I didn't last 2 days off my medication. So much for that idea. Even in the comfort of my own home, my stomach went totally hay-wire on me. I'm definitely going to the doctor.
I'm to the point, and not to be morbid but at the end of my rope, that I half hope it's terminal and I'll die from it soon. It's a little bit of everything, everything this fucking sickness has done to my life.
My relationship is failing.
I can't find a job.
I'm in pain all of the time. From Mild to Severe.
I can't leave the house without panicking.
I can't eat without fear and I avoid food until I can't take it anymore.
I've lost a little weight this week, nothing dramatic. Probably a combo of trying to exercise and being unwilling to eat.
I read into this stuff and I cannot find any answers. I see people who have lived this way for decades and I don't think I can take that. They have to find something wrong. They have to. I'm certain my mother thinks I am making it up. My boyfriend seems to have lost interest in understanding, not to mention, his affection has dwindled to practically nothing. I have ceased to return much in retaliation of his apathetic attitude, it's what I do. I stopped wearing the ring he gave me because looking at it is a constant reminder of how we used to be...and a constant wonder if we'll ever make it back there. I've all but given up on us.
I've all but given up on myself.
I was happy once. And all I can do is cry right now, because I have no idea what the hell happened.
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