i just come to this blog to complain about things.
i just finished my last final. i’m going back home tomorrow and it’s bittersweet; i keep breaking into tears because i may never see R again. it kinda hurts a lot. i won’t be able to weigh myself when i go home and that makes me really really scared. i hope i am a few pounds less tomorrow so i won’t go back too panicked.
i am manic-y and depressed at the same time and i can’t stop moving and i can’t sleep but i am also crying and sad and pissed and drawing a lot and mad about my life and how everyone leaves and how i find someone special and then it just call gets fucked up. i will be forever in a relationship with my eating disorder and that’s all. because people always leave.
ugh im just so dissatisfied with everything
tomorrow i have to do 7 hours of yoga but i’m going to eat a yogurt and a salad and then im gonna fast until i go back home. food is so fucking scary and i can’t handle it.
today, i:
slept for like 2 hours before an 8 am final for NO reason other than i am hypomanic and that i talked to R right before going to bed.
took an 8 am final for genetics. felt like i was gonna pass out the entire time because of no sleep and no food.
am two pounds away from being under 100. the lowest i’ve been in ages. i feel like shit.
tried to take a nap when i got home but was miserably unsuccessful. ended up mini-bingeing instead. great.
have to go do a million more things, including finishing a paper for tomorrow and go to a chem review session for a final on tuesday. and it’s my friends birthday and we’re supposed to go drinking. and i want R to come so i can drunkenly tell him how much i like him and get it off my chest because i’ve been rehearsing it in my head and the more i say it in there the less i am going to say it out loud until i get a few drinks in me. yesterday he found out a little bit about my crazy and he’s still talking to me, so…good signs.
feel and look like i gained 700 pounds in 2 hours from eating. UGH kill me.
just some thoughts, because this is literally my only place to vent. my therapist judges me and threatens to get a court case against me trying to put me into treatment when i speak freely about my eating disorder, so i’ve started to censor myself. in fucking therapy. so i don’t even know anymore.
i’m a lot happier than i was. i went through a fucking dark, deep sad pit of suicidal depression the past few months and i am a lot happier. thank god. my brain is working better, i am pulling my grades up in the final stretch (SERIOUSLY-two weeks left) of the semester to get just above a 3.2 GPA if i do well on finals. that’s below average for me, pretty good overall. mood better, check. not gonna kill myself, check. stopped cutting, check. started eating? different story. it is so BEYOND my control at this point. that is hard for me to admit- i am a motherfucking control freak. i go through painstaking processes to make sure nothing gets out of my realm of power. but this. this has stretched out of my grasp. and i feel like it’s been that way for a long time, it’s just been dormant. right now, i am one hundred percent afraid of food. i go in to the kitchen, to a cafe, to the dining hall with the full intention to eat. i plan it out in my head. i count all the calories. i get comfortable with what i am about to put in my mouth. and then, abruptly, i turn and leave. i can’t do it. food is my biggest fear. it’s not some bullshit about getting fat, although i can’t truthfully deny that i get a certain satisfaction about seeing the numbers go down on the scale. that’s NOT why, though. it’s never been why. it’s been a convenient side effect, another method of control—the control over my body, my appearance— but it’s not the root of the problem. and now this cowering-in-a-corner, crying-like-a-baby, severe as fuck PHOBIA of food is so overwhelmingly out of my control, i don’t know what to do. i do eat, some. i have very few safe foods that i allow myself to eat- mostly a few types of fruit and vegetables, pita bread, noodles, egg whites, granola bars, skim milk in my coffee. same foods, over and over. monotony. and in confined amounts because too much of it gets confusing and anxiety-producing.
it would be so easy if i could just open my goddamn mouth and TELL someone. like my mother. just tell someone. i told a friend the other day, but of course she can’t really do anything about it, and it’s not her place to. plus i act like i have everything under control, and no one knows differently. so even if i admit i have a problem, it doesn’t seem like it, and i don’t look like it, so in essence, i don’t.
however. however. i am only two pounds heavier than the second and last time i went inpatient. and although i was not severely underweight like the first time, they had to do some serious physical stabilization, especially with my electrolytes. and from the heart palpitations and chest pain i’ve been having, i can only assume that something weird is going on again.
but as menial as body image is compared to the rest of my food issues, i do not want to gain weight in treatment. and i know since i’ve been eating so little, my metabolism is shot, and i will go through refeeding syndrome and gain a million pounds and look like a bloated whale. it happened last time, it will happen again. and bottom line: treatment is just MASKING THE PROBLEM. having “fear foods” is not the same as having “food phobias” and treatment centers don’t seem to fucking understand that. plus i have so many things to do. and i can’t put my life on hold- put my last semester of college on hold- to go back into treatment. i just. fucking. can’t.
a part of me wants all of this to end. actually, all of me wants all of this to end, of course. but a part of me wants to give up, tell my mother, relinquish. go back into treatment. have someone essentially hold a fork to my mouth and say, “here. eat.” because apparently, i can’t do it myself. but that hardheaded, practical side of me is screaming, i can’t, i can’t, i can’t.
so i’m at an impasse. and i don’t know what to do. and i’m tired and lost and i wish my best friend would call me back and tell me everything is gonna be okay.
made my first meal of the day.
being the clumsy fuck i am, i dropped it on the floor.
why. do i. even. bother.
(Source: youjustinspiredme, via howtovisualizeyourweakness)
(Source: bloodisthicker-thanwater, via the-painted-bird)
trigger warning.
because i’ve been a dripping pile of depression for the past a million infinity weeks, there are a few feelings that i can only remotely enjoy anymore:
when the scale goes down
the high i get from not eating for a few days
the brief few-minute high from smoking a cigarette, till it feels like im about to pass out and then i feel like shit.
the end.
lol this blog is so boring my life sux
this paper is the biggest pile of crap i have ever written and its not getting any better before tomorrow because my brain has officially stopped working.
i have eaten like nothing today and i’m going out drinking which sounds disastrous, whatever.
i invited the boy out, and he had stuff to do. this is what happens when i get ballsy. he said we’d get a drink after the next exam…….which is not like for another five million years. gives me enough time to lose 5 pounds. god he’s fucking gorgeous and smart and driven and the perfect man and everything that i should not be with because i am a mess of a human.
my life has been trying to not miserably fail my second-to-last semester of classes while not going crazy from restricting and not having any friends and being hopelessly in love with this stupid person i sit next to three times a week
i seriously feel like i’m in high school again. just as manic, just as clueless. life is so cyclical.
