I told my roommate about my decision. She pointed out that I have certain responsibilities (kids, dog), as if I hadn’t thought about that. I have wrestled with this for a long time. My kids are the only reason I’m alive at this point anyway… and even the thought of them didn’t stop me from making a few suicide attempts already. I certainly didn’t come to this decision lightly. I’ve fucked up my kids pretty good already. Whether I live or die, I’m going to fuck them up more, despite my best intentions. I know this is a classic sign of mental illness when it comes to thinking about suicide, but I really do believe that they will have a better life without me being in it.
I decided not to tell my local friend about what’s going on. He does know that one of the reasons I have anorexia is to hurt myself and I think it’s probably best just to leave it at that.
That leaves my friend in England. I texted him last night and told him that I’m now under 10 stone (140 pounds) and that I’m not planning on doing anything to get better. He originally told me that, if I got under 10 stone, he’d like to see me go to the hospital. I’m supposed to Skype with him a little later today. Based on how he responds to my passionate embrace of anorexia, I’ll gauge whether or not to tell him everything. I’d really like him to do my eulogy, so I hope I feel like I can tell him and that he’ll accept my decision.
But enough of the doom and gloom. In half an hour, I get to take my kids to an open house at the local animal shelter. They’re really looking forward to it and so am I!