I can’t stop buying clothes and being repulsed by the sizes.  Every time I look in the closet, shirts of various work styles greet me.  I almost always wear the same pants.  I get sick of what I own, yet I buy clothes that I can’t seem to wear often.  My feelings are too distressed and uncaring to dress for the weather.  It’s summer, but I still put on a long sleeve and wear my light jacket all day.  Only when I am home do I feel comfortable in anything that I put on.  It’s my increasing size and the feel of my body in the larger clothes that makes me not care what I wear.  It used to matter.  I tried to make it matter these past months, but my attempts faltered.  No words are truer than the thoughts of my new acquaintance: “You’re drowning.” I really am.  I have been for a long time.  I keep swimming to the surface and latch on to a floatie, but it slides away from my grip.  When I do get to hang on, I slip off and sink a little lower.  I keep telling myself to be a good person, to be nice, and try not to be super sarcastic.  I fail most of the time, but I am trying.  Everyone out there with a lifelong condition understands the lengths we go through to get out of bed and keep going until we make it home.  I know at the end of the day that I will get to go home and rest.   If only I would stop eating my feelings; that would be phenomenal.