It's taking everything.

I hate the part of this that keeps me from focusing. I used to love reading. I loved losing myself in literature.I can't focus on it now. I can only focus on..."did I get everything up? Should I go back and try and get more up? If I drink tonight I need to have something in me so I won't make an ass out of myself (again) and puke everywhere"...

I hate that I can't get those thoughts in the box and lock it, close it, and throw it away. I can't get it out of my mind. (maybe I need to talk about it. Process it)

I skipped both my classes today.
I don't do stuff like that. I'm supposed to be the good student.



Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
I NEED TO HIT SOMETHING. I need to hurt. I don't need another scar. I don't. I won't do it. I'm
not leaving the lounge until this feeling passes.

the facade.

Is it really a facade, or am I doing the half smile? Or maybe I'm just having insane mood swings.

It's hard for me to tell what emotion I'm feeling. It's weird. Because I know what they feel like...but I'm so numbed out, I'm not feeling anything. But at the same time, I can completely sink into my own world and feel so overwhelmed I'm paralyzed, or pretend like I'm the happiest damn person on the planet and ride on carts through Target. I'm not trying to say that my eating disorder makes it impossible for me to have a good time....I can have a good time, the only reason I'm questioning if it's a show or not is that as soon as the people I'm having 'such a good time' with leave, I'm back into the paralyzed, overwhelmed state where all I can do is mindlessly look at facebook or pick my split ends. 

I have good friends here though. I've known them for such little time, but I'm kept down because of them. I'm kept sane. I'm still using symptoms in a pretty out of control way, but even though no one (except Trevor) knows, I'm more at ease around them and...I don't know. It's nice to have people sometimes. I can't believe I'm saying that. Well, not to talk to about shit. But to have in case I think I'm going to explode. Or to distract me when they don't even know that's what they're doing. 

Because today was pretty awful. My weight is up. I'm trying to hear Rachel's words and remember that my fattened up state that I left ACE in was healthy in her opinion. In my opinion, it was extremely overweight. I'm fluctuating in that range and going up and down half a pound doesn't mean shit because it has more to do with whether or not I've taken a shit or my hydration level or what not...but a half pound is all it takes to make me spiral down. Which hints that I shouldn't weigh myself if I can't handle it, but I was at the gym and the scale wanted me to step on. On the bright side, I resisted the urge to buy a scale to have in my room at Target. Partially thanks to Lucy who continued to insist that it was a bad idea (and she doesn't even know)...and Trevor who looked at me all concerned. 

Part of me wishes I just got it anyway so I could get a more accurate weight in the morning instead of while I'm working out. 

I don't know. I really really really just have no fucking idea. I feel like I'm on a completely different planet. 

pictures and calendars. and non-sensical thoughts.

There's this slideshow my dad made me for graduation. There are a bunch of categorized songs...we've got your baby pictures, the pictures from my days of dancing, friends, family...and then the last one which is essentially a progression of my life.

It's essentially a progression of my eating disorder.
When I was bigger, I was happier. Before some asshole dance teacher told me to lose weight, at least...I was happy. I knew I was bigger than the other girls, but I had killer self esteem throughout elementary and the beginning of middle school. I thought I was a badass, and anyone who thought differently could just shove it. And I had a lot of friends...I was outgoing and friendly...compared to now. I'm shy, reserved, and stand offish. I would never ever describe myself in a positive light. I can't imagine how I could be. And what kills me the most, is that the head shots I got taken when I was doing acting stuff...they were taken when I started all of this. And I thought they were terrible. They're really not that bad. I wish I could tell my 12 year old self that it's fucking normal to be awkward looking in 7th grade. I'd tell myself that thinking you're beautiful makes you pretty. Confidence is gorgeous. I've been told that a lot by people...as if they think I don't agree. I do agree. But it's not that easy. I can't just wake up tomorrow and be confident with myself. I wish I could, though. I wish it was that quick of a fix. I may have chosen this at first, and I may have wanted it at one point, but I would never do it the same. I may still want it sometimes...but if there was a pill you could take to make it better, or if the time machine was invented...I would not hesitate to change it. So maybe that just makes me lazy.

Unrelated....one of my new favorite things to do is cross off the days on my calendar. It's like "I survived another one." Likewise, erasing a whole month and writing a new one is is just as 'exciting' to me.

Anyway. I'm tired of looking for symbolism in all of my actions...I thought I was going somewhere with that but maybe i'm just delirious and sleep deprived. First day of work: T-minus 4.5 hours.

Goal for tomorrow/today=go to bed at a reasonable hour. a.k.a....before 2am. Maybe midnight.

WOW COULD I BE LESS ELOQUENT.

i have no words. literally.

I can't fully articulate anything that I'm feeling right now. It's a mixture of mehhhhh, dskfjlasdkjflkjaslgkjlkasdjoiasd=fgjskljfdfkjsad, and I NEED TO FUCKING PUNCH SOMETHING. 

I'm skipping my English class on Wednesday to finally start training at J.Crew. I know it's not a good idea, but this is something that I actually want to do, and I'm not used to having that. So fuck English, I never say anything anyway. French test Wednesday, paper due tomorrow....sigh. I forgot about how shitty I am at getting my work done on time. I went to bed at 7:30am this morning. Not to whine and sound like I want sympathy. But...when I was doing better...towards exams and the end of the school year, I could work better. I could focus on relating globalization to translated literature rather than the fact that my arms feel like they're shaking when I type.

I'm such a buzz kill around my friends, too. I can feel it. They're all talking and laughing and I just kind of...sit there. I feel bad that I'm the one that's pulling everyone down because of my issues. I'm the fucked up one...which makes me want to isolate. BUT I CAN'T FUCKING ISOLATE BECAUSE I HAVE THREE FUCKING ROOMMATES. One that is incompetent at cleaning a bathroom. Hair on the shower walls does not equal clean. I just end up cleaning it, and I don't mind...I know I'm controlling like that. But I'm still going to be pissed off because it's all I know how to feel, I think.

Anger? I'm ok with feeling that. Sadness? No.

I'm never hungry but I'm never full. I'm so glad I don't have to check in at meal groups. I don't have a number. And my anxiety? Through the roof. Always. 10,000. Is that an acceptable answer?

Not being able to articulate makes me not want to try and make it better. It makes it hard to know how to.

I NEED TO BREAK OR HURT SOMETHING. or scream. 




fuck it. just. fuck it.

Challenge.

let's go to target. let's get a huge bag of reeses. and pretzel m&ms. and let's go to boomer's for dinner...do you want mozzarella sticks or french fries? you don't need to work out, come to taco bell instead! why are you just eating a salad...and damn you pee a lot. yessss, there's a cookie bar!! why aren't you getting it? Hot dogs for lunch today? Free hamburgers in front of Moore! Now we don't have to pay for dinner! you don't like hamburgers? you had one last night. LATE NIGHT AT FULL MOON! who says you can't have 5 meals a day? it's college.

I can't handle this shit. I can't have mozzarella sticks vs. fries. I can't have pop tarts vs. chocolate chip pancakes. This is too hard. It's too damn hard. I can't go to Taco Bell for "taco sunday" every fucking week. And I can't deal with the 'why aren't you eating' questions. I can't deal with the 'damnnn you pee a lot' comments.

