defeat your enemies with your success.

So in recent posts I've mentioned those key players in my life last year. You know, the ones who took me in when I was homeless. The ones that taught me how to shoot up, the ones who stuck needles in my neck. The ones I considered my using family.

I haven't been able to keep them in my life, no matter how much I may miss them. As I've said before, we were bonded in our addictions, but not bonded in recovery. So in order to protect myself, I had to let them go. The best thing they did for me was kick my ass and leave me broken on the side of the road. Had they not  hurt me in that way, I'd still be out there using. Or more likely, dead in a ditch somewhere in this grim border city.

I was at the methadone clinic to see my addictions doctor. I ended up running into not just one, but three people I knew. One of them was my ex's mom. I had been told by him that she hated me. I was accused of stealing stuff from her car (which I swear on my dad's grave I didn't). So when she called me over and started talking to me I was so incredibly relieved. She even hugged me and invited me to come over at anytime to see her. I agreed. When she left, I sat down and almost had a complete breakdown. It just brought so many emotions to the surface. She used to consider me her daughter in law, that's how serious this relationship had been. We weren't married and didn't really want to be, but it was this love that you only get one time. So I just didn't know how to feel. I missed him, I missed her. I was happy to see her, but sad that she was in the same position as before. I was happy she was getting sober, but saddened that she had to work a minimum wage job now that his dad has passed away. I managed to keep it together, but just barely.

Just as I was calming down, Trelaine, that slut-faced bitch that slammed my head into the ground walks in. I was just overwhelmed with anger and fear. I didn't know what she would do to me if she recognized me. Lucky for me, I don't think she really did. But just as I thought she had left, Dan, the guy I had been sort of seeing strolls in too. He walked passed me so many times and didn't even look at me! I know there's absolutely no way he wouldn't recognize me unless he was so rocked out of his mind that he didn't recognize anyone. But then it got worse. Trelaine came back and started talking to him. Last summer they barely knew each other, but that had clearly changed.

Finally, as I was  waiting for my meds, Dan stood directly beside me. I didn't say a word. As much as I wanted to ream him out, I also didn't need the drama. He's such a scumbag to me that I couldn't even be bothered. I'd have defended myself if I needed to, but I wasn't going to start anything. It's just not me, But then I felt her behind me and suddenly she was laughing. He turned as asked what was so funny, and then finally his eyes fell onto me slightly. That's when I knew...they were laughing at me.

I left as soon as I had my script in my hands and just got the hell out of there. I was such an emotional wreck. Angered at them, pitying them, missing them, hating them, etc. I was so upset that they laughed at me. I did nothing to them. In fact, I drove them around for months and shared dope with them! I even slept with that douche bag. Which is the only regret I have sexually. I don't regret anything like that, except him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

But then I got home and was telling my mom about it. Suddenly. as I was telling her I had this huge realization. Why should I care if they were laughing at me?! In all reality, if I was a bad person, it would be me laughing at them. They're the ones still out there using, hustling, lying, hurting and struggling every single day. And although my life isn't close to perfect, I have way more than they do. So since I'm not the horrible person they may think I am, I can't laugh at them. It's just not my nature. I no longer care that they laughed or if they like me or not. And I wouldn't ever wish ill on them.

This has just been such a lesson in gratitude. It took them being hurtful towards me for me to realize that in terms of things to be happy and grateful for, I have an abundance when they have none. So I will continue on with my own life, wishing well for them, but not caring so much about the things they may or may not do to me.

selling my soul would be a lot easier if i could find it.

I woke up in a great mood. I spent hours last night chatting with my ex. He is/was the love of my life. I can't even fathom trying to find anyone else. I'd rather spend the rest of my sober days alone than with anyone who isn't him. We laughed, we joked, we made fun of his girlfriend. We shared past memories, future goals, and shared our love without actually saying it. We wished each other goodnight, both saying how it was lovely to talk. I went to bed with this happy energy I haven't felt in years.

