I’m so tired of hating myself

I’m so tired of hating my body

I’m so tired of the physical pain

I’m so tired of the physical limitations

I’m so tired of acting “normal”

I’m so tired of hiding my ED behavior

I’m so tired of craving those low numbers and tiny outfits

I’m so tired of only being happy when I’m working out or starving

I’m so tired of only being happy when I’m on narcotics or abusing my anxiety medicine

I’m so tired of feeling like I hold my husband back

I’m so tired of being a burden

I’m so tired of not being able to talk to anyone, even my therapist, about what it’s really like to be suicidal

I’m so tired of explaining that even if I go long stretches where I’m ok, in the back of my mind, I’ll always have an escape plan

I’m so tired of needing that escape plane

I’m so tired of feeling useless

I’m so tired of feeling ugly

I’m so tired of dealing with infertility, and wondering if this means God knows I’m too horrible to trust with a child

I’m just so, so fucking tired

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