Apr. 29th, 2014

bulimicbunny: (Cat)
+ loving partner
+ own house
+ stable job
+ pets
+ no SI

- 142lbs
- still purging
- 30mg Prozac
- still hate mirrors

I broke down at work today. I was irritable and every little thing was getting on my nerves. I saw my own fake smile in the reflection of the window and I just got so, fucking sick of it
I got sick of being courteous
I got sick of being nice
Being 'a laugh'
Being optimistic
Being strong
Being whoever it is that I portray as the self that day

I left and sat in the car and just cried and cried. Boyfriend came out to look for me, kissed my tears and took me home to our gorgeous house, me crying and talking of my miserable life the whole way.
Why does he bother?
Why do I have to have the days where I feel utterly dead inside, and any feelings that surface are usually guilt, self pity or resentment. Why can't I have normal bad mood days like everyone else?
Why do I have to stick my head down the toilet after hating myself for eating only to repeat the process mere minutes later?

Why do I have to lie to get out of work cause I am in fact, fucking crazy?


bulimicbunny: (Default)


This is my account of my vanishing act. Diagnosed Bulimic/BPD. I live in a tiny room with my rabbit. I'm 21, and I like writing and cups of coffee.

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