Dante's Inferno

"This way I went, descending from the first
into the second round, that holds less space 
but much more pain--stinging the soul to wailing"

"now here, then there, and up and down, it drives them
with never any hope to comfort them--
hope not of rest but even of suffering less"

"There is no greater pain
than to remember, in our present grief,
past happiness..."

It's just interesting how I can relate Dante walking around the bowels of Hell to my eating disorder. When I'm trying really hard to convince myself I'm not living in Hell right now, that it's completely ok and normal to live like this, but I can relate what I'm going through to Dante's description of Hell.

especially the last two.
'hope not of rest but even of suffering less'
the souls are in purgatory. they're being judged to whether they'll get to go to Heaven, Hell, or stay there. Purgatory is apparently the worst, which is weird to me. I relate it to mediocrity. You didn't do anything good enough to get into Heaven...but you don't suck enough to go to Hell. So no one will remember you for anything. You're left wondering what you could have done, what you could have been.
I'm not going to pretend like when I let myself feel, when I don't numb out, that I'm not hurting. And I'm not really looking to be completely better. I don't need that. I just want it to ease up a little bit. I'm not reaching for the stars here. ...and I'm not worried about it killing me. I'm worried about living like this forever.

and then, 'there is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness...' which is the most true of them all. To live not being able to do just that....to go through every day completely mechanically, and sitting down at the end of the day not really knowing what the fuck i did...it just being a blur...and then thinking of when i WAS happy. whenever the hell that was...maybe in like, elementary school. fuck. it makes me think of the time machine concept. if i could just go back to the time i was ok, the time i was just a liiiiiiitle bit happy...and savor that. and shake myself and tell myself to never let it get to me, to keep being that spunky, self confident, frizzy haired little kid attitude.

i'm doubtful if that made any sense at all. but anyway.
back to dante.

you walk around screaming "screw the world" because that's easier than feeling something

i have officially numbed out.
i don't always get why that's a bad thing.
i know you need to feel,
but god DAMN do feelings screw shit up sometimes.

i don't really care what happens. i don't care if i have to go home.
i don't care if i stay here. i don't care if i do anything about this.

make it stop.

i'm currently trying to think of a way to make all of this stop and go back a week to no one knowing about this that will make my life change.

the good news for my health is that i can't make it stop. i can't 'get out of it'. my mom knows. that's enough to ensure i'll be going somewhere for therapy. fuck my life.

i had another appointment this morning, and i cried. like an idiot. no, i didn't cry yesterday when she told me i should leave school. i didn't cry when she told me i had an appointment tomorrow for the hospital evaluation. i cried when she told me she wouldn't reschedule it to accommodate my work schedule. i told her i can't do 2:30 because i work at 3 and she goes...really? what's more important here?

and i get that. i really DO get that. but. at the same time....i literally started working there 3 weeks ago. and where the conversation ended up, she is already telling me to quit and i haven't even been evaluated yet.

this job was the first thing i've been excited about in a while. granted, most of the excitement came from the hefty discount they give us...but also because that was the plan. i planned to come to lake forest and get a job at j.crew. and for the first time in forever something actually worked out according to a plan i made for MYSELF. (besides anything that has to do with ed shit) and i did that. myself. i'm not a very mature 18 year old, i can tell you that much. my mom still calls and sets up my hair appointments. and as dumb as a part time retail job sounds...it meant a lot that i had that and now i'm losing it. and i really enjoyed it. and also, i don't know how to tell them that although i've worked a grand total of 7 times i have to stop now. because i'm not capable of taking care of myself. and i have to call and tell them i can't work tomorrow because of a 'medical emergency'

but seriously. how hard would it have been to make my appointment earlier in the day? or another day? it's been 3 months, so waiting 2 days isn't going to be as detrimental as everyone is making it out to be.

and if we're looking for irony in the situation, the whole reason i backed out of the iop program here in the first place was because i GOT that job. and people told me that it'd overload me. i've tried that before. it did overload me. and now i'm quitting IT for therapy. awesome.

i hate that i cried in front of her of all people. i never cried in front of lori. and i never cried at ace. and i was comfortable in those places. definitely not comfortable in her office. it's probably one of the most uncomfortable places i've been.

i know i'm being stupid. because the way it's looking i might be leaving school soon...so obviously i won't be able to work in lake forest....but while i'm here...i'd like to. and. yeah. i know that's stupid. and i know i'm being dramatic. because my measly hardly-even-part-time job at a clothing store will hardly mean anything in the grand scheme of things. and i know that i need to have this evaluation. and i know that crying in a therapist's office isn't that big of a deal... i don't know. i just wanted to be stronger.

anyway. i was supposed to call and confirm the appointment/give them insurance info but i started studying my ass off instead so i wouldn't have to think about any of this. and by the time i remembered i had to be responsible, my phone was dead. so i left a message. but at least i'll ace a test for a class i'm probably not going to get any credit for anyway. yay, priorities.

i want it to stop. i want it to stop ruining everything.

it's happening.

