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.