I went out in Reading on monday night. Again, I drank more than I planned but that is what happens when someone is buying you drinks ;) There were a few bad bits but overall it was a good night. When I got home, I was lying in bed for ages thinking and I couldn't sleep, even though I was really tired. This is what I realised:
In some ways, even if the doctors actually do something to help me, it's too late because the damage has already been done. My life, personality and future has been shaped by this disorder, which I know is not necessarily a bad thing, but it makes me sad and quite angry.
So hurting here is where I belong... I'm starting to wonder whether I should just stop talking about it and trying to get a diagnosis because the longer I go without help, the worse I feel and I would like to keep my sanity. Part of my just wants to let go of it, because I'm exhausted by it.
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