Decisions are being made and I don't really know my feelings on it.
The first thing Cindy said to me was...well, I think you know what you need to do.
I DO KNOW WHAT I NEED TO DO. SHE'S RIGHT.
Because if I could have done it here, I would have.
And the worst part is, I lied to her. I lied about the frequency I've been purging lately, and when she blatantly asked how much I'd been eating...I completely made up bullshit to make it sound like more....and she still said..."well, I think you should do a couple of weeks of inpatient and then go home where you don't have to worry about school."
What if she really knew? Would I already be packing?
I was supposed to call my mom and tell her that I'm back in hell completely. I didn't just have a minor setback that I'm going to fix in a month or two.
Well, I called her. But I ended up not saying anything and pretending like I just wanted to catch up.
I have to tell her though.
Cindy wants to conference call with me there tomorrow morning.
I'm going back to her tomorrow morning.
I can't skip it this time. She knows too much. I'm afraid she won't just sit and wait for me to make the right decision this time.
We're setting up an evaluation at an eating disorders center in a local hospital.
Because I was a little bitch and refused to just go home.
But if I'm truthful on all the little tests...and if I don't do stuff to normalize the blood tests and my weight...that's where I'm headed.

I was talking to a friend. And she said I needed this to mature. And she's right. Fucking with the people that are just trying to help me is extremely immature. If I lie, and make it seem like less than it is, I can't really get the help I need. It won't be enough.

Spring semester came up a lot today though. And so did next year. And the rest of this semester.
I'm trying to look big picture, and know I'd be missing out on more if I don't get the help I need and...die or something...than if I miss a semester or two...

Making this decision is extremely hard. Admitting that I failed at this is awful. Admitting that I was wrong about my strength to overcome this is unbearable. And there's the constant struggle in the back of my mind saying....what if it still doesn't work?

And on top of all of this...I have a shit ton of homework that is extremely, extremely hard to do if I think I might be leaving.

i've overused the word scared.

i.am.freaking.out.
i can't focus.
appointment in 2 hours and 43 minutes.
breathe.
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i'm so scared.
i'm scared she's going to tell me i have to go home now.
i'm scared she's going to tell me i don't have to go home.
i'm scared i'm going to have to do groups.
but i'm scared she'll say i'm ok, and i don't really need therapy.
i'm scared i'm overreacting. i'm scared i'm insane.

i'm scared to go.
i have a lot i want to say.
but i usually clam up and just stare. and hope she can just read my mind or something.
i don't want to write it down and give it to her. i hate doing that.
i don't want to go.
i just want to flip a switch and be ok.
i don't want to do this anymore.

i'm scared that i'm this scared about going. why am i such a baby?
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2 hours. 40 minutes.

i can't breathe.

home is where the heart is.

I've been all over the place and back and I can't decide what the right answer is or what I even want it to be. Before being forced to see the reality by around 5 or 6 different people made me realize that there at least needs to be a change. I've been in denial for...ever...that I actually needed therapy at all. I'd have random little epiphanies that changed my mind for a couple hours, maybe days if I was lucky...but they never amounted to anything. So I swore off recovery and lied because I thought college would be the ultimate healer. It hurts more than anything to know that I was wrong about that. Because I was so sure that a change of scenery and a change of people would bring on the best new life for me.

I guess a part of me knew that it wasn't going to . But I am trying to not be terrible hard on myself for coming here and realize that I needed to experience and see it to believe that packing up and leaving was going to make it worse overall. But it's also probably what I needed to kick me in the ass. Yeah, I'm in an awful place recovery-wise and emotionally right now, but damn. I have made good friends. I haven't felt loved by people like I do for a long ass time. Georgia got stale. It's fresh here, and I love the atmosphere...my campus is probably the most gorgeous thing ever. Maybe I'm a little bias, but it's really fucking pretty. Anywho. I don't really know what it means to be happy. But I've seen a lot of people that are. And I might be understanding it better. And I've taken a step back from my drama at home, and all my teenage angst in hating my friend for telling my parents, and hating my parents for wanting to help...and being terrified that anyone would find out that I have a problem...and I've matured a lot. I told my mom that I was struggling. I never would have done that before. I told Lucy about everything in a sober conversation when she asked what was wrong instead of blowing off the question. I still have a lot of shit that I need to deal with but I think I might be able to. Maybe.

