The Choice is Hard

Fine when I woke up.
Gave into not wearing the same pair of shoes as yesterday.
Chose DC’s to wear with my black skirt.
ED is pissed that I didn’t change so I completed breakfast disorderedly.

Kept disassociating.
Laying down between groups.
Super hard to stay conscious.

Blackness envelopes me.
Like sinking sand I’m sucked in
Unable to breathe
to move
to talk
to function.

Cut my finger in cooking group on accident.
Triggered to self harm and continually retrigger myself.

Ugh.  It’s either disassociate or scratch, bite.

Maybe both.

Day 7 of treatment.

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