Today, I thought I’d spend some time with my family. So I went downstairs. I braved the kitchen and the risk of food, because I need to be able to handle it to get better anyway. And I sat with them. And I watched telly. I haven’t done that in ages. Not for ages and ages and ages. And I won’t do it again. Ever.
Because as soon as mum and dad went out of the house to deliver some christmas presents, Zoe reminded me why I don’t spend time with them. Because she hates me. And because she wishes I wasn’t alive. She even said it herself. I’mnot good enough to be part of their perfect little family unit. I don’t belong and I don’t deserve them. They don’t want to give me any of their time. Like she said, I just cause arguments.
You’re the one that causes all the problems. No one cares about your fucking problems. No one cares. It always has to be about you. Even when grandma was dying it was YOU who needed to see a fucking counsellor, because you’re weak and you wanted the attention. It’s always about you. I hate you.
That’s what she said.
That’s what she thinks.
And I asked her, “Do you want to take that back?”
And she looked me straight in the eye and said.
“No.”
At least I know now. I least I know that’s how they feel. How she feels.
Maybe, when I’m in hospital being fed through a fucking tube I’ll be worth someone’s time. Even if it’s just some fat nurse.
I hope I do get anorexia. I hope I get anorexia, and I hope it kills me.
Maybe they’d start caring then.
[...] 24th December 2008 – I wrote about an argument I had with my sister, how she hated me and I didn’t feel a part of my own family. I also, worryingly, wrote this: [...]