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

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.

i have no words. literally.

I can't fully articulate anything that I'm feeling right now. It's a mixture of mehhhhh, dskfjlasdkjflkjaslgkjlkasdjoiasd=fgjskljfdfkjsad, and I NEED TO FUCKING PUNCH SOMETHING. 

I'm skipping my English class on Wednesday to finally start training at J.Crew. I know it's not a good idea, but this is something that I actually want to do, and I'm not used to having that. So fuck English, I never say anything anyway. French test Wednesday, paper due tomorrow....sigh. I forgot about how shitty I am at getting my work done on time. I went to bed at 7:30am this morning. Not to whine and sound like I want sympathy. But...when I was doing better...towards exams and the end of the school year, I could work better. I could focus on relating globalization to translated literature rather than the fact that my arms feel like they're shaking when I type.

I'm such a buzz kill around my friends, too. I can feel it. They're all talking and laughing and I just kind of...sit there. I feel bad that I'm the one that's pulling everyone down because of my issues. I'm the fucked up one...which makes me want to isolate. BUT I CAN'T FUCKING ISOLATE BECAUSE I HAVE THREE FUCKING ROOMMATES. One that is incompetent at cleaning a bathroom. Hair on the shower walls does not equal clean. I just end up cleaning it, and I don't mind...I know I'm controlling like that. But I'm still going to be pissed off because it's all I know how to feel, I think.

Anger? I'm ok with feeling that. Sadness? No.

I'm never hungry but I'm never full. I'm so glad I don't have to check in at meal groups. I don't have a number. And my anxiety? Through the roof. Always. 10,000. Is that an acceptable answer?

Not being able to articulate makes me not want to try and make it better. It makes it hard to know how to.

I NEED TO BREAK OR HURT SOMETHING. or scream. 




fuck it. just. fuck it.