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.