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.)

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.

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.