I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry

Liam and I are done. Done, as in, done. And I'm telling you think for accountability's sake, because I'm not going back. This is the fifth time we've broken up in a year, and I'm so fucking done with it. This is the first time I initiated it myself.
And yeah, I can admit that it was 50% pulling my head out of my ass, and 50% my eating disorder making me choose between him and her. And I chose her. Sometimes, it's good to lean on her for support, even if it's for the wrong reasons.

And I can't stop thinking about Grant, and fuck me if I don't have the absolute worst taste in men. Apparently I'm a glutton for punishment. Or I just can't give or receive love without throwing a little Stockholm Syndrome or general fuck-up-ed-ness into the mix.

I don't know where my mind is, and I don't know where my commitment lies, except in getting down to 125. School's out for summer and, aside from my thesis, that's all I care about.

I've never been so ready to quit.

And someone pushed me back up the hill again. I go in for Intensive Outpatient Treatment on May 3rd, for at least a month. It's group therapy three hours a day, five days a week, not counting the extra two hours I'll spend every week with a nutritionist and personal therapist. I can admit that at this moment, today, I have absolutely no desire to go. I'm only going because my therapist scared me into it, and because Liam is twisting my arm. He says if I don't get help, he'll never speak to me again. That's a pretty solid threat, seeing as I'm in love with him. 

I don't want to go. At all. Whatsoever. I don't want to get better. I'm still too fat for recovery. I have nothing to recover from yet. I'm not there. I still weigh over 135 pounds. I'm not there yet. I'm not ready for this. I don't want this now. 

And I can honestly say that I've never been this depressed in my life. It's a weird feeling, hopelessness. This is relatively new for me, though from a clinical standpoint, I'd say this is probably my third major depressive episode about a year and a half. I've never been so ready to quit. Just let go. I feel worse every time I wake up and realize that I woke up and all I have left to look forward to is waking up. I know Liam loves me, but I don't believe it. I don't believe he'll stay with me throughout all this. I believe I'll go to therapy and get "better," and once I'm "better," he'll finally feel like it's okay to leave. And then I'll relapse. And I'll have nowhere left to go. And I can't tell him any of that because it sounds like blackmail. "Stay with me or I'll starve myself to death." And that's not why I want him to stay. 

That's the sort of tragic inevitability of it all, and I feel like I've started to accept it, as melodramatic as it sounds. He'll leave. Everyone will leave. And then it will just be me. And then no one. 

Riding the high

Finally back into the 130's! I hit 138 this morning, and I couldn't be happier. Well, technically yesterday morning. Right now it's 1:30am. I'm watching A Streetcar Named Desire, grading Research Methods papers, and picking up the apartment so Dinah doesn't have so many places to get lost. She's still tiny enough that she can get lost in a studio apartment.
Haven't gone over 500 calories in the last 5 days. Ironically, I feel like I have much more energy than normal (though that could be because having to wake up and feed the kitten at 8am is putting my sleep schedule back in order). Either way, I'm riding the high right now, wherever it's coming from. I've also stopped getting so upset at little problems in my life, academically, socially, romantically, or otherwise. Liam and I are getting along much better and my stress level has dropped. I know that's because I'm transferring all my stress to controlling food. But honestly, I'm not even registering hunger cues anymore. They just dropped off the map, and I'm sleeping like a baby.
Right now, in this moment, I am happy.
Hard to believe that less than a week ago I was suicidal. I guess I technically still am. Only, this is...well, painless. It feels good. If this is death, then...I guess I don't know what to think. Thirteen pounds to go until my UGW, and we'll see what happens from there.
I feel calm for the first time in a long time.

Getting serious

My intake for Sunday was 900 calories. Yesterday, it was 556. Today, just 348. Not dead yet. Back down to 140.6. Have to make it into the 130's soon. I'll cry. I will crouch down on the scale and literally cry once I'm back in that range.

In much more upbeat news, I adopted an abandoned 3-week-old kitten. Her name is Dinah. I'm bottle-feeding her. Love.

Mirrors, suicide, Ativan, needles

Last night I bought a full-length mirror, 'cause I've never had one before and I wanted to be able to take full-body pictures every morning. I wanna be able to see a progression. Anyway, I put it up with some of those heavy-duty command strips, the kind that aren't supposed to fuck up your wall. And I'm renting an apartment, so I don't want my walls fucked up. I put it by my door so I could see myself before I leave my room. I tried to go to sleep around 2am, but it didn't work, because it never works, and because the mirror was reflecting too much light and I couldn't sleep. So, at 2am, I turned my lights back on and tried to move the mirror, only it was stuck too tight. So I pulled it. Hard. And all four command strips ripped off four chunks of paint. Big rectangles on my wall.
And I just started sobbing. I curled up on my floor like a four-year-old and cried for about an hour, because I'm such a fuck up and I can't even take off a mirror right and I was stupid for hanging it up in the first place and I'll never be thin and I'm not cut out for grad school. Around 3am, I realized I was suicidal and called the crisis hotline. Second time I've had to do that. The woman on the other end just told me to "get some sleep." If I could sleep, I wouldn't be having this fucking problem in the first place. So, we talked for about five minutes. I hung up. I cried for another hour. I'm not sure when I passed out, but I was exhausted.
 I had an appointment with my campus doctor this morning to talk about my medication. Therapist wants me to go back on Ativan, because apparently coping with pills is better than coping by starving. I can see her point, but Ativan feels like cheating. I missed the appointment at 10:30am because I couldn't fucking move in my bed. I woke up and cried for another ninety minutes, washed my face, left for campus. Walking into the clinic at 1pm. Doctor was not happy about me wanting Ativan again, because she thinks I'm likely to just down the whole bottle. I'm not. That would be cheating. She prescribed it anyway. She also wanted to check my thyroid.  I fucking hate needles. They're probably one of my worst physical fears, but I let them take my blood anyway. Only they couldn't. I was too dehydrated and my veins weren't showing. So after sticking needles in both my arms and fishing around, they told me to come back another day. Both of the crooks of my elbows are bruised up and I look like a heroin junkie.
One of the nice girls in my program ran into me while I was on my way to my office. I still had bandages and gauze around both arms. She took one look at me and asked me if I'd been punched in the face. I told her no, that I'd just hadn't slept well and had been crying because of my needle-phobia.
I think I might be suicidal, for the first time in my life. Only I'd rather starve myself than anything else, because at least then, I feel like I can control it. I can step back right before I jump off the cliff and say "hey, wait, just kidding!"

Things I have been afraid of

Back in treatment. I like my therapist a lot better this time. She's been working exclusively with eating disordered patients for over ten years. Got my second diagnoses of EDNOS. For homework, she's having me make a list of everything I've ever been afraid of. It looks like this:

Needles

Dogs

Not having any friends

Upsetting my mother

Upsetting anyone

People saying anything (at all) about me while I wasn’t there

Existing in people’s minds even after I leave the room

My mother talking about me with her friends and family

My brother getting hurt

My dog getting hurt

Getting made fun of for being fat

Sex

Getting made fun of for being a know-it-all

Not fitting in because I’m fat

People knowing things about me that I didn’t tell them

People knowing things about me even after I told them

Being weak

Being seen as week

Anyone touching me

Talking too much about myself

Alcoholics

People who are too loud or overemotional

Being seen as loud

Being seen as overemotional or hypersensitive or sexual

Going to church

Missing church

Going to hell

Not being worthy of love

Being a bad mother

Screwing up my kids

Losing the ability to have children

Getting a bad grade and screwing up my academic future

Missing my alarm and sleeping in late

Liam realizing he deserves a girl who doesn’t have so many problems