| Haunt You Every Day |
[Sep. 19th, 2008|04:47 am] |
I've started a lot of entries since I last posted, but in the end never felt like I was writing anything worth writing. It's been a bad week. In general, and especially in terms of my eating disorder - just crappy. And now it's almost five a.m. and I might be pulling my second all-nighter this week. It gets old, you know? All of it.
I guess I could use the time to do something productive. Read some of the assigned material, write a response to Book 4 of The Odyssey for my Greek Lit class, try to spit out some poetry for Poetry Writing. Something. Only, I seriously doubt my ability to comprehend anything that I read, and I really shouldn't try to put together a coherent response to the material I don't comprehend in the first place, not when I'm this sleep-deprived. (It might actually be beneficial for my attempts at poetry, though.)
I've barely been keeping any food down this week. I'm losing track of how many times I've been binging and purging in a day, it's that many. I'm running seriously low on money, and I'm starting to feel the physical effects of the combined marathon-purging and lack of sleep. On Wednesday I barely made it to Biblical Lit - the building is all the way across campus, and the entire walk over I felt like my head was disconnected from my body and my arms were numb. Every limb felt like it was floating, moving independently of my mind - freakiest thing ever. I finally made it to the building; I was ten minutes early and practically collapsed against the wall outside the classroom door. It took me a while to collect myself, and even then I seriously considered handing in the undeniably shitty paper I'd been up all night writing and going straight back to my room. I stuck around, but only because I didn't think I had the strength to walk back. I nearly passed out in my desk.
I can't keep doing this. Every day I wake up determined to make it through without binging or purging, but I always cave. Always. It's like I'm two people - one is dead-set on binging, refuses to acknowledge the trigger, and takes over my body the entire time; the other begs me not to do it, pleads with me to stop the entire time I'm eating, and is always left stranded when the time comes to purge. That steely, determined person vanishes at the hard part, and now each time purge I feel myself coming undone, weaker every time. It hurts. But I can't stop, I binge and purge even when I don't want to do it in the first place, and I don't know why. When will I start listening to the other part of me, the one that asks me not to?
I feel like a ghost. It's sick listening to the other girls on my floor laughing and talking to each other while I'm retching into my sink. And I'm not sleeping and I feel like I'm drowning, constantly drowning in exhaustion and stress and lies, and I don't even know if I want to try getting back to the surface now, not when it would be so much easier, such a relief, to just stop.
I'm not suicidal. Maybe it sounds that way, but I don't want to kill myself. I am self-injuring, just scratching my arms, although hard enough to leave marks that last the entire day. I like how raw it looks. I'm a walking cliche, really; it's kind of pathetic. But I'd cover myself in scars if it meant I wouldn't binge or purge anymore. I'd trade. It's horrible and wrong, but I would. At least the marks fade - as it is I'm rotting away from the inside out.
There's this sick idea that I have, and it's that I need to be messed up in order to be interesting, or worthy of attention. And that makes me reluctant to let go of my disorder, the thought that I'd be so ordinary without it. That's probably common, but it really pains me to realize how much I associate my disorder with my identity, when the fact is I'd be myself without it - probably a better version of myself, in fact. I know I have more to offer the world than plastic bags full of vomit, but it's harder than you'd think to remember that, when you feel like you're disappearing.
I'm probably going to regret posting such a long, angsty entry later, but hey, it's been nearly a week since I last updated and I wouldn't want to inadvertently bring about the apocalypse or anything. I've been such a mess lately. I don't know what I'm going to tell my mom when she comes up to see me this weekend. I want to let someone know what's happening, but I also don't want to freak her out. And if she knew how often I've been purging, and how depressed I feel, she'd have a panic attack or worse. I'm meeting with a therapist next week, so since I know I'll sort of be laying everything out on the table then, I might just keep all this to myself for now.
Anyway, I'm really tired now, so I might just snag a few hours of sleep - it's better than nothing, right?
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