fighting for me

I need someone to fight for me, to be disappointed when I skip doctor's appointments, to realize when I'm pulling bullshit to get through. It's like because I'm not visibly sick I'm not any cause for alarm. Right now I'm not accountable to anyone, if I win or lose it's all on me. What a terribly lonely feeling.

Last week I sent an email to my therapist at the eating disorder center saying I wanted to quit treatment. She responded just wanting to know if I was going to continue therapy, or stop that as well. She didn't try to convince me to stay, tell me I needed to try harder. I'm slipping though the cracks, no one is going to catch me. Part of me is wishing for a heart attack or something serious enough to take some of these decisions out of my hands.

the key

I think I know how I can win this game. Simple. Just spend more time on planning and strategy. If I plotted out each day in advance, when I would eat each meal and possible options, I'd never need to panic or spin out emotionally over whether or not to buy anything with carbs in it. But to plan, I must be more focused, and set time apart for the planning. That's the key, really.

But what if it works? What if I'm successful? Not just in this weight thing, this thing that really in the end only matters to me. What happens if I can get my shit together and venture into the larger world? I'm starting to realize that I'm always going to be me when I grow up. I'm not going to magically transform into wonder woman in order to be independent. Little me, feeble and frightened, has to do all the things I've dreamed up for myself. In my own skin, I have to chase a career and a relationship, to travel, to earn money and build a life, a family. How could I do any of those things? I'm just not capable, I'm inadequate.

I'm so fucking terrified of growing up and growing older. What happens when I'm 25 and 30 and 40? I'm only good at being young. Maybe I'll always be this emotional, but I hope not. I'd rather be peaceful, accepting. Confident. I want to be a lot of things.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Each time I think of posting, I think but I just did that. And each time it has been more than a week. I miss posting regularly, and it's nice to be able to look back on. The trouble is that looking back makes me so sad. When I remember things in terms of time, last semester or October 2012 I tend only to remember the good things, the big things. Reading old posts brings back everything, the heartbreaking depressingasfuck details of my everyday life.

I'm so tired, and my legs are sore. But I'm excited to be thinner. I will be thinner, it's summer and I'm focused. I've been kicked out of IOP (my outpatient program) for poor attendance. Not that I was actually making any efforts towards getting better. Yes, I puke a little less now, but I'm also able to eat far fewer calories now that there is more sunlight and less self-hatred.

Actually, the depression isn't that bad lately. I'm feeling okay. I'm tired and missing having a man in my life, though. I'm seeing a therapist now, but I still have to find a nutritionist. Well, I guess I used to have to since that was a program requirement but I guess now that I'm not in IOP I don't have to find a nutritionist after all. Oh well. I think I'd just like to get very sick. Move into the land of thin and restriction, control and constantly getting smaller.

April now

I keep a journal of everything I eat and everything I do now. It used to be an app on my phone, now it's a little blue book. I like the book, I can write things exactly how they are supposed to be.

This morning I went for a run. I was planning to run towards the river, along the running path to Harvard, then back. I only made it half way, my ears were cold and my head hurt from the caffeine pills I've been taking on an irregular schedule.

I don't know when I've ever been so careful about what I eat. When I've ever measured and prodded my food with such precision. Writing this, I'm trying not to cry. I'm feeling smaller, prettier, but also so unbelievably constricted, hopeless. Skittering energy. Launching and crashing, hyper-active then hiding away from anything that involves movement or people. Only want to cry and have someone hold me. I want someone who loves me to take care of me. No, I will have to do that all myself.

What will you do? What will you be? How will you survive? What will your story be? They all want to know. I wish I had the answer, or at least a more convincing response. I wish I had the follow through, that my spoken-aloud dreams weren't straight lies.

Oh I'm so sick. I hurt so badly. I don't know where the cure is, how I will ever find it. I look and I try and I whisper, help.