I often ponder what it would be like; life; without me – in this household, at least. I know that nothing will change in the real world, and I’ve come to terms with that. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am nothing special – just a carbon copy of my mother doomed to live out the rest of my life as a stoner-junkie dropout who has an IQ in the range of Autism.
Maybe I am Autistic- but I suppose I’ll never know, because I’ve not cared enough to bring it to anyone’s attention.
I keep telling people how I’m going to die, because I know how I’m going to die. Sweat-drenched in a pile of my own vomit, crying over my cold, shaky hands while they stroke my ribs, and the thigh gap I worked oh, so desperately hard to get – and for what? To end up purging for my last time over some stupid f****** s***. Some stupid f****** s*** that doesn’t matter to anyone. Who cares? Not me! 🙂