That's the part where I'm all over the place. I go back and forth like it's my job. I couldn't imagine leaving here just days ago. And somehow, at some point, the switch flipped and it became hell. It's getting back into neutral territory where I couldn't care either way...but damn. Saturday and Sunday were awful and I was going to try and go home this week, or to my aunt's in Missouri just to get away. But it's about 300 dollars. So I decided against that...

All day yesterday I was in the state where I was going to tell Cindy that I needed to leave ASAP. I wanted nothing but to just get the hell out of here and go back home and go inpatient, or ACE or whatever. I didn't care, I just wanted Georgia and the familiarity of it. I don't know if it's right for me to stop college this close to the end of the semester. There's a little less than 2 months and I can go to an ACE-like program around here...I'm sure that's what will be suggested, or possibly enforced so there aren't liability issues if I keel over and die or something. I can finish the semester though and continue therapy over break and THEN see where I am. I can see if I'm stable enough to go back to school, or if I need to take classes somewhere local and do therapy at home. Or no classes at all. I'll have enough credits at the end of the semester to be a sophomore, so I would be able to graduate on time and all of that...which is important to me...

But there's this other strong side of me that feels like I should be punished for doing this and go home....because, after all...that was the deal. Struggling? Residential. Goodbye, Lake Forest.

I just hope the insurance thing doesn't fuck up being here for me after the face. If we have to pay out of pocket, I'm exiled to UGA or somewhere like that. And I would rather struggle here than go to UGA. That's not true. I'd rather just not go to school.

I need a place to go. I need a safe place to belong. I'm scared of going home at all though, even though part of me wants to pack up and leave like...now.

I wish my mind wasn't such a cluster fuck.

mindless wanderings. fuck fuck fuck.

I'm starting to wimp out. bahhh. Cindy, the counseling center lady, e-mailed back. My appointment is Wednesday at 2.

I just have an aversion to therapy. I've tried this. I know I probably didn't try hard enough...but I sometimes feel like I'm not going to get better at all, and it's just how I am...or maybe I'm not even as sick as I think. Maybe I'm overreacting. I know that part probably isn't true, but it's something I've always struggled with...especially since I actually started therapy. The first appointment I had with Lori, there was a clearly anorexic girl in the waiting room. So pale. So frail. It killed me to look at her because of the insane amount of pain I saw in her eyes. I'm not saying I wish I was close to dying of starvation, or that I wish I was THAT thin...but. I don't look sick. It's hard that eating disorder umbrellas people that are at dangerously low weights, normal weights, and dangerously high weights. It can be anyone...and that makes it hard for me. Because I look normal. It's just hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I have a similar illness to someone that is that sick looking. And I know comparing gets me no where. I did that to myself at ACE a lot. I didn't feel like I was supposed to be there because some of the girls were struggling more. People that are terrified to finish their meals...and I generally had a pretty easy time...I'd just purge it after. I don't know. It's stupid. But I hate being treated for something I'm not even sure I have. I understand I have the bulimia/ednos label...whatever the fuck I am these days. But I still don't accept the fact that it's true sometimes. Saying "I have an eating disorder" is hard. Because the general, uneducated public thinks that means someone underweight. Which I'm not.

Weight shouldn't play such a big role in my life. I hate that it does. I bought a scale though, so that was a bad idea, for obvious reasons. I shouldn't be allowed to monitor my own weight or know it at all. The number controls me too much.

I'm not making any sense right now. I'm just really scared. I feel like I'm walking into my very first therapy appointment again. Sitting in the waiting room terrified of what was going to happen....

I can't fuck it up again. Not this time. I went back on my own this time. I wasn't forced. There's no way I can mess it up this time and have a good reason behind it, or have it be ok.

I don't know if I'm ready to be healthy still. And that's what scares me. Because I'm scared I'm not ready. and I'm annoyed that I'm not ready. And I'm going anyway. And maybe that's good. But. Fuck. KLAJSFLKJASLFKJLASKFJLKSJFLKJSALFJSLKDJFLKJASAOIFJKLSADJFLKJSGLJKLSDFJKLSJFKLSJFKLJSLKJFGOIJVKM

fucking fuck. I need to scream.

maybe there's a little fight left in me.

