Panic

Everyone is going to leave me.
All the people that I used to be friends with here left for college and got on with their lives.
They stopped caring because they had better things to care about.
Now I feel like the people I have no are going to forget about me too.
It's a really small group of people but I thought if I only had a few friends they'd be less likely to leave me.
They are all getting older and closer and closer to their graduations and they are going to go off to some big university and forget about me.
And I'll just be sitting here.
Rotting away in my bedroom wishing someone could save me or kill me.
I'm never going to get to college.
All the things I wanted to do in my life are never going to happen.
Mostly because I don't think I'll ever have the courage to actually accomplish anything.
Especially if the things I want to do are for myself.
I spend ten years getting better and worse better worse betterish then so much worse again.
There is no college for me.
No art school will ever take me.
I might as well just die because I'm never going to be the person I want to be.
But I'm not even good at dying.
So I'll just sit here and wait for my body to give up on its own accord.
And as I sit here I'll watch them leave.
They always leave.

Family. Fuck no.

Just remembered that Mom wants to go visit my Grandma next week.
That means we have to go into Gibsonburg and see all my family.
I am not thin enough to go see my family.
Weighed myself this morning and I'm finally back down to 139 but a week is not enough time for me to lose 20 more pounds.
Kinda freaking out right now.
My family always comments on how I look and unless there is a very visible change with my weight they are going to think I've been eating the same way I was before?
One thing about my family is that they fucking feed you.
You go there for dinner and you will gain about 5 pounds in one sitting.
There isn't really a way for me to get out of eating there.
I also need to wear long sleeves and I look so fat in everything I own.
Two of my cousins have been dieting and going to the gym for about a year now and they got so thin I cannot be seen around them being so fat.
I feel like I failed?
Last time I saw them I made myself a promise that I would be a lot thinner when I saw them again.
139 pounds is a little less than I was but that's still too much.
Way way too much I'm so upset with myself.
If I didn't think I would binge like crazy I would start a week long fast but I would binge.
Not to mention the fact that I will have to eat constantly around my mother and I know I'm going to gain.
There is nothing more terrifying to me right now than gaining weight.
I haven't even eaten today but I'm so bloated.
Now I'm also really anxious so I'm afraid I won't be able to eat or if I do eat I'll have to purge.
I only purge when I eat too much of a safe food (i.e. three mugs-always eaten in a mug- of cheerios in less than a 24 time span) or I've eaten a food that makes me anxious.
But if I keep thinking about this everything is going to make me anxious.
I don't want to see my family.
I don't want to turn nineteen.
I don't want to be forced to eat.
Can I please just sleep through the next two weeks?

Longing

Sometimes I look at all these girls I follow who are recovering and I get jealous.
Not just of their courage and the fact that they are happier but also the treatment programs themselves.
It may seem contradictory but I think treatment would be great for me.
Being on a locked ward has generally helped me in the past.
Picking out my meal options setting up a plan for therapy and working towards a happier life seems wonderful.
Realistically I'm never going to ask for help.
That's just not happening.
I actually need people to see whats going on with me.
For someone to acknowledge that they see my suffering would be not only justification but also a huge relief.
Right now I'm in charge of my life and I'm making a huge mess of it.
To have a person come in and see the severity of my illness and say "You need  help." is all I want really.
It's so contradictory that I'm getting sick to get well.
But in order for people to notice the danger they actually have to see physical symptoms and side effects.
Don't get me wrong.
I only feel like this on certain days.
Mostly I think only of the numbers on the scale or how many calories I've eaten, how my weight translates into kilos, when can I eat, is my current system working, where can I cut back, do I need to add more exercise to my daily routine or am I too exhausted on average is my intake low or should I snip a few more calories off etc etc.
And as I sit here thinking "wow I wish I could recover" or "she's doing so well in recovery!" I pop another diet pill and think about when I can allow myself to eat today.
Really it's an exhausting miserable existence but it's mine and I can't seem to get out of it.
When I think about how lovely recovery could be for me I know realistically I'm going to cry and hate it and myself and everyone who pushed me to recover when I get there.
But I also know that this constant misery isn't better and when I'm ready to I will recover and I will give it my all.
For now I'll subsist on Cheerios and frozen raspberries.

