It’s Wednesday; I’m back to crying each day at the office. Luckily (?) I have an office with a door so I can hide. I’ve been struggling to eat again lately and the scale confirms it; less than 51kg. Today I took my mother to run some of her errands so figured I’d better pick up some prepared foods to make it more likely that I will eat something. I’m not ready to tell her that I’m unable to cook for myself again, though I’m pretty sure she already knows it.
…then the frozen food isle comes. Despite that there’s nothing wrong with buying foods out of that isle, I typically don’t. Now, it breaks me to look at the pre-packaged foods knowing I must face them because I am unable to care for myself. …while knowing it doesn’t logically mean this, I feel like a complete failure. I have failed at the absolute basics of being able to feed myself, which just reiterates the fact that I am alone everyday in this new life with no one to care for me.
Just to be clear, I don’t mean a ‘general care’… I mean to love, to live for, to everything or anything because you cannot imagine a second without them.
…At least my anger over failure feelings managed to get the lawn mowed. Maybe I’ll gain an ounce of muscle.