2 Xanax and a Heated Blanket


Yesterday was very intense and depressing. I hate that there is such a disconnect on this disorder and my family. It’s funny because in the past my parents would always tell me that there is no person that loves me more than they do. If they are right, then I am fucked because the way the invalidate and dismiss sometimes is possibility the furtherest thing of love a person could want. Not arguing that they don’t love me, I just don’t think they have made the top 5. Really, if they love me the most then they speaks more for other people and that if this is the tip of the ice berg when it comes to love, I am fucked.

I don’t want to think that the person that cares and loves me the most would ever dream of belittling me the way they did today. Using their Renfrew paystub in my face, rolling their eyes when i try to explain how I am feeling, walking away from me, telling me to leave, calling me selfish for being afraid of food, saying that it is cruel of me to have this disorder when my dad has cancer, and telling me that all I have to do is think happy thoughts. 

Fuck that. fuck that. fuck that. fuck that. 

Like I said, they do love me. I will never argue that they don’t but in no way is it the love that a child wants to have. They love me for Sarah Gore and not for Sarah.  A child wants to be validated with more things than just tangible things, they want to be taught that it is okay to be who they are. I don’t feel like I was ever raised that way. i was expected to fit into this little bubble that for some reason I just couldn’t get myself into. I was supposed to do a certain thing, look a certain way, believe a certain belief and that’s not me. 

After I left the house and went for a drive, I came home, turned on my heated blanket and took 4 xaxax. It was splendid. 



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