Challenges freaking suck.

faaaaaaat.

I'M SUCH AN ANNOYING GIRL.
I try my hardest to not be that annoying girl that's bringing everyone down and being completely obsessed with her appearance and shit. But I definitely am. We went to Trevor's last night, like usual to drink and smoke and whatever...but I was in the worst mood ever because my eating disorder was not letting me think. I saw myself in the mirror and my legs are so damn fat I can't even begin to explain it. What the hell. It's all I could think about. I didn't drink, I didn't want to. (There's a plus to the ed then...) But I didn't want to do anything. They were playing cards, I didn't participate. They played never have I ever (which I hate anyway)...but I didn't play that either. I was just playing games on my phone and shit. I wanted to leave, and that's the only thing I actually wanted to do. Trevor of course noticed and got all clingy and worried, but I didn't want to tell him what was up. I can't just say "oh, well...I don't want to be around any of you because my thighs are huge." and then they went to a big party and I went back to my room. Again, I couldn't be around people looking like that. And I hate that it controls me like this. I hate that I have to be such a slave to it that I won't even leave my room because I feel like I'm not going to be able to get through the door. I know I need to challenge it so I can get through this week without going insane restricting...
but seeing pictures of my thighs in all their glory didn't really help the cause.

I don't like being like this.

Dear Self,

Get the fuck out of bed. SHOWER. Make yourself look nice for a change and maybe you won't feel like such shit. It worked last year. Dresses make you feel better than sweatpants. So wear one. Go to class and be present. BUY A FUCKING SNACK ON THE WAY. Something safe enough so it won't feel like a bomb in your stomach, but something substantial enough too. Don't go out tonight. It's a week night. Thirsty Thursday is a terrible concept. Don't start this shit too. Just do your homework after class and feel good about getting done early. Go to bed before midnight. Feel better in the morning. Try not to bite anyone's heads off today, it's not their fault you feel like this.

And remember to breathe.

Out of Control

Today has definitely been one of those days I just shouldn't have gotten out of bed. I said that yesterday too, but it has nothing on today. Eating disorder-wise, at least. I'm drained--completely. I almost skipped class today because my stomach was hurting so badly...it could have been so many different things. I don't know which speculation is right...I just hope it doesn't happen again. I'm thinking it was a combination of 3 or 4 different things I shouldn't have been doing.  Basically, I need to be more careful. I'm fucking myself up here. But besides going to class today, I did nothing but sleep. Oh, and eat.

My eating disorder was absolutely raging today. Lately, it's been that I can't eat...the thought makes me nauseous--I've been having trouble even drinking tea. But today, it was a whole different story. I couldn't get enough to eat. I don't even want to think about how many calories I ingested...
I purged it all, of course...so now I feel absolutely terrible. I don't think I could have stuffed more food in me if I tried...and by the amount of purges I had, god damn. I'm insanely weak, both physically and emotionally.

I need someone safe here. Trevor is obviously getting safer, and is helping me a lot...but I still don't trust him. I still don't want to call him and make him come sit with me, even though he keeps telling me to. I couldn't even do that with my friends back home that I'd known for years. I should have gotten some kind of support today though. I knew that I needed it, but I turned to my eating disorder instead. And now, I hate myself for it. Part of me is thinking I should go back to counseling and at least have something...but god, I'd rather die. Then there's the EDA meetings in the city...I just don't have to motivation to drag my ass all the way down there. I know being in a group that understands again would be very helpful...but I don't want to go. There's that part of me that knows I should force myself to go, just once. I don't have to go back. I was always like that with new ACE groups too...starting new ones, even after months of getting acquainted there terrified me. I knew almost all of the girls and therapists there, but I hated being the new kid in the room. I always 'liked' the groups though...as much as one can enjoy therapy, at least. It's just taking the step off the ledge and hoping you land somewhere safe. Part of it is that it's in the city. I'm really terrible at getting cabs, and I would undoubtedly get lost trying to find the building. I know I'm not the only person with an eating disorder at this school...I just wish I could channel someone to go with me, or something. The only way I know to even try to set that up is by talking to a counselor and asking them to bring it up to other people they see...and have them contact me if they are interested. But I don't want to go back to that place, so I won't. The other thing I could do is go to a center for eating disorders here, either through the hospital or a specialized place...also in the city. That's tricky though because it means getting my parents involved.

All I know is that I need more support than I have if I am going to make any progress at all. I felt so out of control today, I felt like it was a year ago again and I was seeing Lori for the first few times, going behind everyone's back and purging out of control, almost passing out everyday. It's a terrible, terrible feeling and it makes it even worse that it has a peculiar aspect of comfort, like sinking into my bed at the end of the day and falling asleep.

So, I'm lost because I don't know what my parents would say. And I know I don't technically have to tell them, and I could go to counseling and EDA...but I don't want therapy to litter college. But my eating disorder is already taking a huge motherfucking dump on it. AGH, AMBIVALENCE. fuck you.

my heart has melted

i came across this youtube video and wanted to share.

http://www.youtube.com/user/MuggleSam#p/c/E04336B3AABD2C77/8/fULtU2NfPQA

adorable.

Ignorant Assholes.

"I could never be anorexic, I like food too much. I'd be bulimic though. It's really the smartest idea ever, because you can eat whatever the hell you want and lose weight."

I'M SO GLAD I HEARD THAT TODAY.

Because too bad you hardly lose weight--and if you do, it's probably because you're dehydrated. And never mind the fact that it can kill you.

I just LOVE the ignorance surrounding eating disorders. Even the anorexia comment--as if people choose it as a diet. Give up carbs? Nah, I'll just give up food altogether. If it was that FUCKING easy, people  wouldn't need to get such intense treatment. If it was about...vanity? Goddamn. I left the library when I heard it. I couldn't sit there for the rest of the conversation.

People suck.

Today was a terrible, terrible day. I should never have gotten out of bed.

Mehhh....this doesn't make any sense. So, beware.

These are the kinds of things I doodle when I'm in English at 10 am about to fall asleep since I stayed up until 5 doing the homework for it. And it's hypocritical, because I want nothing more than to be consumed in its gravity. God, it's so twisted. But anyway, despite my doodles being lies, I'm clearly an exemplary student this year. Which isn't all false. I have made good grades, for the average person...for me, I'm disappointed still. But at the same time I need to realize that I'm in college and it's a completely different ball game...so an A- should be looked at as a great thing and not a shitty grade that's almost a B. Even still, I tried to retake a section of the test to get the minus away but you can't retake with a passing grade. So I need to stop being such a stupid perfectionist with everything and stop micro-managing my life and feeling the need to be completely perfect...lower than 100% or 5/5 or whatever the grading system is and I am upset? No...that's not really how it should be. And I know that. Just like I shouldn't want to be under a hundred pounds just because it sounds like a 'good number' when I'm way too tall for that to be anywhere close to healthy. And I know all of this but it still goes through my head. It's that 'black and white' way of thinking that all the ACE therapists talk about that gets me into trouble. I rationally know that it's pointless to copy written essays 3-5 times to make sure my handwriting is perfect. Having one word crossed out isn't a big deal, having the ink smudge isn't a big deal...It's a fucking waste of time and who gives a shit about it looking nice? It's not even about that. It's selfish of me, too to be frustrated if my English teacher just writes the grade on the paper but doesn't put a nice adjective, like "Fabulous" or "Great"...but if it's "Good"...I'd rather not have the word there. It's so stupid and I'm just rambling.

