Everyone says it'll get better

But it's never gotten better for me.

Sure, there's periods where I'm alright.

I can pretend that everything's great.

But then it all breaks.
Everything in my head crashes down.
Something in my head breaks.
The thoughts flood back.
Only this time, I don't have anyone but J.P. to tell me that it'll be better.
She tells me I need help.
Do I want it?

Or do I want to go back to being that girl who only sometimes realizes that she's thin?
Do I want to go back to having lost weight, but not seeing it?
Do I really want that?

My foot says fat in all caps.
It's all I could manage to carve into it the other day.
J.P. just reminded me that I wanted to have kids when I was older.
I don't want kids.
I don't want to adopt or birth kids.
I have bad mental genes.
I have a bad way of seeing the world.
I don't want to pass along either.

I'm gonna go see her.
When I get done with this word on my foot.