I want the truth. I know that I’m really unhealthy. My stomach is acting up and so are my lungs. I’m not in the hospital, but I’ve been to the doctor’s office a few times. My adoptive mum says I’m slowly getting better.
I’m not though. I know it. I can tell when she’s lying. She’ll look anywhere but your face, twiddle her thumbs, and over explain. Check, Check, Check.
The truth is, I know I’m probably going to die. Wow, it’s weird saying that, but I am. If I don’t shape up and get over this stuff, I’ll won’t recover. It’s not easy. I haven’t really had a slip up in a few weeks, and I feel a little motivated. Yeah, most days aren’t good ones, but I don’t want to die. I do some days, but I want enough time to fix things with my friends and some of my family. I don’t want to be another drug addict that dies and no one cares. I want to be someone. I don’t care if I’m motherfucking Bill Gates rich, or if I’m Mother Theresa poor, as long as I make a difference. When I die, I want someone to care, but who would? Yeah. there are all you amazing people on here, but you don’t really know me. I want a best friend to look back when I die and say “She tried, and I’m proud.” That’s all I want. I really feel like shit. I’ve puked most of the food I eat up, I’m breathing better but my lungs are shit. I honestly just feel like this is major karma, which I deserve. I’m back on antidepressants, but I can’t really take them because I throw everything up.
Sorry if that was too much information. This is an extremely humbling process though. I deserve it too.