F-This, I'm sorry.

It hit me so hard this time and I’m angrier than ever. My dad mentioned it on the phone today when I was telling him about my boyfriend’s car being broken into. He mentioned how it was even harder to deal with because I was in “down swing,” how everything was a tragedy when I’m like this. I hated him for saying that and I quickly made a dumb excuse for getting off the phone.

How dare he pretend to know my moods! How dare he comment on them so calmly and matter-of-factly! I was in denial about my moods and my mood swings and this stupid disease. If I don’t take any more medication then it doesn’t exist? Right!?

Then I find myself with my cheek pressed to the dirty carpet in my apartment. I haven’t taken off my overcoat in hours. It hadn’t seemed as necessary as the multiple drinks I’ve made myself.

I lay here and I glance at the computer, on the other end is my loving boyfriend who has to be away from me tonight. It’s probably best for him. I want to cry. I want to sob out all of the sorrow and fears of the past 30 years. There’s an urgency to it that counters my apathy. “You should do it now while no one else is around!”

And the anger. The anger of not being able to fix this. Three days ago I was drinking 3 liters of water, and taking all my medicine and starting back at the gym. I felt determined and optimistic that I could make the long climb back to where I was, that I could slowly drop the pounds. It was only a couple days ago!! What happened?! Why now!

Tomorrow I start a couple of weeks of 14-16 hr days, stressful days, tiresome days, days full of argument and distraction. I won’t be able to fix myself. I won’t be able to sleep the 22 hrs a day that I want to. I’m so frightened of working the long hours and drinking the rest of those hours. And I know it’s going to happen because that’s what always happens. And I should know because today I ripped off ALL of my fingernails. ALL. My hands reflect the hopelessness that I feel.

And I’m ANGRY. Because I’m smart and driven and I love life and it’s not fair that my own mind can sabotage my like this. And it’s been years that I’ve been like this and I should have learned how to avoid it or how to deal with it or what to do.

So I feel stupid, and inadequate and remorseful and sad and angry. And there’s nothing that anyone can do about it.