November is tomorrow, and that means I have been telling the “I’ll get back on track story” for one year.
It’s never gonna fucking happen. I’ve accepted that I will never get to live life beyond my daydreams.
Every month is the same story. I swear it will be the month I lose weight, but the month ends up being the same as the last. My will is completely gone. I will never see my thin body again and I want to slit my throat over it. I failed. Fuck this bullshit about “keep trying and trying and you’ll be successful” it’s fucking BULLSHIT. I’ll tell myself the same thing just to fail again next month. And the month after. And the year after. And the year after that. And the decade after that. And before I know it, I’ll be a depressed 80 year old woman who only got to be happy for the 3 months of her life she spent being skinny.
I have never hated life more than I do now and I’m so alone. I’ll never be happy again. I’ll forever be walking around pretending like I don’t want to kill myself until I actually do. I’ll forever be stuck in the diet binge cycle, struggling to not gain anymore weight, and if it doesn’t kill me first then I will.
I’m so tired of being a failure and I’m so done with life.
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