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. 

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.