those looks

I wish I hadn't gotten rid of my old blog. The one where I had nearly two hundred readers, followers. Where at least somebody commented or gave a shit that I was deteriorating into a million tragic, self-loathing pieces. This blog? It sucks, I know. I suck, I know.

I can't stop throwing up. I'm purging every day. I am eating beyond the recommended daily intake for normal people. Sometimes, I don't even purge when I eat, and then I buy another lunch... and purge that, because I realize, holy crap, wow, I just ate five thousand calories in an hour, should do something about that, yeah? Yeah.

I've gone downhill quickly. My weight boomerangs between 140 and 160. Depending, of course, on if I keep the food down or not. Depending on if I eat anything. I eat everything, if I eat anything, so I know I should just NOT EAT, but that's impossible. I read somewhere that the option of not eating doesn't exist for the bulimic. I guess I'm not your traditional bulimic. I don't think I'm really sick, though, because I don't feel guilty when I'm eating. I don't recognize feeling full anymore. I don't feel bad for eating. I barely even register how many calories or how many grams of fat or carbs or anything are in the crap I ingest. I just do. And then, after the fact, I just go find a nice little spot to pull over and purge. Maybe it's a public restroom. Maybe it's a pull-over at some exist off the highway. Maybe it's a parking lot. I try to make sure no one is around, or sees me, or hears me. But sometimes it's unavoidable.

I'm reminded of when I purged a year or so ago, at a show. I'd been drinking and got the munchies. After I ate, I went to the bathroom; there were several stalls, and no real privacy. But I did it anyway. And I remember that I tried to be as quiet and unobtrusive as possible. And when I walked out? My friend, who is recovered from an eating disorder herself, was stepping out of the stall next to me. I remember another time I had just gotten done purging when I heard the girl, some unknown, faceless girl, throwing up a few stalls down. She was so pretty, I remember thinking.

So many of my friends have had eating disorders. We seem to attract each other. I want to be honest, to tell people that I'm not doing so well, that I need help. But I don't feel it warrants that much concern. Because shouldn't I be fucking skinny? Shouldn't it be obvious that there is a real problem, and not just this fat blimp I see in the mirror?

Another thing that blows my mind is how these guys seem to find me attractive. I've had fairly regular sex, and there's a few more guys towing the line, like they're interested. I try to keep my confidence up, play it off that it's because I'm awesome. But then that malicious, cruel side of me laughs and spits these vile things at my self-esteem. Like, they're only interested because I'm easy, or because of that rocking personality I pretend to have. I'm such a fucking fake person, it blows my mind no one else sees it.

They don't, though, most of the time. I'm this bubbly, hyper, rambunctious, shit-talking girl. I'm happy, I'm always smiling or laughing or cracking jokes. I'm always so damn happy. I'm always going out, having a good time, cheering up other people if I can, just by being there and listening and being real and a genuine person. But they don't see what lies I spin. The shit that comes out my mouth? Bullshit. Yeah, it can be truth, the majority of the time. But damnit, I'm not fucking happy. Happy means that things are mostly okay in my head, that I can live with myself, that I'm not disgusted by my reflection or my thoughts or terrified by my feelings. Happy means that I can handle the extreme and the mundane. I can't handle anything. I'm out of fucking control. I've started hurting myself again, and I keep thinking about cutting or burning myself. I keep looking at all these bottles of pills I've collected over the years and I think, "I could do it". I could.

But I'm so scared, and so lazy, and there's just too much energy that goes into taking your own life. I don't have it in me. I wish these people who think I'm so amazing, or that I'm (Ha!) beautiful, would just shut the fuck up for once and instead give me that look, that penetrating steely look, that says I KNOW. I know you. I know exactly what's going on. I want them to ask me for the truth, to demand it.

And they don't. Do any of us? No. We're all liars, we're all frauds. But they're prettier than me at spinning their webs of deceit and manipulation. I only manipulate myself. I'm a fool.

And this is how I end this rant.