I miss you, and I feel selfish

Today is the birthday of a friend. The first birthday since she died.

She died in September. She died when her heart stopped.

She was bulimic.

We were roommates.

Tears keep coming, but I won’t let myself cry.

I miss you.

Your death reminds me of my own mortality. It scares me. Especially after my visit to the ER. This makes me feel selfish because I feel like I should be thinking of you today, but I keep thinking of myself.

I can’t go on facebook right now. All our mutual friends are posting pictures and birthday wishes. I can’t see them, it hurts too much. I can’t look at your face.

I can’t think of how you died, and I don’t want to be reminded of what I’m doing to myself. I feel like I’m letting you down. We went to treatment together and we were going to fight this together, but now you’re gone and I am still struggling.

My cheeks are wet. My throat is tight.

Tomorrow I can forget.

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Reaching level 30

In just over a month, I turn 30.

I can’t believe this.

I always thought I would have accomplished certain things by age 30. Graduating college, marrying, having children. Not being bulimic or depressed.

I haven’t accomplished any of that.

In fact, off the top of my head, I can’t tell you a single thing I haveaccomplished.

I don’t have a job and I can’t work. I’m in school, but I’m not doing great because bulimia is kicking my butt right now. I live with my parents again. I don’t even have the energy to set up my exercise bike.

I have never minded getting older. I was never worried about wrinkles or grey hairs. Being asked my age never bothered me.

However, all of a sudden, about 10 minutes ago, it hit me. I will be 30. And for some reason I can’t explain, I am terrified at the prospect.