My mom e-mailed me...which I sometimes really hate because it's like she's too much of a coward to just fucking say it to me, but she hit the damn nail on the head. She said she was worried because I seemed exhausted and irritable and she saw the scar on my hand. Stupid, ugly, purple scar. This would have been the opportune time to figure out what I need to do to get better, but instead I lied and told her something about cutting it on my broken desk drawer, and that I was on my period so that's why I was irritable. I was afraid of what she's say but she e-mailed back within five minutes saying how glad she was that she was wrong. Relief and regret, at the same time. Story of my life.

It's not all bad though. That's just the stuff that's going on in my head, the behind the scenes stuff. My outward life is exactly what I wanted it to be. I've met a good group of friends to spend late nights in the library and go into the city with. I love the people that I've met. I'm visiting my best friend in New York over fall break (only 26 more days--yes, another count down), and she's coming here in November. I got tickets to see Ben Folds with some of my friends, and Olivia will be down here that weekend also so she got her ticket and basically, it's going to be be one of the best nights ever. Wicked is coming to Chicago in January, so I'm going to that and to top it all off, Lady Gaga will be here in February.  I should finally be starting work this weekend, after a terrifying misunderstanding that I thought lost me the job (yeah, I read too much into that one as well, surprise.) Aaaand what else is good? Mostly everything except having the eating disorder. And I don't know what that's all about...

I can guess though. And I'm pretty sure I'm right, I just feel like a petty 18 year old writing it out loud. I've never had a boyfriend...I've gone on very few dates, and I was never asked to prom or homecoming. I never really wanted a relationship because I'm so untrusting, but not having the option is embarrassing. I've had a few slutty nights that clearly have amounted to nothing... Anyway. I feel ugly. To myself, and especially other people. I feel fat...which is a feeling that has little to do with my actual size and more to do with loneliness and overall insecurities about my personality. Fat doesn't even begin to describe the complicated shit behind it. It's a catch-all term. It's about not feeling like I'm good enough and not even being able to trust myself. I want guys to like me and be interested in me, but if they ever show anything that resembles interest, I start being incredibly bitchy and stand offish so they lose whatever smidgen of interest they had very very quickly. And I'm in a new place and I don't want people to think as shittily of me as I do. And I strongly believe (wrongfully too, I know) that losing weight is going to help me. I think that having smaller legs and pointier collar bones will improve my life. I'm incredibly uncomfortable in my skin and I want to crawl out of it more than anything. And I despise being ruled by the number and the size. I'm more intelligent than that. I have way too much knowledge to worry about the size of my jeans. I don't know how to be comfortable with myself. I literally look at pictures of myself comparing my sizes the past two years...which fluctuate, but not an incredible amount. The three pound difference means nothing on the surface but god damn, the scale number going down is better than any high. And it's way more addicting.

weekend from heaven and hell.

After going home, I'm pretty positive that staying would be insanely beneficial.
But while at home, after being blatantly asked how I'm doing with my eating disorder, I said "great."
Which is only half false because I'm doing great with my eating disorder, just not great at fighting it. But I know my dad wasn't making sure I was doing everything my ed voice is saying...wrong context.

The familiarity and smell of my house almost made me cry. Laying in my bed was overwhelming...
Whenever I was in my hole of depression last year, I'd put my headphones on and curl up in a ball in my bed and go into my own little world. I have been longing for that almost since I've been here. I don't think it's a helpful thing to do, but it's a comforting thing to do.

I was supposed to wake up at 5am so I could shower and do my hair and makeup for the wedding and catch my cab at 7am. After a night with an amazing start and end and questionable middle....I decided to stay up from 3-5 so I wouldn't risk sleeping through my alarm, since I was pretty intoxicated. T, L, and I fell asleep talking on the student center couches for a little so I decided it'd be ok to sleep for an hour and went back to my room at 4. I texted T for 30 minutes in which I was wide awake so I deleted my 15 minute warning alarm at 4:45.

At 7:45 my dad called to make sure I was at the airport. I was still sleeping. After crying and freaking out on the phone with my dad, I pressed a wrong button (really, I did) and called T. I noticed like a minute and a half later as I was still packing and screaming at my roommate because I was so panicky and stressed. He got me the number for the cab and they were there within 30 minutes...so it was 8:30 and my flight took off at 10.

Everything had to take longer and I got randomly selected to be extra-security searched with the high-intensity scanner and wand and patting-downage. I got to my gate as they were closing the doors and passed out in my airport seat.

I cried from the time I woke up until the time I fell asleep. I haven't cried that hard, or at all since my car accident in May. Especially not in public. It was mortifying.

But landing in Georgia and driving around my familiar construction-site of a city was perfect. Getting my nails done at my usual place and going to lunch with my mom at my favorite restaurant and getting ready in my bathroom was perfect. I just want to stay there and soak up its familiarity and figure my shit out. I almost cried when I got back to Illinois. I didn't want to be here at all.

So, I haven't done the homework from my 10am and it's 3:26am.
I'm afraid I'm going to crash and burn and get stuck in a terrible place though.

My parents honestly annoyed the shit out of me and I didn't want to be near them. Also scary...that's how I acted in the deepest of my ed, I was terrible to them. I'm trying to tell myself it's because I was hungover and had gotten maybe 6 hours of sleep over two days. But if I was happy enough to be there, that wouldn't have mattered. I could have been nice despite my exhaustion. I was terrible and rude because I'm hiding things and lying.

So how can I be so aware of everything I'm doing to keep going in the opposite direction I should be? I have no intention of trying to do better. And the only reason I can come up with is that I'm fat. Which may be true, but it's a stupid reason.

Stupid Kate Gosselin and her stupid tummy tuck and 7 mile a day runs. Stupid skinny celebrities and their trainers. I want to look like that, even if it's not realistic.

I don't even know what I'm saying, I know I'm being terrible and depressing and annoying as hell...but even though I'm so goddamn whiney I need to write it down. Even though it rarely makes sense at all.

Letters to No One.

Dear Creepy Guy At the Dance, 

Thanks so much for feeling me up and shoving your tongue down my throat. I wasn't that drunk, and it's really nice that you've helped me lose what little trust I had for humanity. 

Dear T, 

Thanks for being such a good friend, and for offering to hit CGATD. (Please don't though) And for helping me get a cab after I slept through the first one. And Thanks for continuing to text me as I had a constant panic attack in the cab and the airport. And while I was in Georgia to make sure everything was going ok. And thanks for offering to be there for me, even if I don't believe you. 

Dear K, 

Your wedding was beautiful and so were you. Sorry for tripping when I was supposed to go speak. You know how graceful I am, especially in my stupid heels. I hope your married life is amazing. I love you. 

