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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. 

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.

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.

Ambivalence

I'm having trouble wanting this. I know I need to fight, but I don't have it in me. I just read a friend from therapy's blog and it really hit close to home. I'm thinking really shitty things about recovery. I'm convincing myself that I'm not THAT sick, no one even knows about my eating disorder at this school except the lady in the counseling center I blabbed to (CM). And the lady in the wellness center that does my physical exams/monitors my weight (K) (what a fucker). My friend, S even makes comments to me about what I'm eating at lunch. "You just worked out? Why are you eating pasta then, that's probably 800 calories...you'll need to go the the gym again...and a cookie? Really?" My first instinct was to say "Oh, don't worry, S, I'm throwing this up right after I finish anyway" but I just said fuck you and scarfed it down. It made me more proud to purge that knowing that he thought I was actually ingesting those calories. But I also felt the need to tell him that I'm not that weak to succumb to pasta. And I wish I could have told him off in a way that didn't expose my eating disorder...I could have told him that his comment was extremely hurtful, unnecessary, and inappropriate. But I cursed at him and laughed. My roommate says he was joking. But it still bothers me. And my roommate hardly eats anything...and I'm worried about it. I don't know if I'm hyper-sensitve to people's eating habits or something, but I know for sure that a salad for dinner (no protein on it) isn't nearly enough. But there are plenty of normal people out there that eat lightly and wouldn't have a problem eating more heavily...but actually weren't hungry. I don't get that.

School stress is starting again. How can I get 5/5 on all of my English papers and still feel like I failed at it?

I'm supposed to go to ultimate frisbee practice today and my old therapist, RR's words are going through my head: "if you purged, you have to wait 24 hours for physical activity." It's not like it's a lot of physical activity, but we run laps and I know that half of a lap will go by and my heart rate will be at 188.

I feel so whiney. I'm just tired of this.