Time waster

The Emotional Well being team called me back on Monday. a week ago. said to call them back to arrange an appointment for this tuesday. I couldn't do it. I can't imagine going and being expected to bring up all those words from the first meeting in a pathetic pool of verbal vomit to a different person who is going to look at me the same way that she did. Like 'are you really that pathetic?' and i have to sit there, hunched up in my chair, my grotesque fat keeping me from becoming the smallest ball i can and disappearing. and i have to listen to them, listen while they give me tasks i can't possibly accomplish, goals i will never achieve. like;

• throw out all the saved pills you have stashed away
• call Samaritans when you feel you need to cut.
• go to a&e if you want to OD.

but these are things i will never do. they think that just by telling me once. staring me straight in the eye and say that one day this could go badly, out of my control. they think that's going to stop me?

no that will only make me want to do it more. I want to be completely out of control, so out of control that i have no idea what I've done until it's too late. I like holding my boxes and boxes of pills in my arms, take out 50 and hold them in my hands, take a few then put them away. I pray for the day i have the strength to take it that one step further and down the lot. until then i will keep building the pile, the shoebox fills more and more with each passing week. i could kill myself 3 times over with the amount i have, but i will keep going until i have enough to finish the job properly. 

I can't call the samaritans, i can't call anyone. how would that go down? 'Hi, i want to cut myself, stop me please'

...

...

'Nevermind, i did it anyway, bye' 

Because thats how it works. i want to cut; i will.

no ifs ands or buts.

thats it. 

done.

so i cant call them. especially not now, one day before.

time waster. 

that's me.

Absolute time waster.

because i am not a risk to myself, in any way shape or form.

i am just a loser.

and i deserve this.

Sorry Arti. i said i trusted you, i don't.

you're thin, and your skin is flawless, you see people everyday like me, people who are worse than me. and you listen to them, and then you go home and shrug it off. and you never take your work home with you.

i take this home with me every fucking day.

it never leaves.

so i dont trust you.

and i never will

and i don't need therapy.