Free

I want to run until I feel the chains sliding off me, till the wind is all I hear. I need to escape from my thoughts, forget everything that causes my pain. I need to be sure of something again. I want to pretend that I can handle life by doing something radical. I need to stop being reckless, with my thoughts as well as my actions. I need to feel success infecting every inch of my scarred body, pouring out of every wrinkle and pore. I want a life free of self-hate and self-mutilation and self-destruction and self-medication.

Purge

Welcome back, bulimia monster: the pestering house guest everyone wishes would leave, except no one knows what to do with themselves once it's gone. You grow comfortable with those routines; you learn to accept the schedule; you become skilled in merging aspects of the old life with the intrusion. You know your patterns, habits, triggers. You're constantly jumping at opportunities to cheat and bounce back up with the help of your finger. You don't stop until you feel yourself dry heaving, until your knuckle is scraped raw, until your knees, imprinted with carpet or sliding on the tiles, shake and surrender. But in your head, you are king; in your head, you should keep going because the only thing in the way of your success is your own strength.


For two days, I couldn't not purge. And when I purged, the post-purge disgusting feelings that keep me from eating my next meal were overpowered by the need to shove my hand down my throat. So I kept eating and going back and forth between my room and the kitchen, the bathroom and the grocery store. Last night, I didn't think I would be able to keep that granola bar and apple down, despite every effort to be normal. But I did; I kept it down, and the regret made me feel like puking all over again. The disappointment I felt left me trembling and shuddering...if only I could be this disciplined when it came to restricting. I hope the sudden outburst of purging has ended because that sickness is addicting. Besides, it never puts me at ease because I can't count the calories in the toilet bowl. I don't know why I tried to make myself throw up that first time over a year ago, but whatever compelled me must have been so overpowering because I swore to myself purging would be the one thing I would never attempt. And now that the first time is over and done with, the slope becomes slippery; I find myself wanting to continue.
My throat really suffered this weekend: after purging on Friday and continuing throughout the day, I went out and drank that night. My throat wasn't feeling too horrible, just a little congested. But more purging and a hell of a shot and my throat was on fire. I will never again drink Goldschlager, especially if I had been purging. That thing tastes like 100 melted cinnamon hearts blazing, making a fire trail down your intestines.

I'm still finding life overwhelming. I need to take care of so many things, and I'm just going out or sitting on my bed...but even that is an upgrade. I'm not hating everything and everyone around me as much, and I'm willing to make baby steps. I found so many times this week that my patience was going to run out, especially when I was with my sister -- my family is my trigger, and I wanted so badly to have a fit over multiple little things, but I realized that these problems I have are just that: little. My perception has been skewed for so long, and I'm relatively done with being on the edge of these uncontrollable emotions. I really want to believe that this power is coming from within myself, but I'm scared that I'm just having one of those invincible weeks that come with borderline. I feel this time is different because I'm seeing the flaws within myself and working to control myself instead of just feeling bulletproof. I need to write a letter to receive a grant for school because I messed up last year so badly. I have to explain why this year will be different, why I'm in a better place...I've been putting it off because I never knew how I was going to feel the next day: I wasn't sure if I was actually better and up for this year. But now I know -- more or less, but everyone has doubts. I need to find an apartment, and that's probably the biggest challenge because once I'm all set in the city, I know I will be going to school; there will be no more room for a change in plans.


Isobel, thank you for that comment last month: I'm already feeling happier. I think that burden of having planned my death before this birthday was weighing down on me and making me go crazy. Now that I'm not living day-to-day and making decisions based on that looming date, I feel more free...I'm just hoping this good feeling will continue :).

Sarah, haha you made me smile. Yes to periods. Ya, I know that attitude is crap and I should focus more long-term than short-term, but if you don't feel the burn and the pain in the short-term, you're setting yourself up for failure because you won't be giving it your all. I shouldn't be that harsh though; you're right. Two weeks is really just the starting point :).

Period

Oh the pain a period brings. At least the worry in the back of my head that my nights of drunkenness led to pregnancy is gone. There's my paranoia for you: still a virgin, but afraid of being preggers. But I guess it could happen.
I've been debating whether or not I should buy a scale. Idk what's holding me back really, no concrete reason; I just feel uneasy about the whole ordeal.
Speaking of ordeals: each day brings me closer to September, which means moving out of my comfy current apartment downtown into a new one about 6 hours away so I can go back to the school that did nothing good for me. I feel so overwhelmed even trying to plan a trip up there to look at apartments...that's my problem nowadays: I'm too overwhelmed, even to post here, and that's why often times I don't. The only thing that takes no effort on my part is lying in bed as the sun rises and sets and shit gets done by other people, so I indulge in this outrageous lifestyle. After all, nothing can be expected of me if I have no job, break ties with my mother and discourage friends from asking me to come out.
I hoped that my best friend (who I think I only hold on to after over a year of not seeing him because he's the person who annoys me the least) would live in Toronto by now. But no -- his inability to take care of anything unless it's laid out in front of him on a silver platter is aggravating and tiring. He says he'll come down here for a week (I guess to see me since he won't have a chance to once summer's up?)...but his plans rarely come into fruition (once again, the silver platter thing).
I have 2 weeks to be a fitter me. If I haven't smartened up by then, I'm useless. I'm meeting the person who used to live in my room at that time, as well as seeing his brother whom I haven't seen since moving in, and I just want someone to look at me and say "Woah, you've changed." I want to feel the gratification spread through my body, my head to swell up and know I'm doing something right. I'm also going to look at apartments for the new school year some time this month, and I'm seeing people I haven't seen since March. I need to make an impression. And when I go back again in September, I need to look even better. I hope and I pray that thin will take me back to the days when I was unstoppable, to the days when I could at least get out of bed.

