Here I am in hospital. No different to being at home really except that someone cooks for me and reminds me to eat. Buzzer has just gone off meaning someone somewhere is in trouble. It isn't me. I mean... I might be in trouble or distress but I know there is no way I would ever press that buzzer. I dont deserve help. I deserve to feel this pain. So I am sitting in my room knowing that my old friends (plastic knife and plastic fork) are in the drawer outside in the common kitchen room. I could so do with them right now to help in my thinking. Maybe they wont kill me but they certainly leave nice scars. Oh how I miss them. The only thing stopping me from becoming reacquainted with these old friends is my boyfriends deal breaker comment: self harm equals relationship over for him. Right now though, I am beginning to question how much I really need that relationship vs how much I would love to feel some relief. Stupid I know.... having a hard time choosing between plastic cutlery and my partner. But its my reality. The other reality is that I am sitting in this room looking around wondering how I could possibly end things in here... no fixed curtain rails. No handles or solid items that would bear body weight... yep they have done a good job of making a room liveable and suicide proof. Nothing in my bag... They have taken anything worthwhile out. Not sure what to do. I think about my life. I have nothing that bad to be continually depressed about and yet I struggle every damn day. I have had bulimia since i was 14 (more than half of my life!!). My head is just screwed up with thoughts that shouldn't be there. They say suicide hurts those around you. Yet me living is killing my own mother. Right now I actually feel hate towards her. She doesn't listen to what I say I need. I know she is trying to help. I know she is doing what she thinks is best. But I honestly hate her. Seeing her makes me want to die even more. I am screwed up. How can you be in hospital and still be so screwed up?