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.