But I don't know for sure. 

I emailed the lady in the counseling center, I'm assuming she'll have me start groups. This means I'll have to tell my mom, who I also just emailed. I don't know if it was coincidence, or if she was tipped off, but in her last email she had this in there: 

Are you doing okay?  I know that you are busy and I am glad that you have such good friends.  I just still worry about you.  I know that you can put up a pretty good front.  You seemed happy while we were there but I felt like I noticed a little pain in your eyes.  Sorry-I can't help it-it's a mom thing.

I was going to lie, but instead I wrote this back: 

I don't want you to freak out or anything, but I am struggling a little bit. I stopped seeing the lady in the counseling center a while back, but I just emailed her to schedule an appointment. She had talked about me going to a local place for groups a while back, and I'm assuming that's what she's going to suggest when I see her. I let myself get too busy and put my guard down too much. I'll let you know what she says. I think the insurance plan covers it, but someone would have to look into that more to know for sure...

So that's that. I'm extremely nervous/anxious about what's going to happen. 

I don't really want to stay here anymore. I want to go home and do this there. 

I just know that putting your all into recovery is literally your all. And it's extremely hard to do school and work on top of it. I had to quit work within a month of starting at ACE. I did horrible for my standards my last semester. Not only because there was a substantial time commitment at ACE, but it's draining emotionally, and it made it hard to annotate books and do math problems while I was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me and why. It boils down to it, for me, with my exam grades. I passed. But that's it. I got straight 4s. Average. I know being average isn't bad, but I like being a little bit above. I don't want to settle for average and have to say, well...really, I would have done better, but I was in recovery. I want to be better and then own the shit out of whatever I'm doing. I realized I needed to do something when I got my English midterm back. B. Really, Kelsey? I have gotten perfect scores on every thing I have turned in/taken for that class so far, and I got a B on my midterm. This wouldn't be bad if I did a mediocre job on all of my assignments. I wasn't there mentally for the midterm. I easily could have gotten an A with a bit of focus. I reread the shit I wrote...god. I don't know if I'm making any sense. I'm just tired of saying/thinking "I could have done better if I didn't have my eating disorder on my mind" 

Leaving feels like giving up though. EVERYONE has their shit. I'm not the only person in the world struggling with something. I don't think I should have to leave school to deal with my shit. I don't want it to be one or the other and it seems like it is. 

But that's that. Everyone knows that needs to know...and I'm still ambivalent and nervous about actually getting better. I'm worried about changing. I'm worried about finding out who I am without this monster. Olivia told me once that it doesn't define me, and I shouldn't let it. I do though, I have. Without it....I'm just an average student with crappy attitude. And I don't want that to be who I am. 

But either way, I just got extremely homesick and I want nothing more than to go home. I have never wanted to be with my parents this much, or to be home this much. I just want the familiarity of my room and my home. I hate that I want that since I tried swearing it off so much so I could go. 

And then there's the Trevor thing. Our relationship went from having mutual friends to being drinking buddies to being friends with benefits to him thinking we're dating and me avoiding him. A while back I posted about talking to him about just staying really good friends, and him hating me for it. Well, then comes homecoming weekend and ten shots of rum within an hour. I got pretty damn sloppy and when I get sloppy I get needy and there was a very horny Trevor. So we hooked up and I woke up next to him. Fast forward over an awkward couple of days to hooking up drunk a couple more times and deciding we could be friends with benefits. Then comes last night when he asks to me Greek Formal and if I wanted to date him. This shit has happened to me before, and this is the point where I cut off contact. That's harder to do when I've gotten this close to my little group of friends...and Trevor is an important part of it. I can't just stop talking to him--I'd have to stop talking to my other friends too and create drama of choosing sides. I just don't do the relationship thing...which is stupid because I'm dramatic to the fact that I've never had a relationship, and the opportunity comes and I flee. Emotional connections and me don't get along. 

I'd walk home if I knew the way.


-----

edit:

now what i did is setting in and i want to take it back. ahh. :\

bye.

i've given up.

cleansing.

The definition of purging, at least in the context of my ancient and medieval lit class, is cleansing.

That makes it sound so much better. I'm just cleansing the nasty, fatty shit out of me.

I need my head to shut the fuck up so I can focus on real things.

pain.

WHY DOES THIS HURT SO BAD?

