Issabel, I'm sorry. I know you're still mad at me because of after lunch, and I really am trying to get better, but it's hard to.
It's hard to get better when everyone around you is perfect and skinny and you aren't.
I'm so sorry, Issabel. I'll go back to the therapist if you want me to, because I want to get better. I really do. I haven't even eaten cookies today without throwing it up because it feels disgusting to eat.
When you arrived in London I ate dinner because I didn't want you to know I was still struggling with my eating disorder. I used to be able to eat a cookie or two without feeling like I'm betraying myself, but it's hard to get better.
I understand you not talking to me, but please don't tell Lucas or my dad. They got worried last time and I hate the pity. I know there's something wrong with me, but I can't help it.
I'm really sorry, Issabel. I don't want you to hate me.
I'll give you space for now since you're obviously mad at me, but I want to make it up to you. I need your help, Issabel.
Please don't hate me, you're the closest thing I have to a sister even if you're my cousin.
I really need your help because I trust you more than anyone and you'll be able to help me more than any therapist, in my opinion.
I'm sorry.
YOU ARE READING
My life journal
RandomI see that nearly everyone around here has a book like this, so yeah... This will be just like every other book like this: It's a book for me to rant about my life.
