Seriously, wtf is wrong with me?? I am like obsessed with food. All I could think about all day today was eating – and this was even after eating an apple, banana, and TWO Jif to Go packs. I can’t argue that I’m calorie deficient, unless my body has suddenly decided it actually wants to be 150lbs heavier.

I went out with one of my best friends tonight for dinner and drinks. I had a nice protein-full meal (and two 8oz glasses of wine) and yet still bought a muffin as soon as I got to the train station, in addition to the giant bag of Reese’s pieces that I fully intend to eat upon getting home.

Sometimes I think I use my ED as an excuse. Like, I can’t keep up with the reading but not bc I’m stupid just because I’m busy binging. Like I should have used the past 20 mins to read, but I ate a muffin and bought candy and am now blogging about my fatness instead.

I’ll prob read on the train bc I don’t want anyone to see me shoving handfuls of Reese’s pieces into my mouth, but I’ll totally eat the whole bag while doing my homework tonight.

I’ve never written about a binge mid-occurrence before; it’s kind of weird.

Going back to school was a terrible idea. To me, school and ED go hand-in-hand. I spent most of undergrad with serious bulimia – I’m talking like 20 binge/purge episodes a day – and then ever since school has meant alternating between serious restriction and hard-core binging.

Why can’t I read a book without a bag of candy? Why can’t I do homework without a giant pile of food, interrupted by purging? Why can’t I go to class and eat at dinnertime like everyone else?

Maybe it IS an excuse. Maybe I just can’t get past this “I’m not good enough” mentality, so at least if I have ED to blame it on I won’t feel like I suck so much (even tho then I suck for eating too much or whatever).

It’s funny, I kind of want to turn this shit into a career, like working in an ED treatment facility, but then I’m like, would I be in competition with the patients? Would they make me eat whenever they did until I got fat(ter)? So there goes that idea. Probably why I didn’t end up majoring in psych – the idea of changing my own fucked up behaviors is terrifying.

And the worst part is, I have absolutely no one to talk to about this. If I tell my doc, she’ll make me go back to monthly appts, which I can’t afford. If I tell my psychiatrist, she’ll take me off the Wellbutrin, which is the only thing keeping me from killing myself lately. And if I tell my fiancé or friends? They’ll just give me that “wtf” look that I know so well, never understanding why I can’t just eat like a normal person and not put so much meaning into everything.

Ugh. Sometimes suicide is really tempting… But I couldn’t do that to my cat, and I’m not skinny enough to let ppl look at me in a coffin. I’d say some regret about my fiancé and friends and family, but I don’t think they’d miss me much.

I am so fucked up it’s ridiculous.


One thought on “Wtf.

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