The thing is, I owe him quite a large amount of money. I left him high and dry when I was in the depths of my addiction. I am trying to make this right with regular payments, but he never seems to actually want to meet up and collect.  I suspected it was because he was scared he'd get caught up in me all over again. Having said he hasn't loved since me. But I was wrong. I think he only said that to spare my feelings. Or maybe he said it drunk.  Either way, he's chosen her over my money, so he has chosen her over me and repairing anything we had left.

We hadn't talked in months, in 9 to be exact, since I got sober. So I sort of came to terms with him seeing other girls. I had in no way gotten over him,  but I at least sort of admitted it was over.  But now, we're speaking again and it has stirred up all these old emotions. Both of pain and love. So everytime he chooses her over me my heart breaks all over again.

And everytime it breaks, I want to numb myself into death with dope. Every single time he turns me down I want to pick up the phone to pick up. Drugs, drugs, drugs. It's all I want. I want that rush of pleasure followed by blissful numbness. I remember that feeling and wish I had it. I didn't give a fuck about anything in that moment. As soon as the shot hit my veins I was in paradise where nothing mattered but feeling the feeling of pure ecstasy.

How do I keep doing this? It's almost like I have to choose, my life and sobriety, or love. It's a choice I never want to make. It will throw me off the edge.

confession is always weakness; the grave soul keeps its own secrets, and takes its own punishment in silence.

My blog's looking pretty empty these days, and I've been putting off updating this again.

The whole thing with Ryan had finally blown over. Well, until he found my blog, clever of me to use the same username for everything. Stupid google, ugh. He found it, saw the post that mentions the guy that broke us up and assumed I was still talking him. Obviously I'm not, as soon as I knew I had a chance to fix things, I broke all contact with him. I not only had to, I wanted to. I mean, save a two year relationship with the guy I love, or keep talking to a 'friend'? Choice is easy.

So anyways, he flipped. I kept telling him the post is old, that I don't talk to the guy, but why trust a lying, cheating whore, right? Too bad I'm not a cheater, or a whore. Sure I lie, but I wasn't this time.

Finally I kind of convinced him. We're back together and I'm so, so, so glad. I missed him so much. But this is at the price of losing my blog, kind of. I reverted all my posts back to drafts so I wouldn't totally lose them. What I write on here is mine, and mine alone. I share it with the people who read it. People who are usually in the same boat or have some empathy/understanding, otherwise, why would they be reading stuff like this anyways? I share it because this is the one place where people come to read, relate, and understand, not to judge. I don't share it with my family, friends, or boyfriend. There's a lot they don't know about me, wouldn't want to know about me. And if they did, things between us would never be the same. I choose to keep this shit, this pain and suffering and problems to myself. The relationships I have right now are good, why change that just to share embarrassing, important secrets? I mean, maybe I should, maybe it would help me get better. Help me feel better. But I've made it this far on my own, I think I can keep my secrets hidden and be just fine.

Anyways, these secrets are why I had to make my posts disappear for now. He said he only read the one, and who knows if that's the truth, but I couldn't risk him reading what was on the others, should he break his promise and read them all (he insisted he wouldn't read anything from here ever). What I have written doesn't need to be between us. It's not like I'm confessing to murder or cheating in them. They're secrets that don't need to be told, so I'm keeping them. Hiding them, tucking them away from everyone for now. Hopefully one day soon I can share them with anyone reading again.

it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

*I am in no way endorsing dog fights with this title, they're horrible. Just a good quote.

 A week ago, since I posted last. Things just got increasingly worse. Before I get into that, I think there's a background story that needs to be interluded here:
 Me and my boyfriend have been together and madly in love for two years. We live together, we're always together and we're happy. But we fight a lot. We 'break-up' a lot and then everything is fine by the net day. We make up and are back to normal. We love hard, and fight hard. But this time I really screwed up. He just left me and that was that. I don't think we can bounce back from this. Maybe this is the time he never comes back. He really hurt me and broke my heart.  So this is where my week of drug binge and drinking drinking started. That's also the week I cut myself. And the week my Cymbalta or situation made me want to die.