Emotionally, I'm in knots. I just want to curl up and blare music.
I'm so tired of hurting. I'm tired of every minute of every day being a struggle. I have to force myself to do anything. To lift up the water bottle next to me. To put make up on. To eat.

New week. New scars. Weight lost. Friends lost.
(why am I happy about all of that?)

I fucked up.
Surely this can't be me.
Surely I can't be this pathetic. Is it possible?
Well. Obviously it's possible, but is it possible to really be like this, without influence?

I'm such a wreck. I can't get myself together, and I can't make myself want anything.
I seriously can't handle school this week. Thinking about actually getting up and going to class makes me sick to my stomach. Thinking about being productive and studying for my midterms...and doing well on them...I can't do that. And fucking work. I'm only scheduled 13 hours this week...but somehow it seems unbearable. SO PATHETIC.

I shouldn't stay here, I know I shouldn't. Yet I am meeting with my advisor and setting up my Spring schedule.
I'm looking at summer semester.

Part of me wants to go home and be where I know I'm *safe*. But the other part wants to stay here and let myself deteriorate.

It sounds so terrible, but at the same time, it sounds so peaceful.
I'm ashamed, but I just want to float away. I want to leave everyone and everything behind.
No worries, no struggles.

I'm so damn numb it's like that anyway. I can do anything in the world right now and feel nothing. I could yell at my roommate right now for smacking her gum and not feel a thing. I apparently "broke someone's heart" and I don't feel bad. I know I didn't eat anything red....but I don't feel worried. I am just here. I don't know how I'm here. It feels like there's a body and I'm three steps behind it (kind of like I'm high). It's like I'm watching someone do everything that I'm doing. I'm getting around mechanically. I don't know how I'm functioning. I don't think I am.

I did feel though. I felt elated when I saw the scale. Why is that the only instance in which I can feel something?

"Fuck you."

So, I got a letter in the mail yesterday.
It's from Olivia.

Around this time last year, I wrote her a letter apologizing for how bitchy I was when I found out she told my parents. I was actually, legitimately grateful for her doing that after a couple of months of therapy, and I wanted to tell her thanks, for saving my life. I guess it was easy for me in the beginning. I took on the whole "oh, they know, so I'll just fix it" attitude. So I started eating less and not really purging. I told her I was sorry, and I tried to explain why I was so upset with her...I didn't think it was that complicated, honestly. She thought I had no reason to be mad. But anyway. I thanked her and said it was the best thing anyone had ever done for me and that I was finally going to get better and live again. I knew that most of it was bullshit upon writing it, I guess...because days later I just started everything up again.

She mentioned that in her letter. She said she still reads mine from time to time and through the whole year of my up and downs in therapy...she wondered how much of it was bullshit. And now she said it's completely meaningless. Which I don't think is fair. But she kept going, saying that she's not going to watch me do this anymore. She's not going to say anything to my parents, but she's not going to sit back and pretend it isn't there.

BUT SHE'S IN NEW YORK. So don't fret. Because I am a safe distance away to hide it. There's just two rough weekends that we'll be together and I'll have to pretend a wee bit.

Anyway. It was really nice, don't get me wrong. I'm a little bitter right now, I know it's coming off that way.

But I read it right after lunch yesterday. Put it down. And purged.

I guess I don't give a shit about people anymore?
How could I read all about someone being concerned about me and pleading for me to do better on my own, or get help, and blatantly ignore it and just...purge.

Maybe I did just want to say...fuck you. Which is a really great attitude to have, obviously. I don't get why I have to do that. I don't get why I have to be such a bitch to people that just want to help me.

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I want nothing more than to isolate in my little hole.
BUT MY HOLE IS IN GEORGIA.

I knew it wouldn't last.

As soon as me and Trevor had the conversation...that one where I established that I really am not attracted to him, and just wanted to be friends...he stopped talking to me about anything of substance.

Normally, if I would have texted him freaking out, he would have been at my dorm in 3 seconds flat to talk about it. But he texted back: :\ shit happens, sorry.

I'M SORRY I BUSTED YOUR FUCKING BALLS. But is that really the only reason you pretended to care? Because you wanted some ass?

I have trust issues anyway. And somehow that motherfucker drew me in and I had an inkling of trust for him. This is exactly why I don't get close to people. Exactly. He only pretended to care because he wanted to fuck. I know not all people are horny assholes...but why does everyone that I come across, that I decide to trust a little bit fuck me over?

