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.

"Fuck you."

So, I got a letter in the mail yesterday.
It's from Olivia.

Around this time last year, I wrote her a letter apologizing for how bitchy I was when I found out she told my parents. I was actually, legitimately grateful for her doing that after a couple of months of therapy, and I wanted to tell her thanks, for saving my life. I guess it was easy for me in the beginning. I took on the whole "oh, they know, so I'll just fix it" attitude. So I started eating less and not really purging. I told her I was sorry, and I tried to explain why I was so upset with her...I didn't think it was that complicated, honestly. She thought I had no reason to be mad. But anyway. I thanked her and said it was the best thing anyone had ever done for me and that I was finally going to get better and live again. I knew that most of it was bullshit upon writing it, I guess...because days later I just started everything up again.

She mentioned that in her letter. She said she still reads mine from time to time and through the whole year of my up and downs in therapy...she wondered how much of it was bullshit. And now she said it's completely meaningless. Which I don't think is fair. But she kept going, saying that she's not going to watch me do this anymore. She's not going to say anything to my parents, but she's not going to sit back and pretend it isn't there.

BUT SHE'S IN NEW YORK. So don't fret. Because I am a safe distance away to hide it. There's just two rough weekends that we'll be together and I'll have to pretend a wee bit.

Anyway. It was really nice, don't get me wrong. I'm a little bitter right now, I know it's coming off that way.

But I read it right after lunch yesterday. Put it down. And purged.

I guess I don't give a shit about people anymore?
How could I read all about someone being concerned about me and pleading for me to do better on my own, or get help, and blatantly ignore it and just...purge.

Maybe I did just want to say...fuck you. Which is a really great attitude to have, obviously. I don't get why I have to do that. I don't get why I have to be such a bitch to people that just want to help me.

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I want nothing more than to isolate in my little hole.
BUT MY HOLE IS IN GEORGIA.

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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. 

I HATE PEOPLE.

1. People are untrustworthy. They can leave at any point. Who's to say they won't?
2. They say things to make you feel better when you're one on one, but in a group they don't defend it. They still laugh at stuff they know hurts you, they still joke about it even though they said they 'get it'.
3. They say they'll never tell anyone and then all of a sudden say 'you need to see someone'.

I'm not going to more therapy, you bastard. I told you that the first time we talked about this. I made it clear. I knew I shouldn't have told you. We can't do this anymore if you're going to say and think shit like that. You can't pretend for over a week that you've completely forgotten and then say you want me to go back to therapy.

It's not happening. Therapy doesn't work for me.

And this, kids, is why you shouldn't drink on Thursday nights.
Especially with people that know things they shouldn't.

What do you need?

If I fucking knew what I needed, I wouldn't be here you dumbass. I need support. that's all I can think of, and I get more support from comments on my blog or reading about other people going through the same shit as me than sitting in your damn office.

I was there for 8 minutes today. Record. My shortest with RR was 14. I almost cut it in half...impressive. But also pointless. I ran across the fucking campus to make the appointment on time. And I had to walk back across to get to the library. (at least I got exercise). I'm not going to go back. She's e-mailing me about an appointment, but I can get more out of a nap.

Ok, so it's not all her fault. I lied to her. I told her I had a great week and that I didn't use symptoms at all. That's just because I don't want to go to more therapy, not that she can force me or anything. I admitted that I've been restricting, but I hardly consider that a symptom...which is weird. I guess just because it's a new symptom I developed from stopping purging. CM uses the phrase "threw up". Really? I don't have the flu, I force that shit up my throat. I don't know why that bugs me so much. I used it with LW, I even said "puked"...I think RR did it to me. She made me use the proper names so I'd know it was wrong. Like a child. But it helps, to say I binged, rather than, I ate more than I should have. Because that's quite an understatement. I could tell CM that. But I didn't. I didn't tell her anything...which goes right back to my previous post about trust issues. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY TO HER. Ok, so I could talk about and process what I've been writing on here. But I don't want to go through it. I'm not ready.

Hysterical. I'm not READY? I've been in therapy for over a year and I'm still not 'ready' to deal with my shit? Goddamn. Am I not ready or do I just not want to? I need to be pushed. That's the only reason I benefited from family sessions with R. He pushed the SHIT out of me. He wouldn't back down and wouldn't let me leave until I answered. Not the same R seen in groups, that's for sure. RR even pushed me sometimes. Her wide, unblinking eyes freaked me out and made me talk. Sometimes. And then there was LB, of course who would turn to me, stare me down, and say Why, you haven't talked today. Answer this question. You don't know? You wrote something down. What does it say? ...it sucked but I got a lot out of it.

CM isn't the unhelpful one, I'm the unwilling one.

I had a good day though. I did. Well, it wasn't bad. I felt terrible when I woke up. It's like I had some kind of purging hangover. Some left over nausea and a splitting headache. Nothing a few Advils can't fix though. I had class and did homework...that was all. I haven't purged today. But It's only 3:00, so let me get through dinner before you say good job. I haven't really eaten anything substantial enough to purge either...but I still don't consider restricting to be a bad thing. I'll have to think more about why.

This was really pointless, I'm just extremely frustrated. I'm done with therapy.