Dear Mom and Dad, 

Thanks for having faith in me and believing that I'm telling you the truth. It makes it easier to lie when we keep it simple like this. 

Dear Struggling Friends, 

It breaks my heart to hear/read about hard times you're going through, but I know how strong you all are. You're all so much better than this monster and I wish you could all see your beauty and fabulous characters. I hope everything looks up and I know what I've just said is the shittiest thing to say, because it doesn't help. But words are pretty meaningless in the grand scheme of things anyway. I wish I had better advice, but clearly I don't really know how to handle it either. <3 kafsjldjlas;fjka I'm sorry this had to happen to any of you. None of you deserve it. 

Dear Georgia, 

Thanks for being so fucking memorable of my life before college. It makes me hate you but at the same time I want to crawl in my bed forever. 

Dear Chicago, 

Thanks for helping me forget. 

Dear Eating Disorder, 

I hope you're enjoying your stay. If there's anything I can do to make it more hospitable, BY ALL MEANS let me know. Also, fuck you. Please stop controlling me. But please stay, I'm raw and vulnerable without you here. 

love, 

me. 

Babble.

I'm having an insanely hard time writing out what I'm feeling. Or saying it. Or letting myself feel it. I told T way too much and I want to push away but he keeps pulling back and I think I like that he's doing that. I think I like the support, which scares the shit out of me.

I lost weight. It's not an unhealthy amount but I did it unhealthily. I lost weight because I'm hardly eating. It's so easy. I'm only afraid that this happened because of how it made me feel. I used my friend's scale. I don't have one. I want one, I went to Walgreens to buy one but they don't have them. I planned a trip to Target to get one in my head. I'm trying to fight myself on it because I'll become a slave to the number again. Yeah, it's the only thing on my mind. Yeah, it's consuming me and I'm calculating the time it'll take to reach my goal. And I'm pissed off at the side of me that's saying it's unhealthy that I lost weight from new (expensive) symptoms. I don't have the fucking money to spend on helping my eating disorder. I'm in college, I can hardly pay for toothpaste. I know that, but I tell myself once I get my job a certain amount can go towards this. NO. I will not hit rock bottom again.

I don't want to go down further, but I don't want to go up either. I like where I am. It's the perfect amount of symptoms to help me cope, but it's not enough to force me into isolation and hatred of anyone who speaks to me.

I absolutely can not wait to go home. I'm so excited to see K even though I had a huge rant about how much she'd hurt me. And I'll hardly see her, I know...because she's going to be pretty busy getting married. But I got new shoes and a new dress and I'm conceited enough to be solely excited to wear them. (I just wish my hand didn't scar like it did. It's so ugly. Lesson learned, though. again.)

I wish I could articulate this better. I don't know. I just...don't.

Fuck it.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I need to put my hand through a window, or scream, or break a bunch of expensive China or pull a fire alarm. I need to break something and make a lot of noise doing it.

I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M DOING HERE.

I'm doing everything I was doing every time RR told me "you're going inpatient. now." I always talked her out of it. I always bought another week and lied about progress I'd made. I went through treatment lying. So I could come here...because apparently it was going to be the ultimate healer and I'd be magically better by walking on campus. I did do better towards the end of the summer. Kind of. I exchanged symptoms. Just because I wasn't purging doesn't mean I was better. I switched my diagnosis at least. Which is confusing because I feel like I recovered since technically I'm not bulimic. I just have 'an eating disorder'. It doesn't have a name. It's not specified. It's just a little messed up. I love that diagnosis because eating disorder not otherwise specified can include so many things. A lot of people are disordered. It's disordered to not eat carbs. But a lot of people are still on Atkins. It's disordered to have your food based on a point system and neurotically count the points in your food on a specialized CALCULATOR. But a lot of people are on Weight Watchers. I just eat a little bit disordered, according to my diagnosis. Which also makes it dangerous. Because it doesn't sound serious, so I don't take it seriously. Not that I took my 'bulimia' diagnosis seriously either. Interestingly enough, I still call myself bulimic. Hm.

Anyway. I talked to a friend a bit on facebook chat. She made me think really hard about what I'm doing here. I need to lose my pride and get help. I need to stop being stubborn and just let myself get fixed. I can envision what will happen if I tell my parents. They'll be super concerned. Calls will be made, meetings will be had...I'll leave school. I'll go to inpatient. I'll finish inpatient and go back to ACE. My life will be therapy again. Because I wasted my parents' money on lies. I wasted it on pretending that I was doing well. Kind of. I didn't pretend at the beginning. I didn't pretend until I was actually going to get what I needed. I didn't want more therapy so if inpatient was suggested I started lying. I felt around to see what was 'too much' to say in sessions, how many purges was bad enough for inpatient, and how many was still considered bad...but not too serious? I liked to make it fluctuate. It was fun. It was fun until I got called out for my stories from individual-group-family not matching up. I covered it well though. The person inside me that got recovered at ACE really learned a lot. I just didn't. So, I know what I need to do. Which is, shamefully go back home and be open to therapy and recovery and be honest and tell everyone what's going on and get better. I know. And I can think about that and pretend that I'd actually do that all I want.

But more realistically, I'll stay here. I'll never e-mail CM back...(hopefully she doesn't go crazy and come to my dorm or something...I keep forgetting she has all of that information...) I'll keep thinking about stopping on my own but not actually do anything. I'll do terribly in school because as the very sage RR told me every fucking day "your brain needs FOOD to work!"...I'll put on a facade like always and amount to nothing. And my parents will or won't find out. Depending if I lose weight. Or, they'll find out during the summer. Unless they go back to their naiveté they were in for the first 5 years of this lovely thing.

So...maybe it's pointless to write in this thing if I have no intentions of doing better. We'll see.

(Sorry L. I thought about it.)

Gravity

Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long.
No matter what I say or do I'll still feel you here 'til the moment I'm gone.

You hold me without touch.
You keep me without chains.
I never wanted anything so much than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.

Set me free, leave me be. I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

You loved me 'cause I'm fragile.
When I thought that I was strong.
But you touch me for a little while and all my fragile strength is gone.

I live here on my knees as I try to make you see that you're everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're on to me, on to me, and all over...
Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long. 



[this dance is brilliant.]


I'M SO DAMN AMBIVALENT. 
I don't want to get better. I just want to get thin. But I know that's a terrible idea. Stupid therapy taught me right from wrong. I wish I was a child again sometimes, so I could be naive and happy and carefree. 


I'm seeing my best friend in a month. I can't wait. That's keeping me here right now. I need to be around someone who knows and gets me. I need to be around something familiar so I can breathe, so I can feel safe and comfortable. 


I can't tell if going home for a day is going to help a lot or really hurt me. It could be helpful to be around the familiar, like I said, but since it's for no time at all...I don't know. I don't know if it'll help. I need to look up and forward. I think that one of the main reasons I've fucked up so bad is because it's all new here. Because my eating disorder is familiar. It helps me stay grounded in a weird way. 


But I still don't want to let it go. 

Trust Me.

This is going to be long and non-sensical, just a warning.

