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.

not butterflies and rainbows.

I'm finally here--at college. I was at ACE from January to August counting down the days and telling everyone that once I got to college, that'd be it. I'd be healed. Magically. It'd be Butterflies and Rainbows and pure happiness and bliss. And everyone said "stop biting your time. it doesn't work like that" and I nodded and said I knew, but really I was thinking "you know nothing, go fuck yourself". So I broke my record of one month purge-free my second day in Illinois. Anxiety is eating me alive and I'm quickly spiraling down to where I was when I got chucked into IOP at ACE in January. Multiple purges in a day...I'm getting into inpatient territory here and I know it. It's not even bingeing. I'm not even eating normal meals, I'm restricting and purging...so of course when I had a blood test my levels were insanely fucked up and now I'm going to some hospital for groups. My old individual was right. She said she didn't think I was ready to go. She said "good luck, I hope everything works out...I just don't think you're ready". So I didn't talk to her in sessions for a month. I'm so mature. I want my first individual back. I haven't even seen her since December, but I was the most connected with her. And only two at ACE..out of a grand total of 14 or something...counting the useless interns. Anyway. This is going nowhere...just like my recovery.

It's really hard to love yourself after hating yourself for so long. That's what I've come to. 5 years later and I still detest every part of myself. I carry around that stupid shell from ACE. It's in my purse. I don't know where to put it, so I just left it there. I see it every once and a while when I look for stuff in my purse, and it's the strangest feeling of warmth and acceptance. And regret.

It's not that I'm having a bad time. Because I'm not. But when I'm having fun, it's usually because I'm drunk or high. Or both. Like last night...which was the best night I've had so far, and I was drunk and high with an insanely hot guy. But he ruined it by being all over me. Which brings up the irony of wanting a relationship extremely bad because I want to feel loved. But I can't be touched. I don't want to kiss anyone...I don't even want to hug or hold hands. I don't want to be loved because I know it'll end and I don't know if I can be loved. I don't think I can accept it. I feel like such an idiot saying I "can't" be touched. I've had nothing traumatic happen to me relating to that...but I hate when people are affectionate towards me. I hate being brushed up against, and do not hug me unless you ask first...I feel like such an idiot for acting like that. I have no reason to. Am I just that much of a cold-hearted bitch? Apparently. I should've gone to inpatient this summer and gone to UGA or something. That's not what I wanted but I don't want to be in this place emotionally either. Getting out of Georgia made it worse because of my anxiety--according to the ACE scale...I'm a constant 10. Unless, of course I'm high. I should really stop drinking and smoking so I don't have other addictions to worry about. Fuck it. Maybe groups will help. Or maybe my parents will say "what the fuck, you're not better? ok. You're out of school, go to inpatient and then live at home until you can figure your goddamned life out".

SOMEONE BUILD ME A TIME MACHINE.