I'm suffocating. Layers of guilt weaved into the layers of fat surrounding my body. I can't breathe, I miss you two so much. I'm supposed to be visiting you this weekend.
But yet again, my mental illness has come in the way. What a great start to the month of May.
A, I know you're old enough to understand. That I can't handle being at home, it messes with my brain and I starve or stuff myself. You know I still love you and I still want to see you. But you've been fighting against a physical illness for quite some time now and we have the same symptoms. But I caused mine myself. If you're struggling over an ensure, I should be there supporting you, distracting you and making you laugh. Not struggling over one myself, isolated, in my room. I'm sorry.
E, you don't understand, you're simply too young. All you know is that I spend less and less time with you. I hardly ever come to visit anymore and you don't know why. And when I do come up you ask why my dinner is different than yours. I say its because I like different things but then you say you want the same dinner as me and you don't understand why tears roll down my face. I don't want you to mimic my eating habits. I know you look up to me but in some ways I'm an awful role model. I'm sorry I'm not the healthy, happy, helpful role model you need.