I keep getting weird fortunes in my fortune cookies. The first time, they had my favorite ice cream in the cafeteria, and I wasn't letting myself have any. They also had chinese food, so I wanted to see my fortune. It said "It would be good to treat yourself to dessert". Last night, a group of us went out to Chinese and mine said "It would be good to tell someone what's on your mind." I thought about calling a friend because the more I thought on it, I wanted to talk to someone. I was just afraid. I just brushed it off and continued about the night.

T was all worried and didn't want me to drink again. Same with C (My roommate). Well. As college would have it, we did. But someone ended up having weed so we smoked instead. I hate that it calms me down so much because I hate the idea of drugs doing that. If I hate it so much, I shouldn't do it. But it felt really nice to be so chill after how anxious I've been lately. (That makes me sound like a stoner. I'm not, I swear). We hung out and talked, and then T and I went outside and had a cigarette again, just like Friday night. We sat there for a while and he just said "what are you thinking?" ...like it was that easy to just...say that I was thinking about how fat I am and how I'll never be good enough for anybody and that I don't even want to get better anymore, I just want to lose weight and disintegrate. And I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know who this person is that drinks and smokes and reads sparknotes and doesn't really care about schoolwork. I don't know who the hell I am. I know why I'm like this though, and it's because I think so shit-ily about myself. It's because I'm so engrossed in my eating disorder. It has control over me and I love it. It feels like an old, warm sweater. You know that it's the most hideous sweater and it's been sitting on the floor all year but once you put it back on, it's warm and comforting and you never want to take it off. I don't have to think. I just let it take control. But at the same time, I think overtime. I think about everything but what I should be thinking about. If I was normal, I'd be able to pick up the damn Odyssey and read it and write my essay. But I can't focus on any of the words. It doesn't make sense. If I was normal, I would be able to make a lot of friends and enjoy what's supposed to be "the best years of my life". Everyone said that about high school too, but I'm pretty sure there was nothing worse than that.  I didn't go into my deepest thoughts with T. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't tell him about the inner workings of my mind. That's too fucked up. I'd never lay that on somebody just because they asked what I'm thinking. I just told him 'my story'. The short version. The whole...I've been making myself throw up since I was 12. Off and on until it got really bad my junior year and my parents found out. I've been in treatment all year and now I'm here. It's harder. Because I'm alone. And then he said the two words that I hate more than anything. "Trust me." I don't trust.  


Other people always let you down. You've just gotta be alone so you won't get hurt. That's how I think of it. You can't control other people. They do what they want. Who's to say that someone will stay true to what they promise? You have to trust that they will but how can anyone do that? How can you be so sure they're not going to hurt you? In my experience, people say: I'm here for you. Call me if you ever, ever need it. I'm not going to judge you. In the few times I've done this, people don't have time. They don't answer, and then they don't call back. They don't want to deal with all of my baggage. I didn't ask them to, they told me to tell them. I trusted that they were telling me the truth. People just want to help you to make themselves feel good. It feels good if you help someone in a moment of crisis, but what happens when I'm always in a moment of crisis? When you could literally call me every hour and I'd have a different worry? When I'm in crisis every time I walk into the cafeteria? That's a lot of phone calls. That's a lot of advice. And people don't get it. "So, why can't you eat the dessert? I'm eating it." "Because it's going to make me fat. It's going to make me explode" "Are you serious? It's good. Just fucking eat it. You're not fat. Get over yourself. Or don't eat it...it doesn't really matter." Maybe that's true. But that's not what support is. It always starts off well, too. They answer every time, they check up on you. Then two weeks later when you're still struggling they're like..."you're not over this yet?" Especially when the person has known you for all 6 years you've been struggling. "Why is this still an issue? You're not 12 years old in dance class. You're a big girl. You know better. I thought that was just a phase."

So how does T expect me to trust him? I've known him for 2.fucking.weeks. I trusted him enough with a lot of this information. Yeah, I wasn't sober but last night at least, I was in a good enough state to tell him I didn't want to talk. But it felt good to talk. I don't know if I'll do it again though. He knows the stuff on the surface, the easy stuff.

When we were sitting there, I just got to wondering...is it worth it? Is anything? What the hell is the point of life? Everyone dies. Everyone works hard to get somewhere but we just die. You're going to die, that's the reality. I know these thoughts are dangerous. They lead to 'if i'm going to die anyway, why not now'. I'm not in that place. But I am wondering what the point of recovery is. Maybe this is how I'm destined to die. Maybe I'm not supposed to get over this. Why should I try so hard to get better when I'm going to die anyway? When I don't mind this. This life, these disordered habits...they make me who I am. They make me psychotic and sensitive and hateful. I don't connect well, but that's because I don't want to. I chose this. And is it really so bad? Plenty of people out there are on diets. Plenty of people out there are just like I am but aren't in treatment. I'm used to living like this. This is how I've grown up, basically...one-third of my life has been littered with these thoughts. Everyone's different, so maybe it's just how I am.

What a Mess.

I shouldn't be here. At college.

Yesterday was both the best and worst day I've had since I've been here.

The worst if I'm being honest. But, I went to class and then went into the city with my roommate, C. I'm going home next weekend for literally 24 hours so I can be at a wedding that I don't want to be at. A wedding for a sister figure in my life that is no longer a sister figure. She was a person that was there for me for everything throughout my childhood. Up until high school, pretty much. I could call her crying and she'd come over. (They lived across the street...not hard to do) She would take me to the mall or to lunch and make me feel special. I was best friends with her younger sister. I don't think we were ever really friends. I think it was always forced. When you meet someone at age 2, you don't have a personality. You can't not like another 2 year old. We were always together. Until we realized that we didn't really mesh, I guess. Around sophomore year it got pretty shitty. We spend holidays together, with their family...but I'm better friends with her older sisters. K is the one getting married, M is a couple years younger. CH is the one my age. I don't know. I just don't want to be at the wedding. I don't want to spend time with people that mean so much and so little to me at the same time. They all hurt me. I'm excited to be home for a little bit though. I wish it was for longer, and for a different reason. I wish I could see some of the people from ACE for a little bit that are helping me even though I'm far away and not at ACE anymore. But I'm getting home at 2pm on Saturday. The wedding is that same night. I'm leaving at 10am on Sunday. This long thing was to say, I went to the city to get a dress for the wedding. I'm speaking at it...reading something after the vows. I have to look nice... but we'll see about that. I was almost in tears in the dressing room because I looked so big. I hate that I can be so affected by how I see myself. I kept saying to C that I looked terrible in all of the dresses, etc. etc. and she kept saying I didn't. I know I don't "see myself" correctly...I don't really get how that works. How I can look one way and see a huge monster in the mirror.