Continuing on, my last post, I was crashing. I slept forever, and woke up feeling horrible. Depressed. Hopeless. Anxious. Shaking. Ryan still didn't want me, my other friend has a new girlfriend, and my best friend doesn't know I'm a drug addict wreck. I have nobody. So I rush to the LCBO, buy this HUGE bottle of vodka, get some more sleeping pills, and whatever else I can get my hands on. And so, my drug and alcohol binge continues, my non eating continues. And despite how heartbroken and sad I am, when I'm fucked up, I don't care. My drugs and whatnot is all I need.

Ryan ended up messaging me, and we talked for a long time. We decided we were going to work on things. Take it slow, do the whole best friend thing until everything's okay. Yet for some reason, as completely happy I am that we have the chance to fix something that should have never been broke, I couldn't stop myself from thinking what about the things that are already broken and always have been broken. Like me, I'm broken, always have been. And my idea of fixing myself, is a fix...of drugs, purging, starving, whatever. So I keep breaking myself more. Will I ever be fixed? Do I even deserve to be fixed? I'm afraid he's going to come back expecting the girl he loved, the one he met, the one who was sober before all this. And what if we try, and he changes his mind, and I have to go through all this heartbreak again. I cannot handle that.

So I spent my nights talking till him until he went to bed, then I'd begin my nighttime drug routine. I kept getting worse, and it wasn't until I drank and drugged myself do death that I realized I'm becoming an alcoholic too. My mom found me, puking my guts up, incoherent, eyes rolling back in my head. When I did finally wake up, I was still drunk. I couldn't remember anything, my whole night was a black hole. I decided I couldn't drink anymore. My mom was furious, pointing out what I never even knew, you aren't supposed to drink while on antidepressants...I'm on two. I felt like shit for a few days recovering from that night.

Things with Ryan are getting much better, I think we're going to be okay. We've been hanging out, getting intimate and I'm so glad. He also helped me realize I've been misjudging weed the whole time. I personally think it's therapeutic. It gets rid of my anxiety, I can relax, it helps me sleep, and I don't even need all the other drugs. I still will have all the other drugs for now, I'm not ready to give them up, but maybe it'll help me slowly get off them. It's a lot better than drinking, sleeping pills, xanax, percs, coke, you name it that I'd do.

I'm not giving up. It seems like I've relapsed again and want to stay an addict. I don't I just need to get my life a bit more in order, build up the strength deep down in me. It's me against a monster, I need to build the fight in me before I can fight something that size. But I will do it. I've gotten clean before on a lot worse, I can do it again. Just give me time.

a father should be his son's first hero, and his daughter's first love.

Today was Father's Day. Well technically yesterday, but until I fall asleep (if I do at all), it's still today.

My younger brother and I went to brunch with my dad's side of the family. My mom was still out of town visiting one of my older brothers. Everyone around kept saying happy father's day to us in general and to the dads there specifically. I found it hurtful and insulting that they kept throwing this around so lightly with no regard to me and my brother.

Because "'Happy' Father's Day" is only happy when you still have your dad.

It's our first Father's Day without him, and I miss him more than anything in the world. It just makes me sad to think about how disappointed he'd be in me if he could see how my life has gone downhill since he passed away. And I'm in no way blaming my problems on him dying. It was my personal decision and weakness at a time of vulnerability that led me down this path. At least he would be somewhat glad that I'm off them, but he'd still be ashamed of me for starting in the first place.

