from down here

Rock bottom isn't a place I've seen, at least not yet. But I felt a little closer to it yesterday. Most of it I spent alone, wandering Boston eating everything I could think of and vomiting it back up before the magic 1 hour mark passes. I don't know if this is true, but in my head at least, the stomach doesn't start doing anything with all that food until about 1 hour after it's eaten.

Instead of class (which I don't really like to attend anymore) I went to go smoke with my friend. He and I have been friends only for a few weeks, but he's a really nice guy. Yesterday I had to finally tell him we can't sleep together anymore. It hurts me too much to sleep with someone who doesn't care about me and who I don't care about in that way either. We had that conversation and things were fine afterwards, at least until his roommates came home. They're all acting majors, and they're too much personality for me to keep up with. I freaked, and left in a hurry, I'm sure they noticed.

Thats when the wandering an eating started. And so much purging. My stomach muscles are actually sore from all of it. By the end of my day I was exhausted and sad. I ended up at a bar with my friends, and only 3 beers later I was vomiting again, not by choice though.

My current idea is that I was so low on electrolytes that my body just couldn't do it anymore. It was so embarrassing to lose control that way. And it almost scares me enough to call for help.

opinion of me

His fingers never stopped moving, making little circles on my wrist, my stomach, my thigh. When his hands fell onto the healing cuts on my legs, I shifted the blanket we were under so he couldn't see. I don't know what I'll say if anyone ever sees. The way the lines are parallel and so numerous, it's obviously no accidental scratch, or an unlucky fall. I'm scared of my cuts for exactly the reason I made them- all the hurt and self-hate are visible on my body now.

Nothing he said in conversation was very impressive. But his height is. 15 inches taller than me, it's fun to tilt my head back that far to kiss him, fun to see the way his hands are so much bigger than mine. And I find it delightful that his hands know what to do, know the spots to look for, just where I want to be touched or held. Do some boys just know this inherently, or is it something past girlfriends have taught them? If it's the latter, I'd like to say thank you to each of them.

In a few minutes I should start getting ready to go to work. I spend all my time there trying to impress the managers and the other floor staff. The other day I paid for a beer I ordered by mistake instead of having a manager cancel it. I don't have money to throw away like that, but I couldn't face the embarrassment. I want them to think I'm smart and capable, interesting and worth having around. So far I only feel like the ugly new girl who can't do anything right, too dumb to tie her shoes.

unwell

What I wanted to say to him went something like this:

"I want you to treat me like I'm worth something to you. Give a damn about me and the things I love. Don't pressure me into things you know will hurt me; if I say I don't like something, don't do it again. I'm hurting right now, and you make things worse. But for some reason I can't stop wanting to be near you."

All I really said in the end was "I'm okay. Really, I'm okay." Even though I was trying not to cry and he could tell. He must have asked 100 times, and I never answered. I just don't want to be needy, and I can't say what I want to say without being dramatic and dumb. Because it's my fault, all of this. I was the one who kept showing up when he called, I'm the one making a choice to keep seeing him.

On Wednesday I cut two-inch lines into my thigh, one after another. I also added some to my collar bone, I always need to cut and scratch myself there. It feels so incredible to watch little drops of blood beed up and roll down my paper-white skin. It's like grotesque rain drops on a window pane, mesmerizing.

When he saw the cuts he gave me a look. I think he understands that they aren't from any kind of accident. When he asked I said I didn't want to talk about it. I wonder how many lines I can make before someone confronts me.