I still cut. I'm now bulimic.
What the fuck is happening to me? Has my perception of perfection really fucked me up this bad? I cut on Thursday. I threw up my dinner last night.
And I'm still here trying to make sense of it all. I don't know what's happening.
This place is destroying me. I love it and I hate it at the same time. Every time I leave my neighborhood and see the Boston skyline on the way out, I feel sick to my stomach. I don't know why I get that feeling.
So, whenever I drive out of the neighborhood, I can't look at the skyline anymore.
Maybe it's a sign. Maybe, this part of my life is over. Maybe, the sickness is like a nudge, a gentle push, saying "It's time to go. Time to get out of this place."
People have told me stories of how they just left home and never went back. And I thought to myself "How can anyone do that? Just never go back?" Now, I completely understand.
I think it's time to leave. I think that maybe after everything was said and done, I deserve this. Maybe, this is life's way of telling me that I've been given a second chance, a fresh start.
In my honest opinion, I deserve this.
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