I didn’t eat Thursday.
It seems too easy to just leave this post with the first sentence. Most likely, questions about the why and the how will arise, and I’ll receive what feels like a gazillion questions being asked about it. And there will probably be assumptions.
I didn’t do it to punish myself or to lose weight, or I probably did and just don’t know. I did it because I didn’t feel like it. I didn’t feel like walking out of my room and into the light-filled hallways I’d been walking in for over a year. I didn’t feel like working up enough energy to figure out something to eat.
I didn’t feel like going anywhere today, but I had to. And I didn’t feel like talking about anything. And I didn’t feel like having another mention of getting a job coming up. And I didn’t feel like blogging, or tweeting, or commenting, or working on my TCG, or Kiking people, or text messaging people, or eating. Yet, I did.
And if I truly showed my family how I felt, they would tell me I’ve lost it. They’d tell me I needed to shape up. I’d be putting myself in such a vulnerable position.
I feel like every time I start to schedule these drafts for publishing I instead have actual blog-worthy things to blog about in real-time. It’s honestly rather annoying.
I kind of wish it was December so it would be cold and I would be able to wear shorts and sweaters and feel all cute and cuddly inside. However, I don’t wish it because it would mean the only thing I accomplished this year was a therapy appointment and staying alive, and I don’t feel like it’s something to be proud for simply because it’s not enough for the majority of the people in my life. And I’m not even mad.
I think I cried every day this week. But I’ve yet to cry today.