I purged everything I ate yesterday. I never even waited in between to consolidate the amount of times. I was in a terrible place emotionally once I got back to school after the city. I should have put a movie on and gone to bed. But I went to T's suite and took way too many shots of Captain Morgan. I know how to drink responsibly, I do it often. But to be responsible, I can't be drinking when I'm not thinking straight sober. I can't be drinking when I have purged everything that day. But I did. I drank too much to drink when I am thinking straight. T and his friends kept saying that I was a badass, to take 2 double shots in a row. Somewhere before all of the liquor settled in, I went outside with T for a cigarette. He asked me how I got the cut on my hand and the scars on my wrist. (Cat. It's always a cat.) No. I didn't have inhibitions. "Scissors and a razor blade" He hugged me for a long time. He asked me why I'd ever do that to myself and I told him I'm fucked up in the head. He told me to keep going and I told him about the eating disorder. He just continued to hug me and tell me he was always there for me. Once I realized what I had just done, I flipped my shit and told him it wasn't true, etc. He just said that it was okay and that he's glad I told him. He was drunk too. I hope he doesn't remember. But considering that I remember after having more than him...that's probably not very likely. Some time went by and I got extremely sick. I was laying on the futon and they just kept holding cups up to my face so I could puke in them. It went on for two hours or so until T finally let me close my eyes. C said that he stayed up watching me sleep to make sure I was ok. I apologized this morning and he just brushed it off saying "it happens, we're in college" but I should have been more responsible than that. I'm not as mad that I drank too much and got sick, because T's right. That DOES happen. I'm mad that I drank knowing I had no food in me, knowing that I had a lot of shit on my mind I needed to forget. I'm mad that T apparently cares about me.

I've known him for 2 weeks.

People don't do shit like that. Normal people point you toward the bathroom and laugh at you. T sits in front of the futon putting cups up to my mouth and keeping me awake. He kept checking to make sure there wasn't blood...because then he said he was taking me to the hospital. I'm surprised there wasn't blood...the way my throat feels. He's a nice guy. Okay, that's good. But why would he give a shit about me? Me. I could go into a long spiel about how I don't accept that people can care about me, but I'll skip the melodrama and say that I don't want to leave my dorm or face T again. I want to go to Georgia and lay in my huge, comfortable bed forever.

Fight.

I had this whole depressing post about comparisons and it didn't work and it got lost.
I think that's a good thing because everything I post on here is negative.

I was just sitting here, in the library, hungry. I was telling myself that it was a good thing, that the burn and tightness in my stomach meant I was losing weight. That it made me pretty. So I told myself to shut the fuck up and went up to the library cafe and got pretzels and grapes. I'm going to fight it. I was going to say 'if it kills me'...but the point is for it not to kill me.

Recovery doesn't have to mean the extreme that I've been making it. I've been thinking that it's super disordered of me to pass up dessert when everyone gets it. Or, to get veggies instead of fries. So I went insane and was over-challening myself so I'd seem normal. That didn't really work because it made me too uncomfortable and anxious, so I kept using symptoms. It's not disordered to get veggies instead of french fries. It is if you never will eat french fries. It's not disordered to pass up dessert...it is is you never allow yourself something sweet.

I started reading Life Without Ed over the summer and she says something about this. She talks about feeling like she had to get the highest calorie item on the menu to prove she didn't have an eating disorder...and then goes on to say that behavior like that is still disordered, it's unhealthy to get the highest-calorie item every time. But, if you want it, you should treat yourself and get it.

“…Although Counter Ed pretends to be my ally, he is really just as controlling as Ed. With the exception of a binge, Ed will not allow me to eat anything in between meals. Counter Ed, on the other hand, will make me eat a huge snack between breakfast an lunch even if I am not hungry. He just wants to ensure that I am not restricting….” -Jenni Schaefer, Life After Ed

I'm turning my day around from the meal plan I configured in my head on my way to class to satisfying meals that look good to me. I don't have to get the mashed potatoes. I just have to get something.

What do you need?

If I fucking knew what I needed, I wouldn't be here you dumbass. I need support. that's all I can think of, and I get more support from comments on my blog or reading about other people going through the same shit as me than sitting in your damn office.

I was there for 8 minutes today. Record. My shortest with RR was 14. I almost cut it in half...impressive. But also pointless. I ran across the fucking campus to make the appointment on time. And I had to walk back across to get to the library. (at least I got exercise). I'm not going to go back. She's e-mailing me about an appointment, but I can get more out of a nap.

Ok, so it's not all her fault. I lied to her. I told her I had a great week and that I didn't use symptoms at all. That's just because I don't want to go to more therapy, not that she can force me or anything. I admitted that I've been restricting, but I hardly consider that a symptom...which is weird. I guess just because it's a new symptom I developed from stopping purging. CM uses the phrase "threw up". Really? I don't have the flu, I force that shit up my throat. I don't know why that bugs me so much. I used it with LW, I even said "puked"...I think RR did it to me. She made me use the proper names so I'd know it was wrong. Like a child. But it helps, to say I binged, rather than, I ate more than I should have. Because that's quite an understatement. I could tell CM that. But I didn't. I didn't tell her anything...which goes right back to my previous post about trust issues. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO HER. Ok, so I could talk about and process what I've been writing on here. But I don't want to go through it. I'm not ready.

Hysterical. I'm not READY? I've been in therapy for over a year and I'm still not 'ready' to deal with my shit? Goddamn. Am I not ready or do I just not want to? I need to be pushed. That's the only reason I benefited from family sessions with R. He pushed the SHIT out of me. He wouldn't back down and wouldn't let me leave until I answered. Not the same R seen in groups, that's for sure. RR even pushed me sometimes. Her wide, unblinking eyes freaked me out and made me talk. Sometimes. And then there was LB, of course who would turn to me, stare me down, and say Why, you haven't talked today. Answer this question. You don't know? You wrote something down. What does it say? ...it sucked but I got a lot out of it.

CM isn't the unhelpful one, I'm the unwilling one.

I had a good day though. I did. Well, it wasn't bad. I felt terrible when I woke up. It's like I had some kind of purging hangover. Some left over nausea and a splitting headache. Nothing a few Advils can't fix though. I had class and did homework...that was all. I haven't purged today. But It's only 3:00, so let me get through dinner before you say good job. I haven't really eaten anything substantial enough to purge either...but I still don't consider restricting to be a bad thing. I'll have to think more about why.

This was really pointless, I'm just extremely frustrated. I'm done with therapy.

Deep, Deeper, STOP.

I'm going to attempt to make this more articulate than all of the other jumbled messes I've written. And I realize this is my fifth post in two days. I need to stop worrying about updating 'too often' people don't have to read this.

Contrary to my previous bout of bolded, red letters screaming that I wasn't going to use symptoms today...I did. A lot. My ED is screaming at me so loud. It's ringing in my ears and drowning everything else out. Never in my life have I been less present than I was today. I wish I could articulate what has been going on to make me start spiraling down and out of control. So here goes nothing.

