aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Boys are stupid.
I don't want him to give me butterflies.
I don't want to think about him.
I don't want to wait for his text messages.
I don't want to want him.
I don't want to like him.

My fate is decided in 3.5 hours.
I have never been this anxious in my life.
I'm at a cross between the sound of food making me sick and wanting to eat anything I can get my hands on. Or wanting to run until I collapse. Or wanting to scream, break something, hurt something.
So I'm just going to sleep. Or I might do something stupid.


Please. Please. Please....what? I don't even know what I want to happen.
(because I don't want recovery at all.)


fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkkkiiiiiinnnnnggggg shittttttttttttttttttt.
i hate having emotions. where the hell did my numbness go? alksfjlaksjfkasjdfoikl

akdsjfoaigjsdklfjkalsdjgiasdjfklasf

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. 

I Need to Hurt

I need to hurt or I need to hurt something. I need to match the emotional pain I'm going through in a physical manner. My stomach is tightened into a thousand knots and I feel too nauseous to eat, but I'm forcing myself because it's psychological. I'm not sick (besides my eating disorder at least). 

I feel like I should have exploded a long time ago--I felt like I was going to break down for the longest time but I kept it in. I'm like a malfunctioned bomb. I flipped my shit a little bit after my car accident, but I didn't even flip out as much as I just joked about it constantly. That's the last time I cried, though. The time before that...I can't even remember. I don't let myself, but sometimes I do yearn for it. I remember watching other people just opening up and letting themselves be vulnerable in groups... or even my friends, who would cry in movies...how do people let themselves show that kind of raw emotion? I can't let myself be like that. I don't think crying makes people weak. I think it makes me weak. But what kind of double standard is that? I feel it coming on and I dig my fingernails into myself to make my eyes stop watering, to make the emotional pain subside. I feel stupid crying because I don't know what I'm crying about. I don't know what my underlying issues are. Nothing huge happened to make me this way...I feel like such a faker. I have heard so many terrible stories about how people used symptoms as coping mechanisms and the only thing I can trace mine back to is having weigh-ins at dance class and being insecure. Everybody has insecurities, but not everybody has an eating disorder. So why did I have to take it that far? Did I do this on purpose? I've heard a lot of people say 'it just happened'... but I can remember googling tips, making collages of thin people, carrying around pictures of myself looking fat so I wouldn't eat. I did it to myself. I practiced purging so I could make less noise and not use hands. I worked really hard to perfect this. It didn't just happen. Which makes me hate myself even more for doing it on purpose when I have had a good life. My parents are happily married. None of my family members have died. We are well-off financially, I'm in the school I want to be in. I have everything I want but I still sabotaged my life because I was overweight. And it just doesn't make any sense, and it kills me inside and now we're back. I need to hurt. 

I'm not going to hurt myself or anyone else, I'll put that disclaimer out there. But I want to scream as loud as possible in the silent library or run until I can't breathe or punch my hand through a window. or purge or cut  

BUT I'M NOT GOING TO USE SYMPTOMS TODAY

so for the love of god, could someone shut ED up? 

(sorry for the most inarticulate thing I've ever written)