I hate myself. I can’t do anything right. I’m so angry. I want to yell and scream. I hate myself for wanting to because I’m in front of my kids. So I have a glass of wine. When Neil gets home and I know everyone is taken care of I have a few more. Now I don’t want to scream but I still hate myself. I hate myself for being weak; for gaining back 40, maybe 50lbs of the 75 that I worked so hard to lose; for being such a horrible role model for my beautiful children; for not having the discipline to be better.
I feel like I’m drowning. I feel like I have nothing to hold onto and I’m sinking. Physical pain is the only thing keeping me afloat; it keeps me from the numbness of the abyss. It’s not an ally, just a survival tool. But there are always consequences.
Depression lies.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.


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