I can’t. The treatment center called. I asked the question I shouldn’t have asked “what’s it like?” And holy heck I am crying under a desk right now. I can’t. I don’t want to go. I can’t do it. I’m so sick thinking about just going near there and I can’t function. Top it off with I have to get re-medically cleared which just means more scales more doctors more telling people, more trusting people and I just can’t. It’s too much. I am too overwhelmed.
My mom says “I know it’s scary” and all I want is to scream NO YOU EFFING DON’T KNOW. It’s not scary it’s so damn terrifying that the prospect of slowly killing myself my starving to death seems like the obvious and clear right choice. You don’t know how that feels or to feel so out of control that the fear has you curled up under a desk, crying.
I can’t do this. Telling was the wrong decision. It was bad and now this is my punishment. I can’t go. I HAVE to find a way out. OMGosh what have I gotten myself into.