I didn't want to go to dance, but of course, I went anyways. My mom was acting really weird on the drive down. For the most part our rides tend to be silent. But today she kept asking me for advice saying she "admired" me.
... you don't know what I've done behind closed doors.
I hate when she asks me for advice. I'm supposed to ask her. She's supposed to teach me how to maintain a healthy relationship and make goals and live a life that's worth while. All I've learned from her recently, is that isolation isn't such a bad idea.
My dance class was okay, but not great. I did some good turns in the second class. I was in a good enough mood.
Then my dad asked me if I wanted psychiatric treatment.
Part of me does. I want to know what's wrong with me. I want to know something is wrong with me, because if this chaos that is my mind is normal, I don't understand how the human race has survived. I want to be fixed. I want to be myself again, or at least the self I used to be. But I'm scared. I'm scared of the way people will look at me. Will they be able to tell? What happens if you tell a psychiatrist you've attempted suicide before? What if you still want to die? What am I supposed to do?
And then my brother called, and he yelled at me. Like he always does. He always yells. Al he needed to do was ask me if I was eating dinner. And instead he yelled at me. This is supposed to be my one ally and he always treats me with disdain and anger. I can't take it.
Then I ate. A lot. It was hummus and carrots, but hummus is fattening. I took my measurements which are still .5-1 inch more than they were before the summer. I'm wearing the same handful of jeans over and over because they're all that fit.
I just want to move on. I want out of this house. I want something, anything to change. I need something to change.
I need something new.
I need some fresh air.
Thank you ruby-tuesday <3
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