This isn’t it.

[[Big, fat trigger warning right here]]

Haven’t been here in a while. Probably because my life is – and has been – quite literally on fire. Every aspect of it has gone pear-shaped in some way and I am struggling. I’ve been crying for days now because my body just…can’t stop. ED recovery has been relapse after relapse. Dermatillomania flares all over the place. And that’s just the physical things that I can see and feel at this moment. The very tip of the iceberg, so to speak.

I’m trying to do my best but honestly? Sometimes I wish people had let me kill myself almost thirteen years ago. Because this? This isn’t the future that was promised to me if “I just held on” or “stayed strong” or “kept going”. This isn’t what people mean when they say “it gets better”. And it sure as hell isn’t the life I fought for.

Why does it feel like I have to sell my soul or part of myself or whatever you might believe in to make it work? I constantly have to prove that I am worthy. Of love, of acceptance, of support, of help. And I can’t just say it. I have to yell it. Over and over again. Until my voice is raw and my body can’t do it anymore. It feels like everyone wants something and what do I have left to give? Nothing. Literally nothing. I don’t have anything. And even that is something I have to prove.

I’m tired. Of trying to convince people that I exist the way I do. Of trying to convince people that I exist the way I do and that I am still worthy. Despite.

I’m right here.

Look at me, for fuck’s sake. Look at me with my tear-stained face and my chapped lips and my wrecked body and my bloody hands. Because this is what life is like for me at this very moment. And it doesn’t matter whether you believe it’s “real” or “not an issue” or “not that bad” or that “other people have it worse”. Because this is it. And I will make you see it. I won’t let you look away.