It's always fucking well me. I don't even know what I'm hoping to achieve by being here. Therapists seem to think I'm overexaggerating the honest fact that I wish I wasn't here. I'm not scared of pain and I'm certainly not scared of death, I'm not anything. I'm nothing, I'm barely present. Except as a scapegoat for things I cannot help, things people find fault with of whatever is left of me. I want to disappear, to go away into a chaos of nothing where nobody will find me and nothing can hurt me. My bulimia has got monumentally worse, which I genuinely didn't think was possible. I'm ill and I'm tired and I'm always fucking cold and it never goes away no matter what I do. AD's aren't touching this feeling, it just sits like a cancer and refuses to be shifted. I miss people I've loved who have gone, wish I was with them rather than here despite not even believing in any type of heaven or afterlife, I just believe in the ending of it, like a light going out. I've spoken to people, tried to make people understand, but it's almost impossible to stand in front of somebody and tell them, simply, that you wish you were dead. I can't force the motion to start. I allude to it, I try and get it out, I've told my therapist straight out and yet nobody seems to want to know. I want out. Thanks for reading, anybody who does. Lex.