I've always been bad at making friends. My personality isn't one that's super bubbly, carefree, and fun-loving. I'm sarcastic to the point of being rude, unaffectionate, and  maybe even stand-offish. I don't connect well with people. I never have...this isn't some curse brought on by my eating disorder...I always have been this way. Of course, the ED intensified it, but I'm convinced it made me more of myself. I've always felt that the way we are at our worst is how we really are...there are too many emotions running rampant to put on the 'half smile' and pull yourself together.  I had one 'best friend', C, since I was 2. I've talked about the shit that happened with her in multiple individual and group sessions, but basically we're just not close at all anymore. Also, my current best friend, O, I've known for 8 years. Clearly I have a little bit of an issue because my friends all seem to be from when we connected over playing American Girl Dolls. Yeah, I've had acquaintances in school that I can talk to, sit with, complain about teachers with...but it's extremely rare for me to have someone I'll be able to call up and say "I've had a shit day. Please listen and then fix it." I can't even connect with therapists. Sometimes, I think it's worse with them.  LW was the closest I got and then she got taken away thanks to ACE. She knew a lot about me, and I got to the point where I'd open up and fill the full hour. With RR, I never felt that close. I never said anything too deep and said "I don't know" like it was an article. I was very careful about that. Our sessions began to start 15 minutes late and end sometimes 30 minutes early. So, you do the math. That's 15 minutes and she got 200 dollars for hearing about my incessant purging and that I didn't know why I did it. I really liked her, don't get me wrong, but come to think of it...even though I started participating in groups towards the end of my almost 8 months at ACE, everything I'd say was on the surface. Some of it definitely was bullshit that I made up because no, R I did not express myself, and no, ASB, I do not want to tell the group that I my anxiety is at a 10 because I just saw my hideous reflection in the window behind you. But why? Why couldn't I be honest? People were saying shit like that all the time. Why was it okay for the girl across from me to say her anxiety was at a 9 because of negative body image, but not for me? There's no doubt I have a little social anxiety (okay, a lot), but I felt connected to the girls at ACE and would talk about more real stuff in between groups when a therapist wasn't present. It was in between groups that I admitted my aversion to shorts was because of scars on my legs. I never even told RR that I'd ever cut. Therapists intimidate me, but at the same time I know that being more honest in therapy will help. I doubt I'll ever get there with CM, just because of the conditions. I'm afraid that if I say too much, I'll seem tro sick and get kicked out of school. It's almost pointless to see her, but I'm trying to listen to RR...even though there's little reason to start now. It's not that I'm lying. I'm telling the truth. Just very little of it. I have my line that I absolutely refuse to cross.

I don't want people to think I'm weird. I know therapists have "heard it all", so I should just be wide open and let them fix me. But I protect what's inside more than anything. I'm doing this blog to protect it less. I tried it before, per suggestion of LW, who mentioned it to my dad (I was still 17 at the time, they could hear whatever the hell they wanted, and had sessions with her to talk about me) who went through my computer history and found it. They all read it behind my back. I felt like I was naked on a stage in front of a million people. I deleted the blog and yelled at LW. I think that's what made me closer to her. I know other people can see this. I know my dad could potentially come across it (let's hope he never does). I know my school has access to everything I do on here (let's hope there are too many kids looking at porn and illegally downloading music to be worried about my blog)...and I know some old ACE friends have the link. Does that make me guard it? Maybe. I won't go into anything too deep, I never even did in my journal in case it got lost and found... I guess I don't even let myself think about what's deep because I don't want to know either.

Not knowing myself makes it way too hard to find friends that I'll let know me. It makes it way too hard to find a guy that will accept me when I can't accept myself. I can't think of any reason anyone would find me attractive and let people who tell me I am know that they are, of course, mistaken...

You look pretty today!
Are you fucking kidding me? I look like hell. Get your eyes checked.

People don't like being told they're wrong. I know that, but I don't want them to say it again so I make sure they won't. I'm manipulative in that way. I make everyone's voice similar to my ED voice.

The current issue seems to be the fact that I have to make new 'friends'. I have to establish who I am to a whole new group of people. I was extremely excited about that before going here so I could be more of who I wanted to be and less of who I am. I'm being the same guarded person here, the same person I was where I hated everything. That's making me anxious. Trying to be different is making ED tell me that it worked so much better last time.

I need to shut it up on my own, put it in the little box. Maybe then, I'll get my homework done. (thank god for sparknotes)

So much for being articulate.

I Need to Hurt

I need to hurt or I need to hurt something. I need to match the emotional pain I'm going through in a physical manner. My stomach is tightened into a thousand knots and I feel too nauseous to eat, but I'm forcing myself because it's psychological. I'm not sick (besides my eating disorder at least). 

I feel like I should have exploded a long time ago--I felt like I was going to break down for the longest time but I kept it in. I'm like a malfunctioned bomb. I flipped my shit a little bit after my car accident, but I didn't even flip out as much as I just joked about it constantly. That's the last time I cried, though. The time before that...I can't even remember. I don't let myself, but sometimes I do yearn for it. I remember watching other people just opening up and letting themselves be vulnerable in groups... or even my friends, who would cry in movies...how do people let themselves show that kind of raw emotion? I can't let myself be like that. I don't think crying makes people weak. I think it makes me weak. But what kind of double standard is that? I feel it coming on and I dig my fingernails into myself to make my eyes stop watering, to make the emotional pain subside. I feel stupid crying because I don't know what I'm crying about. I don't know what my underlying issues are. Nothing huge happened to make me this way...I feel like such a faker. I have heard so many terrible stories about how people used symptoms as coping mechanisms and the only thing I can trace mine back to is having weigh-ins at dance class and being insecure. Everybody has insecurities, but not everybody has an eating disorder. So why did I have to take it that far? Did I do this on purpose? I've heard a lot of people say 'it just happened'... but I can remember googling tips, making collages of thin people, carrying around pictures of myself looking fat so I wouldn't eat. I did it to myself. I practiced purging so I could make less noise and not use hands. I worked really hard to perfect this. It didn't just happen. Which makes me hate myself even more for doing it on purpose when I have had a good life. My parents are happily married. None of my family members have died. We are well-off financially, I'm in the school I want to be in. I have everything I want but I still sabotaged my life because I was overweight. And it just doesn't make any sense, and it kills me inside and now we're back. I need to hurt. 

I'm not going to hurt myself or anyone else, I'll put that disclaimer out there. But I want to scream as loud as possible in the silent library or run until I can't breathe or punch my hand through a window. or purge or cut  

BUT I'M NOT GOING TO USE SYMPTOMS TODAY

so for the love of god, could someone shut ED up? 

(sorry for the most inarticulate thing I've ever written)

unfocused.

I'm posting on this entirely too often, but it's been a rough day. I'm using this as a replacement to my journal which I used in excess as well--this is SO much easier...to type than to write.

Anyway, shortly after my last post, I e-mailed CM and told her I wasn't going to talk to my parents and I'm not going to do the groups. I told her I was going to wait a few weeks and see if as I get more accustomed to being here it gets easier and also see what my work schedule is like. I know I'm doing this to distract myself from my eating disorder, and as L commented...I know the right answer. It's like I'm in class and I'm too shy to raise my hand. I know I can do it, I'm just so damn ambivalent.

The day didn't end well. I went absolutely insane with symptoms...but I didn't go to frisbee or work out and aggravate my heart even more, so there is one recovery-oriented thing I've done today.

