Every time, when the last hit is wearing off and the next hit hasn’t kicked in yet, I look at myself and marvel at how well and truly I have managed to fuck myself. I mean, between the drugs and the anorexia, I am really driving myself toward an early grave.
And, what’s fucked up about that, is that 90% of the time I’m completely ok with that. I actually feel like I deserve what is happening to me and think fondly of the peace that death will bring. The other 10% of the time, I am scared out of my fucking mind.
I’ve started seeking help. First, with the substance abuse and then with the eating disorder. The problem is, I’m so fucked in the head that I honestly don’t know if I want to recover and that, if I’m not fully committed to recovery, I’m doomed to failure.