I used to feel safe writing here but I can’t bring myself to do it anymore. It feels wrong. The freedom has gone. 100s of started posts, none published. My mind keeps wandering away, searching for something, my authenticity perhaps? I think it’s given up on me. Fair enough too. I’m only capable of authentic ramblings when I’m anonymous and too many people who know me have been here.
I desperately want to confess my many sins but can’t bring myself to do it. I’ll have to keep my mask on for now because I’m locked in a jail of my own creation. I ruined this blog the way I ruin everything.
Depression is setting in again, the sky darkens around me and as one winter ends, another begins.
The way out is probably sobriety.
Hi, my name is Fuckface and I’m an addict, not of the traditional substances perhaps, but an addict none the less. Sobriety though, is of little interest really. I fell off the eating disorder wagon and just watched as it lumbered off into the sunset without me. I have no intention or running after it and I don’t even particularly care that it’s gone.
I can’t remember if I was ever happier in recovery. Too busy to notice. I like my dirty little secrets, I like the power to control something that belongs solely to me, to have something that belongs solely to me. Well, Me and the voices in my head.
Maybe we’ll be ready to do the work one day. Meanwhile I’m just going to exercise my right as an adult to my own autonomy and the fact nobody can stop me from self destructing if I so choose.
They say the stars look brighter from the bottom of a well, guess I can at least look forward to the view from rock bottom.