I can't focus on my homework. Due to anxiety? That's what RR diagnosed it as when I was having trouble in high school. My lit teacher, Mr. T gave me really awesome strategies to help too (I broke down in class one day and ended up telling him everything. His wife is a therapist for eating disorder patients, and he does a lot to understand.) I'm not using any strategies for schoolwork or for myself. I need to force myself to do it until it gets easier and I will start tomorrow. Tomorrow will be a good day. I will not use symptoms and I will do my homework in a gentle, well-paced manner so I don't flip my shit and get overwhelmed. How do normal people do it? How do normal people sit in the library all day and just focus on one thing? How do they go to the cafeteria and eat a normal meal and still have focus and control over their life? My friend, T pointed out something interesting. I have had an anxiety-related eye twitch for a huge chunk of high school that went away for the most part with my old meds but still shows itself sometimes. It's like I'm winking, and T and I had an awkward moment because he thought I was winking at him. He jokes around about it a lot--I don't really mind, but tonight after dinner he goes..."Why do you only twitch when you eat?" Now, how the hell did I not notice that?

I think I'm more capable than I give myself credit for. I had a whole month purge-free this summer...which is amazing considering towards the end of the school year, I was days away from being put in inpatient for the summer. When I put my mind to it, I can fight my ED voice. I think I just freaked out because of the weight gain. Which was ridiculous considering I was eating normally...well normally for a person on the cusp of recovery...I wasn't eating enough to gain the weight that I did. RR told me that I needed to let my metabolism regulate. It took too long, but I can't purge forever. I can go through the discomfort and gain some extra padding for the Chicago winters and let my metabolism regulate. It just doesn't seem like I should have to gain weight in recovery when I'm at the higher end of a normal weight anyway.

Sometimes, I just want to take a knife and slice my fat off.

second guesses.

If there's anything you know about me, you know that I am obsessed with clothes, fashion, anything related. You'll also know that I shop at J.Crew, Anthropologie, and Urban Outfitters in excess. So, as you can imagine when I saw there was a J.Crew within walking distance of my campus, I had a mini heart attack out of excitement. I interviewed there last Wednesday. I got the job 2 hours ago. This is going to be an issue if I have to do more therapy. I'm supposed to call my parents tonight and ask them about it, and they're supposed to call CM to set up insurance, etc. tomorrow. I have a meeting with her on Wednesday to set up my intake evaluation at the hospital. I'd rather work. I'm thinking of not telling my parents and telling CM that I think I can get back on track.

I'm trying to figure out if I'm lying to myself. It's only been two weeks here...I think I can turn things around. Maybe I'll call CM and tell her all of this...or maybe, more realistically, I'll just wait until Wednesday to tell her. I don't think she'll call my parents--even though I signed the release for her to tell them things.

lkjafljadskfj I don't know if I'm doing this because it's right or because I'm looking for an excuse.

Ambivalence

I'm having trouble wanting this. I know I need to fight, but I don't have it in me. I just read a friend from therapy's blog and it really hit close to home. I'm thinking really shitty things about recovery. I'm convincing myself that I'm not THAT sick, no one even knows about my eating disorder at this school except the lady in the counseling center I blabbed to (CM). And the lady in the wellness center that does my physical exams/monitors my weight (K) (what a fucker). My friend, S even makes comments to me about what I'm eating at lunch. "You just worked out? Why are you eating pasta then, that's probably 800 calories...you'll need to go the the gym again...and a cookie? Really?" My first instinct was to say "Oh, don't worry, S, I'm throwing this up right after I finish anyway" but I just said fuck you and scarfed it down. It made me more proud to purge that knowing that he thought I was actually ingesting those calories. But I also felt the need to tell him that I'm not that weak to succumb to pasta. And I wish I could have told him off in a way that didn't expose my eating disorder...I could have told him that his comment was extremely hurtful, unnecessary, and inappropriate. But I cursed at him and laughed. My roommate says he was joking. But it still bothers me. And my roommate hardly eats anything...and I'm worried about it. I don't know if I'm hyper-sensitve to people's eating habits or something, but I know for sure that a salad for dinner (no protein on it) isn't nearly enough. But there are plenty of normal people out there that eat lightly and wouldn't have a problem eating more heavily...but actually weren't hungry. I don't get that.

School stress is starting again. How can I get 5/5 on all of my English papers and still feel like I failed at it?

I'm supposed to go to ultimate frisbee practice today and my old therapist, RR's words are going through my head: "if you purged, you have to wait 24 hours for physical activity." It's not like it's a lot of physical activity, but we run laps and I know that half of a lap will go by and my heart rate will be at 188.

I feel so whiney. I'm just tired of this.

not butterflies and rainbows.

I'm finally here--at college. I was at ACE from January to August counting down the days and telling everyone that once I got to college, that'd be it. I'd be healed. Magically. It'd be Butterflies and Rainbows and pure happiness and bliss. And everyone said "stop biting your time. it doesn't work like that" and I nodded and said I knew, but really I was thinking "you know nothing, go fuck yourself". So I broke my record of one month purge-free my second day in Illinois. Anxiety is eating me alive and I'm quickly spiraling down to where I was when I got chucked into IOP at ACE in January. Multiple purges in a day...I'm getting into inpatient territory here and I know it. It's not even bingeing. I'm not even eating normal meals, I'm restricting and purging...so of course when I had a blood test my levels were insanely fucked up and now I'm going to some hospital for groups. My old individual was right. She said she didn't think I was ready to go. She said "good luck, I hope everything works out...I just don't think you're ready". So I didn't talk to her in sessions for a month. I'm so mature. I want my first individual back. I haven't even seen her since December, but I was the most connected with her. And only two at ACE..out of a grand total of 14 or something...counting the useless interns. Anyway. This is going nowhere...just like my recovery.

It's really hard to love yourself after hating yourself for so long. That's what I've come to. 5 years later and I still detest every part of myself. I carry around that stupid shell from ACE. It's in my purse. I don't know where to put it, so I just left it there. I see it every once and a while when I look for stuff in my purse, and it's the strangest feeling of warmth and acceptance. And regret.

It's not that I'm having a bad time. Because I'm not. But when I'm having fun, it's usually because I'm drunk or high. Or both. Like last night...which was the best night I've had so far, and I was drunk and high with an insanely hot guy. But he ruined it by being all over me. Which brings up the irony of wanting a relationship extremely bad because I want to feel loved. But I can't be touched. I don't want to kiss anyone...I don't even want to hug or hold hands. I don't want to be loved because I know it'll end and I don't know if I can be loved. I don't think I can accept it. I feel like such an idiot saying I "can't" be touched. I've had nothing traumatic happen to me relating to that...but I hate when people are affectionate towards me. I hate being brushed up against, and do not hug me unless you ask first...I feel like such an idiot for acting like that. I have no reason to. Am I just that much of a cold-hearted bitch? Apparently. I should've gone to inpatient this summer and gone to UGA or something. That's not what I wanted but I don't want to be in this place emotionally either. Getting out of Georgia made it worse because of my anxiety--according to the ACE scale...I'm a constant 10. Unless, of course I'm high. I should really stop drinking and smoking so I don't have other addictions to worry about. Fuck it. Maybe groups will help. Or maybe my parents will say "what the fuck, you're not better? ok. You're out of school, go to inpatient and then live at home until you can figure your goddamned life out".

SOMEONE BUILD ME A TIME MACHINE.