tell me that going back to it “full-time” will improve things again which is such a fucked up thing to hear because in that time I’ve been dying, I’ve been severely underweight and feeling awful. I’ve been suffering so much, but STILL there are those voices in my head that tell me that back then REGARDLESS OF EVERYTHING I’ve managed to get shit done, to go to university, to work on my assignments and to be a proper students and my God, I miss being able to do those things.
I just loathe myself so much for not managing those things anymore, you know?
And perhaps the saddest thing about all of this is that I loathe myself so much, I’m willing to tear myself to shreds, to kill myself slowly if only it means that I’ll manage things on my own again, that I’ll be less of a burden for others, to make life easier for everyone else.