I’m not getting better. Right now, I’m thinking seriously about phoning the Samaritans, just to talk to someone, because I don’t know what else to do. But I think I’m too scared – it’s Christmas, they must have hundreds of people ringing them, and I’m just some privileged kid who thinks she’s entitled to more love than she actually deserves. But surely unhappiness is unhappiness, whoever’s it is? I used to always tell myself, when I came over all self-indulgent, stfu, you know? Like, some people have real problems. But the truth is, I have an eating disorder, a real one: not the kind where you post pictures of pretty, skinny scene girls on Livejournal and Tumblr and sign off with ‘think thin!’, but the kind where you want to tear yourself apart because you can’t stand to live in your own skin anymore. And that is a real problem.
But what would I say, if I called? Would I be able to talk at all, to explain? Or would I talk forever, for hours, would I tell them everything so fast it wouldn’t make sense, and I’d be taking up time that they could be talking to someone who’s – who’s lost a family member, or who’s suicidal, and I’m just sobbing cause I’m twenty years old and kinda chubby and no one wants to hold my hand.
I don’t know if this is a good idea.