I’m willing to admit I don’t want to die, but the thought of starting over ties my stomach up in knots.

I’m tired, but that means something different to me now. Before I just felt tired because I was working myself to death, skipping sleep to put in 100 hour work weeks. I didn’t work for the money, I just needed something to keep my mind preoccupied so it wouldn’t wander onto another train of thought that would leave me passed out in my bathroom, covered in my own vomit and blood, so embarrassed at my existence that I run away from everybody until I’m truly alone. I could go days without sleeping but still function, I was just tired. But being tired now… I’m afraid to sleep for different reasons. My body’s finally caught up to all of this abuse, and it seems it’s rejecting me, through and through. I’m currently the fattest I’ve ever been, so I’m forced to wear sweatpants all the time, because none of my jeans fit me and I can’t afford new clothes. I’m always physically drained even though I do nothing all day, and I’m going even longer without sleep, but not by choice. This time it’s not just nightmares keeping me awake, but a very real physical restriction. I go to sleep, and within an hour I’m thrashing out of the sheets, struggling to breathe. My throat feels swollen shut and I can barely restrain the vomit trying to choke it’s way through that narrow windpipe, and nothing I do can calm me down. I’m not choking, but I know if I start to vomit I’ll drowned in that vile mess, so all I can do is let the sink faucet run while I spit over and over and over again in my attempt to empty out the contents of my stomach in the smallest portions I can handle without fucking dying. My hearts racing, my whole body feels like it’s on fire, and I know my overweight ass is going to have a real fucking heart attack. So I keep on staying up…I’m on over 48 hours now…and I’m so tired I keep wishing I would just die… but I’m too scared to go to sleep, because I don’t want to feel that pain, the experience of choking, of dying.