August 8th 2020
Last night was probably the worst night Craig and I have ever had.
And he’s right. I am crazy. He wanted to take me out to dinner, but I asked if we could just go to a movie instead.
So far, I had lost almost twenty pounds, and I couldn’t continue on that trend if he had taken me out to eat like he had planned to.
Most of the places he liked to go served good food, and I knew my willpower would give in and I would want to eat a full meal.
He didn’t like my suggestion, though. He kept wanting to know why and wouldn’t stop pushing me for a different answer, no matter what I said, he didn’t believe me.
It wasn’t until I went to walk away to leave his place that he realized the truth.
Craig had grabbed my arm when I went to leave, right on top of fresh cuts that I had been keeping hidden under my long clothes.
I hissed, but quickly silenced myself, only it was too late to undo the damage.
Yanking me back away from the door, he ripped my sleeve up, not giving me a choice in the matter.
The look on his face was worse than the words that came out of his mouth when he saw what I had done.
“Fucking crazy bitch.” I know why he said it.
I am crazy. He hit the nail on the head when he accused me of starving myself, too.
“You belong in an institution for the mentally insane, that way they can properly medicate you and fix your fucked up head.”
I couldn’t even bring myself to cry over his words because he was right.
What type of person did this to themselves?
Certainly not a sane one. The worst part was when he stormed into his kitchen and came back with a steak knife, trying to force it in my hand.
He was screaming so close to my face that flecks of spittle landed on me.
But I’ll do better, I have to do better.