Everyone has the ability to change their mind, and leave. So who's to say they won't? Because everyone has so far. So how do I think differently when I haven't seen this firsthand?

I'm going to stop the melodrama and toot my own horn now so I can end on a happy note.

At breakfast, I had chocolate milk. and cereal. Not just fruit and water.
I know it's not balanced nutritionally or anything...but...no. That's why I'm proud. I didn't purge sugary cereal and chocolate milk. And it was pretty good, too.

all over the place.

I was looking at my pictures from my last dance show in May. 

The dance show I wasn't supposed to dance in because my weight dropped quickly. Because I was purging in the double digits almost daily. And I look thin. I do. Not skinny, not emaciated, but I look thin. Then I looked at recent pictures. I obviously gained some weight. I had to in order to avoid inpatient for the summer. And then I had to gain a little more for good measure. And then I gained a little more during my month of normal eating because my metabolism is so fucked, in Rachel terms. (ok, not an exact quote. but that sums up an hour session) 

I WANT TO LOSE WEIGHT SO BAD. 

I'm trying to be realistic. 

I'm trying to tell myself that yes, I gained weight. The NUMBER is up. But in reality, I fit in the same clothes. I fit IN the clothes. Maybe that's the problem. My clothes were loose and I liked them like that in March-May. Now...well, they fit. Fine. Sigh. This is so stupid. 

I find myself wanting to talk to a therapist. Which pisses me off because I never have wanted to go to therapy before. But something about HAVING to keep it all in...not choosing to...is making me go insane. And I am physically and emotionally drained by all of it. 

I told myself the dumbest thing, too. 

"Once I lose x amount of pounds, I'll email Cindy and start the groups"  

WHAT THE FUCK. 

I got my hair cut again. And colored. Which is something I regularly do, to change my appearance quickly. It's something concrete I can do and see...whatever. It's easier than the weight thing. I don't like my hair, so I have someone chop it off. I don't like my ass. But liposuction is too expensive. 

gah. My parents are coming tomorrow. I know what I should do: tell them I need more support (or some support at all...) but that it's not so bad that I need to come home. (lie?) 

And then I can maybe get that support and live better? And get healthy? 

Andddddddd yeah. I want to lose weight still. I am uncomfortable in my skin right now. 

I don't know. I don't like the counseling center. 

I'm all over the place tonight. 

WHY

CAN'T I SNAP OUT OF IT?

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I freaked out and told Olivia I'm fucking up. 

She freaked out too and said if I don't get help myself, she's going to my parents. 

Like she did the first time. 

And part of me wants to go and work this out. And live in the fantasy land of therapy where all you do is think about yourself and try to fix things. That makes it sound a lot easier than the actual experience is, but I don't mean to belittle it. I just mean that full time therapy vs. real world is completely different. Because if I know anything, going from seeing an average of 8 therapists a week to seeing none, plus the support of 12 or 14 girls going through the same thing to going back to a place where it's all secret...that's when the shit hits the fan. And that's where I fuck up. Of course I can get my life on track while I have 20 people supporting me every single day that know exactly what's going on. But that's going to have to end. And after, what if the same thing happens? 

I don't want to be one of those people that's in and out of treatment centers and hospitals my whole life. Though, I know that option is better than dying from this at a young age. Even though I may feel invincible, and like I'm the only person in the world that can purge everything, or not eat and not have it affect my body and health. 

Roles switched, I'd be on the phone with Olivia's mom right now. 

She said she won't say anything for the moment. 

I can hide it from her if need be. She's in New York. I'm in Illinois. 

I can't decide if this was a mistake or not. 

Any of it. 

pondering.

I'm trying to figure out why I think having skinny legs and a cute butt would make my life so much better.

I HATE PEOPLE.

1. People are untrustworthy. They can leave at any point. Who's to say they won't?
2. They say things to make you feel better when you're one on one, but in a group they don't defend it. They still laugh at stuff they know hurts you, they still joke about it even though they said they 'get it'.
3. They say they'll never tell anyone and then all of a sudden say 'you need to see someone'.

I'm not going to more therapy, you bastard. I told you that the first time we talked about this. I made it clear. I knew I shouldn't have told you. We can't do this anymore if you're going to say and think shit like that. You can't pretend for over a week that you've completely forgotten and then say you want me to go back to therapy.

It's not happening. Therapy doesn't work for me.

And this, kids, is why you shouldn't drink on Thursday nights.
Especially with people that know things they shouldn't.