Failure

Why do I keep this blog? Look at me: less than 3 days and I'm already done. All of my planning, the things I wanted for my 19th year...all a waste because I'm back in hell.
I need help with my borderline disorder. But I can't let go of this "perceived control." I like to think that at least I'm not using meds to keep order. Too bad that there is no fucking order. I need help thinking, breathing without hyperventilating, showering every day (yes, I can be at that level of disgusting...but who needs to shower when they spend all day in their fucking bed?)
I really am pathetic. If I'm not binging on food, I'm being a slut (or at least thinking of it), or drinking like a fiend. Thank the lord almighty that I'm still a virgin..otherwise, who knows how many diseases I would have, how much lower my self-esteem could get. Speaking of "the lord"...I was in such high spirits that I was considering returning to my faith, begging on my knees for absolution from my many sins.
I hate this roller coaster of emotion. Yesterday I was David; today I fell like Goliath. I don't want to feel invincible; I don't need to be perfect -- I want to walk down the street thinking about my plans for the next day, instead of obsessing over what people may be thinking; I want to eat a bowl of ice cream without a second though, instead of devouring the whole damn thing and exercising like a fiend. I hate my mind and my thoughts more than I hate my body.

Yesterday I was with my sister. Her guy friend joined us later on. He's about 6 years older than me. I have no interest in him -- I actually sometimes find him disgusting because he so freely expresses his need for sex and makes the girls seem like nameless, faceless objects. But I needed him: I wanted to be that nameless, faceless object. I wished he could, just for a night, be interested in me. I wanted to get drunk and jump him...to put it bluntly. It was probably the fact that my sister was with us that I did none of that, but I want to think it was because these filthy imaginations are just that for me -- imaginations -- and I won't act on them. My year of university and my share of nameless, faceless guys has taught me otherwise. I need to be needed. I need to be the centre of attention. That's why the boy who I never gave my heart to shattered it: he replaced me and, even though there have been other guys, I have not replaced him. He was the one who came back to me time after time, fight after fight. I like to be in denial, but I won't act dumb now: he used me, and I let him. I encouraged him to treat me horribly, so long as he treated me like something, anything at all. He wasn't the right person for me, but he was there to touch, to feel, to fight with, to hit, to obsess over. Now I won't have him. Now, I can only watch the messages on his wall from her. And if all of that wasn't a big enough confession: I am a horrible person. I hope I see him when I go back to university. I hope he's not in love with her, or he's willing to cheat on her. I can't even believe these thoughts have occurred to me. I remember hooking up with a guy, only to find out later that he had a girlfriend: I felt horrible, terrible, disgusted with myself: I didn't want to be that girl. I didn't want to hurt someone else, even if I had no idea. But in the current situation, I feel like I own him. I don't know why, and I know it's so wrong. But, no matter how many times I tell myself that I NEED TO STOP, the feeling remains. For the sake of my sanity and this girl, I hope I never see this guy again. I hope he doesn't wish me a happy birthday so I can hate him for forgetting, so I can fuel that hatred towards not wanting him physically when I go back to university.

This morning I went to sleep after 8am. If you had been with me for that painful hour as I tried to fall asleep, you would think I was a drug addict. My hands are shaking; my breath's getting shorter and shorter; my vision: doubling, tripling; my voice needs to be heard, to scream out, but that look of utter terror is frozen on my features; my legs are numb, stick straight, tingling. I'm convinced someone is taking pity on me, taking me off this earth. I'm afraid because it's taking so long. But I'm not resisting because I can finally be GONE. Wake up at 1:30pm -- phone call from my mother. "I'm having a bad day mom." I can feel the hatred pouring out of me, but I don't know why exactly. It's not June anymore. I can't fool myself: 2 days until my birthday. My 19th birthday, and I am still alive -- time's up. My greatest birthday wish is to gone without consequence, for my family to live on as if nothing happened, as if I had never been. Being alive means not knowing what will come next. I don't know how I outlived my own predictions...February came, and my family's voice over the phone stopped me. April passed and I couldn't do it because I wasn't all alone at university anymore -- I had dropped out and was back home. Now the third date rolls around, and I can't understand why I'll be alive at 19. I don't want to live until 19. I didn't plan as far as this. I'm panicking and being reckless and hating myself.

Falling

I can't get him out of my head,
(Now he's with a girl who's 4 years younger than him - disgusting,)

and he keeps coming back into my life,
(and I wish I still had what she has - pathetic,)

and I never stop him.
(even though I don't want him anymore - could I be wrong?)
I wish I could still be special in his eyes. I wish I didn't hate him.



Stay tuned for the lowdown -- the goings-on of my life in one blogpost -- on Monday.