Going Inpatient

Yeah, you know, the hospital. I'm going to try to stay off the eating disorder unit and stick to the regular old crazy person ward. I'll find out in a couple days. Even though I'm at an anorexic weight, I haven't lost 15% of my body weight or whatever so hopefully no red flags will go off.

I'm going in because my risk for self harm, aka suicide, is increasing exponentially. I know I'm not safe in my own head right now. Fuck wellbutrin. I've been off it for...a couple weeks? A few? But I can't shake the feeling it left in its wake.

I wish I had a modern phone so as to update all my internet stuffs while I'm IP. Who knows, maybe they have allowances for online time there. It is 2011, after all.

I'll be back. Disgustingly enough, I'll probably be skinnier than I've been for a long time when I get out. Going under 90 pounds will be a breeze in that environment.

Fuck this life.

94.5, slow going

Finally under 95 again. This is ridiculous. For less than a month, I was over 95, but it was ruining every day.

Two and a half pounds to the safer zone though, so I'm not going to bitch about this weight. I know it'll keep going down, especially once it starts to get warmer, if ever Spring comes. Another 40 days or so of Winter. I'm so over the cold...being cold 24/7.

Whatever, I weigh less than the other day. I puked today though. Oopsie.

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omg, I want to barf so badly

At what point did being full become so bad? Hmm... You know, I actually remember the first time I felt like my hunger exceeded what I was allowed to eat.

Image by nyer82 via Flickr

I was 13. My best friend and I ate not one, but two boxes of kraft mac and cheese. Because we had spent the sticky, hot, summer day swimming and babysitting, we were starving. At some point after our oh-so-healthy meal, it occurred to me that I'd had entirely too much.


Prior to that day, I never gave food a whole lot of thought, not in terms of calories anyway. What stands out is that I started to believe that there were limits to what I could have, what I had the right to have.

That summer was a breaking point in so many ways; most pointedly, I was developing and feeling kind of pretty, wishing I knew how to be sexy. Then, I was molested. Go figure, einstein. 

Presently, I can't stop obsessing (redundant, I know) about throwing up. I just really want to feel empty, empty, empty. Void. Non-existent. Desperately, I wish my brain would shut the actual fuck up. Puking isn't an option. Additionally, I haven't done it for over a week now. I hate this so, so much. Especially because I'm clueless as to what and who in the hell I am without ED behaviors to control my boundaries.

fuck it