Letters

I understand that im overweight. I understand that other people understand that.
My home is the one place I should feel safe from the world, the one place I should be able to comfortably live the way I see fit.
I have this thing, where I eat away my emotions.
Any emotion.
Anger.
Happiness.
Sadness.
Stress.
This weekend I'm taking care of a baby simulator for school. It's a baby doll that does what every real baby does.
I haven't had much sleep through this process.
I got up this morning after the baby cried for a bottle, so I fed it. Then decided I should be fed too.
So I warmed up three pieces of leftover pizza (that my family ordered after I fell asleep so I hadn't had any)
After I ate, the baby started to cry so I tended to it as my stepdad came out of the kitchen screaming that someone had eaten the food.
He's been yelling at everyone and suddenly me eating three pieces of pizza escalated into im a fattass worthless bitch who does nothing but sit on her ass, eat and use up the internet.
Well im sorry that I've been taking constant care of a baby and I get hungry like any other normal human fucking being,
Basically when I go see my therapist Tuesday, im going to tell her about how I feel about dying.
So It depends on if I get the balls to tell her about my thoughts, but I don't think I'll be writing for a while.

Notes