My love, I’m trying.
My love, I’m trying.
Please excuse me whilst I be girly and emotional and philosophical.
When I was in the depths of my illness, I had convinced myself that I could never possibly be a mother. I didn’t want kids because what if they turned out like me? What if they had anxiety issues, OCD, depression, stress, or even developed an eating disorder. I knew I’d blame myself, and that that would make their condition worse. I wouldn’t cope.
But then, something changed. I met people and went places, and I realised that I could be an amazing mother, so long as the perfect father was there too, to comfort and believe in me and take an active role in raising our child.
It’ll be many years before I seriously consider having kids, but I know that I want it. Most of all, I want a son. I think I’d be a great mother to a son.
But there’s also a large chance that my ED may have made me infertile, in which case I really don’t know what to think.
I don’t understand. I don’t know if its lack of sleep, or a come down from the week I’ve had; but I don’t understand why I feel like this.
Why are old thoughts of you creeping in, arising from interactions I observed in other people today, and the fact that you were referenced multiple times out loud.
I have a lot I want to say but no real way to express it to any effect and I feel like I’ve said it all before in 3456billion different ways and is it even worth it welp who knows not me
me too tessy, me too.
Cold, slow, silent, bloated, and damn scary; bringing terror and confusion wherever I go.
– Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (via echoofmydreams)
Crying is exhausting. A fatigue that lasts so long and drains the senses; blocking the ability to perceive and the ability to understand, making it even harder to make decisions, and talking away all reasons to do anything, to talk about anything, to think about anything, so see anything.
In fact; to want anything. To want anything but to run away.
Sometimes, when I search deep inside myself and find that the feeling of intense hatred for all things me is gone, I feel sad. Its like I’ve lost some part of my identity, like in discovering who I am, I’ve really lost it completely. I don’t get this; this eternal battle between self and soul. I thought that being happy would bring me back, but just now it hit me - where the fuck am I tonight?