Made Dinner

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It’s chicken noodle soup. Should be easy. It’s not. Fuck treatment. Fuck Eating. I’m angry, I’ve identified that emotion I was numbing. It’s pure anger and frustration. Damn body image issues, damn fucking refeeding syndrome, fuck it all. My parents aren’t here, I made dinner myself. I don’t know where my sister is, and I don’t want to ask her for help. I pray I actually finish this because I don’t want to go to treatment tomorrow feeling like a complete fucking failure.

XOXO Anna

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