Undead, Undead

I wish I could come back from this unexplained, accidental absence victorious. I could share success and joy and good things and not falling asleep naked, caked in my own vomit. Not heart palpitations or the threat of leaving school entirely.

I am not sick enough. I am not sick. I am not.

I feel broken. I feel failed. I feel like I am a waste of space and money and time. I am nothing special; nobody should be bothered wasting their breath on me.

I went to an OA meeting on Friday, and I was at least thirty years younger than everyone. And aside from my lack of faith in God, in anything, what disheartened me the most was the thought that this will be me for the next ten, fifteen, twenty years; forever. It will never go away. It will always be a miserable, Godawful struggle to perform a basic human function--nourishment. Feeding myself. I will always be this way, so why bother trying to fight it.