the summer of my discontent

Tomorrow is the last day of my summer vacation. It was spent mostly in bed. I slept and slept. I escaped in movies and online games. I went to the grocery store once. I slammed my door and when Mother confronted me and made accusations that made me want to beat the living shit out of her, I stared at my computer and ignored her. She told me my countenance had changed and if she saw me on the street, she wouldn't recognize me. No shit. She begged me to get help. I continued to ignore her. To her, help would be sitting in a room surrounded by people praying in tongues and casting demons out of me. She's done it dozens of times and is still a fucking mess, but she'd never admit that. I tried to get help in my 20's. When she found out I was seeing a psychologist, she belittled me. More and more of me hates her every day. The part of me that loves her and wants a relationship with her gets smaller and smaller every day.

That night, I drank a bottle of Vodka, took a phenergan and the last bit of cough syrup with Loratab in it, as well as a little wine. I woke up around 3:30am and my bed was full of vomit - black, thick vomit. It was everywhere....everywhere. I all over my floor and my hair was soaked. I didn't remember throwing up. I didn't remember getting out of bed. I had a blackout. I found an empty bottle of benadryl that I don't remember or know how it ended up on my counter. I showered and cleaned as much up as possible while I was still drunk. It scared me. At one point, I wondered if I were dead and was having a surreal experience. At another point, I was afraid I had killed Mother and would find her dead. I think I tried to kill myself that night. I think I came close.

I had to sleep until 10:30 to feel semi-okay again. I didn't want to keep my plans with C to have lunch and then a massage and facial. I followed through. I struggled to think of things to say. I struggled more than ever to appear normal, witty and fun. While I was being massaged, it dawned on me that it was the most I had been touched in years. While I received my facial, I thought I should be enjoying this more than I was... it's like my senses are so dulled that pleasure barely reaches my soul.

I am thirtyfive years old. I am alone and in debt. I have become the doctor I dreamt of being but haven't felt the fulfillment that I thought it would bring. I don't know how to stop focusing on what I don't have. I am severely obese and have an addiction to food that seems unstoppable.

I know I need help. I just don't know where to start. I feel like if I opened up my soul, it would look like a hoarder's home. I feel like a hoarder who has so much built up that I don't know where to start.