Actually trying to make changes wo a h

Going to try and be productive today.
There's a list of things I need to get done so maybe I can actually start pretending I'm actually living.
Versus what I've been doing which consists mostly of sleeping and eating too much.
Mom is coming in for my birthday and she wants me to get a bunch of shit done before she gets here.
Over the summer Dad gutted my room and set up some of my new furniture but it's still under construction.
She wants that finished by the 23rd.
I've already come to terms with the fact that this shit isn't getting finished before then but if I pretend I'm trying maybe she won't be angry with me.
When Dad wakes up I'm going to pluck my eyebrows and beg him to take me to a sporting goods store to get exercise equipment.
If I'm doing this shit I might as well go all out and although I'm about as athletic as a boulder I feel like maybe I can try to do something in the realm of physical activity.
Besides the whole going to try and exercise thing I'm also keeping a new food journal and I'm going to try and keep a routine.
I've been trying to establish some sort of routine in my life for years now but since I'm not currently attending school or working it might actually work for once.
I am also going to start making lists for things that need to get done or that I want to accomplish.
For normal people who actually do shit with their lives my list might seem pathetic but keep in mind I'm pretty much a fucking sloth.

6.10.13//
-pluck my eyebrows (got like caterpillars growing on my fucking forehead shit is ridiculous)
-convince Dad it is imperative that I have exercise equipment
-wash my bedroom walls (they have like black scuffs on them from my old furniture ugh)
-do some fucking laundry holy shit I have the equivalent to the Appalachian Mountains in dirty laundry
-shave my legs I may or may not wear shorts depending on the temperature and my degree of laziness
-paint nails
-study for my drivers license
-straighten up my room so I don't have boxes of shit everywhere
-call Mom so she doesn't bitch that I never fucking call her
-smoke cigarette with Samantha (I miss her face stupid brat going to college and doing things with her life)
-find a link for Black Swan online
-write in food journal
-weigh myself probably fifty times and cry a lot
-also read Wasted

I'm actually very excited about painting my nails.
My nails haven't been painted in so long and I'm gonna make them all cute and Halloween themed.
And getting exercise equipment is productive in the way of weight loss so I feel like I'm actually working for the things I want which is super cool and something I never do ever.
Maybe my day won't actually be too bad we'll see how it goes.

Mania

I'm manic again.
My hands are shaking and I have this never ending panicky feeling that sits in my chest.
All these fears of my future keep swirling around in my head like an awful horror story lullaby sung by those creepy dead children.
I won't ever get into school.
No where near good enough to get into art school.
I'll be living here for the rest of my life bingeing and purging left overs from three weeks ago and breathing putrid bile smelling air.
My art isn't good enough for art school and even if I got in I'd never be able to keep up with the pace of the class or the work load.
I'm going to be a failure.
I'm going to be fat and unhappy for the rest of my pathetic existence.
I'm going to lose everyone I love because I'm a worthless piece of shit.
It just goes on and on.
I need a change and it needs to happen soon.
But it requires me to actually suck up my feelings of inadequacy and just DO IT.
Not to mention all this shit is so terrifying.
I'll be on my own at college no one to hold my hand and I won't be good enough everyone will hate me.
And with good reason jesus fucking christ.
It all seems so irration when I type it out like this but I know that when facing the situation I'm going to burn holes in my arms with cigarettes and give the fuck up.
I never stick with anything and I always give up because if you don't try you can't fail and if you quit no one can really say that you wouldn't have made it right?
I just don't know what to do and I'm so scared of my future and growing up no one ever prepared me for this and I'm fucking terrified.

Rotting

I'm growing antsy in my own skin.
Everything is itchy and too tight and too uncomfortable.
There's a frightening awareness of how fucked up my life is that keeps popping up whenever I try to sleep.
My shit was supposed to be put together by now.
Still don't have my drivers license.
I have yet to apply for jobs or register for spring classes.
The portfolio that is essential for me to get into art school has been collecting dust for three years.
My hands are shaking.
Anxious doesn't even being to describe how I feel.
There's a heavy weight of shame and guilt that sits on my shoulders.
It's unshakable and I'm beginning to think I will be saddled with this dread for the rest of my existence.
This is an entirely unpleasant life I'm leading here.
Getting out of bed shouldn't be such a feat and I should have higher standards by which to judge my stability.
What stability do I really have though?
Sure I'm not vomiting everyday and I've been showering regularly but staying in your room for six days isn't living.
None of what I do can be considered living actually.
I've been rereading Wasted whenever my head gets too small to contain my self loathing.
Don't know how I got it in my head that reading the book that contains all my shame and insecurities could possibly be therapeutic but that doesn't exactly stop me from scribbling in the already full margins.
I think I'm losing the only person in my life who matters and I'm trying to pretend it doesn't make me want to die.
But I'm going to focus on the things that I can control right now so I'll pop a diet pill and make myself  tea.
Maybe I'll have another cigarette too.
I miss Lukas so much it's hard to breathe.
Not that my lungs ever worked well to begin with.

I need to get thinner.
Nothing else matters right now.
If I try to focus on anything other than this it'll all fall apart.
This is all I need.