I’ve come to the realization that it doesn’t fucking matter how I feel. It doesn’t matter how upset I am, how depressed I am, how exhausted I am, how little or how much I’m eating. As long as I complete the list of assignments, finish my work load and continue to perform as a college student then I’m fine to the world.
I just want to go home
When you have about 39047203942 drafts of things you want to write down, but know if you say what you actually want to say, you’ll get a shit storm that you don’t have time for
There is no sense of pride I feel when I look at myself. If I could put my shame and self hatred in a bag I would break my back trying to pick it up. Everything in my life is a blur and for some reason I believe that restricting will give me the lenses to help me see life again. I’ve fallen short, and it kills me. My dads death was supposed to inspire a better me. A person that could leave his ashes proud but instead here I am counting the hours of restriction hoping that I can be beside him in whatever universe he is now in. It’s not rediculous to miss somebody and want to see them. I want to hear my name, I want to tell him about my day, I want the stories about his life to leave his lips instead of the countless cards I am receiving. You miss people but what I am feeling towards his lose is more than the word miss can encompass. I long for him and playing the role of a girl who lost her dad is just too fucking much.
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I wish I could just stop and grieve but school is just drowning me. I’m sick too. And I need him back.