There’s nothing worse than suspecting the milk you just had in your cereal was starting to turn. Because now whether it was or not I’m going to feel sick from nerves over wondering if I’ll be sick from the milk.
And I’m lactose intolerant.
Thank christ it’s a half day.
Not only did I win the game with the first dart I had in the round, but then I threw the last two as perfect bullseyes just to prove that I have surpassed everyone.
What’s really fucked is I don’t even care about darts. I just care about not losing. I care about being great in the eyes of others. I desperately want to be looked up to because I’m a sick co-dependent head case who can’t soothe, support, or show myself any compassion.
I have recently opened up a can of worms in therapy and once again I can’t decide whether to accept who I am or crumble under the weight of what an utter waste my life has become. It’s too much once I start tumbling down this rabbit hole. Too much pain, too much hurt, too many beatings and belittlings and sick behaviour.