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.)