Understanding

I realize that no one really reads or cares what's going on with me. I'm not so naive and self-absorbed to see that this is mainly a board to bounce my own thoughts around, for my eyes only to know about.

I'm struggling. I was never recovered, but I was doing better. So I thought. About a month ago, maybe less, I started purging again. It's becoming a regular habit, once more. I've also noticed that I either binge, or I go too long without eating a thing. I am happier with myself when I realize that I haven't eaten anything for hours, or days... Though 'days' is a bit of an overstatement. Tuesday, I went all day without a thing, and didn't even get out of bed but to use the bathroom and get a drink of water.

My moods are deteriorating as well. Sky high one moment, and deflated the next. I keep eyeing the bottles of Prozac I still have, stuffed away in a big red bag in my closet, full of plenty of other magic pills that will make the big, mean, angry storm cloud of self-hate and impending doom evaporate. I keep looking at it, and holding off. I don't want to go back down this road. I don't want to admit that it's about time I go looking for help, admitting that I need it... again. I don't want to be this person, this sad, miserable, selfish, spiteful, angry, weak girl... anymore. I don't.

Denial sucks. Though I haven't so much been in denial with other people. I'm fairly honest, actually. Some of my best friends are there because I am bleeding-heart open about some things. Like the shooting up, I'm honest about that. I'm fairly honest about the bulimia, though I can't bring myself to admit that I am relapsing this much. I've let it slip that, yes, I'm tempted. That I want to collapse into full-fledged self-destruction. I can't spit out those words, exactly, but I do hope it's more obvious than I let myself believe.

I desperately need somebody to save me. I have no control over my life. I can barely take a breath without it being robbed from my lips by the fear. Yes, the Fear. It's hard to admit when I'm wrong. When I'm fucked up, really, not just because I'm jokingly saying "I'm crazy", but that I truly am, and no, there's no fucking ladder or rope out of this pit, it's just a constant fall into the abyss, and there's nothing there, no one, to stop or catch me.

We're supposed to be able to save ourselves. We are supposed to take control and make shit happen and give our lives meaning.

Why is it so goddamned hard for me?

I'm an addict. I'm addicted to drugs, it doesn't really matter what it is. I want drugs in my system every day. If I don't have them, then I want them, I go looking for them, and I usually succeed in finding them. I haven't stopped. I've been in denial about how bad it's gotten. Every day, I'm high. Every night, I'm high. Or drunk, or both. Usually both. I wake up the next day, if I slept at all, and my first thought is how much I hate myself. The second is if I have any drugs left over. The third is how the hell am I supposed to fucking cope with this life I'm throwing away?

I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to do this. This "living" thing. What the fuck is LIVING? How does everyone else do it? How do you pull yourself up every morning and make yourself go about like nothing's wrong, nothing's fucked? EVERYTHING IS FUCKED. Work is just a distraction, parties are just a distraction, one I gladly participate in. School is just a distraction. None of it fucking matters in the end, anyway. We all turn to dust, we all fall down, we all are fucked. Why bother? I'm a shell of a creature, sliming my way through this world. I have no reason for going on, I'm just wasting the air and space and time and energy that would better serve someone else, someone with a future, someone with meaning.

But will I do anything about it? Probably not. I'm too lazy, too scared, to do shit about it. I'm not suicidal. I just don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to do this. I have no passion, no will.

All I have is this fear. It's choking me.

Help.

PS: I lost ten pounds. I now weigh 139 pounds. Still fucking huge. Still nowhere near what I need to be for festival season. Just got to keep up whatever the hell I'm doing right.