Anyway, so along with people not seeming to know me and my brother might be a bit sad, I was also having major anxiety. Obviously because of the fact that any food setting is automatically a trigger for me (especially when there's no vegetarian options, except for waffles with sugary fruit and whipped cream), and my social anxiety seemed to be extremely high (probably because I wasn't high in a social setting for the first time since my dad died). My heart felt like it would explode, my breathing was rapid and shallow, and I couldn't stop shaking. Nobody even seemed to notice. I finally couldn't take it anymore, so I did the only thing I could do-grabbed my ipod and blasted some Mariana's Trench (Josh Ramsay is the love of my life), which is super close to my heart because of the drug/ED based songs. Funny though, how as soon as I had one of their songs on, my aunt decides to scold me like I was a five year old, telling me to "Take those out of your ears and get over here." Lovely.

Moving on, as soon as we got home later, there was a voicemail on our phone. Someone letting us know they are thinking about us today and hoping we're okay. My heart rate spiked, along with my anger and sadness. Music wasn't going to be enough this time, my belly felt too full, I felt like I was 600lbs, and I couldn't deal with it anymore. After I purged my soul away, I sat down and cried, wishing I had oxy, or Xanax, or something . Anything to numb what I was feeling- depressed, lonely, angry, disgusted, to name a few.

Now I know it seems like I've contradicted myself, saying I was mad nobody said anything about my dad at brunch, and then being mad when someone did. The thing is, there is no right way to handle this. Anything said or done will bring back the sadness and memories and it will hurt either way. Plus I've been on edge the last week and a bit. I managed to get a bit of sleep, but only after my boyfriend and I got into an argument. I was overtired and bitchy, he was drunk, and Jenna (my ED/addict alter ego) was jealous that he was under some form of intoxication and I had nothing. I felt emotionally drained and finally crashed for a few hours, only to wake up and have to deal with all this bullshit.

The only real upside to all of this is that my body finally stopped totally hating me. I finally felt little to no pain today. Even using I still felt pains (if I crashed or went without oxy for more than a few hours I'd wake/end up dope sick). I'm hoping that since I can finally sit still without pain and if I can stay relaxed and calm I'll be able to get some sleep tonight. And more that four hours.

Well, I've rambled on about nothing for long enough. Time to shut my eyes and hope for escape.

Oh, and Dad, I miss you and love you. Happy Father's Day.

when it becomes really impossible to get away and sleep, then the will to live evaporates of its own accord.

Ugh. I'm dying.

I can't sleep no matter how hard I try (or don't try in case I'm just thinking too much). I'm so exhausted. There's literally nothing left in my body. Nothing good anyways. Whether it's the fact that my nights and days were fueled by drugs and sleep crashing was the result (and now without them I've got no energy and nothing to knock me out), or because I can't keep my anxiety in check, or because I'm still pretty sore and restless from coming off these things, I don't know. But it's horrible and I just want to curl up in bed and sleep for the rest of my life.

If I don't get some sleep soon, I think I'll snap.

And whether it's drug fueled rage or just simply anger fueled rage, me snapping is never a good thing.

For anyone.

a lack of clarity could put the brakes on any journey to success.

Apparently so.

I haven't been on here in who knows how long (nothing new there), and to be honest I've been kind of scared to come and check on everything. I was afraid that there would be tons of views and everyone would see how much of a failure I really am. I was afraid I'd discourage someone from trying.

Anyways, I logged on here and found a few new great blogs to read. I was avoiding seeing mine. And holy fuck was I right to be afraid. I read my last post and was absolutely disgusted with myself. I don't know if it's because there's no oxy clouding my mind or if I had just temporarily lost my fucking mind all together. Probably both. But anyways, I apologize to anyone if my swearing offended them (but I do have a filthy mouth, so it won't stop all together, sorry) and I apologize for my absurd crudeness, it was a bit out of line. I considered deleting it, but it's apart of my journey and life story, so it should stay. I was feeling like that at the time and just because I'm not now doesn't make it disappear from my life. I don't want to hide anything.

It's funny though, here I was thinking the drugs were making my brain think more clearly. They definitely helped me get through my classes during school. And now I come on here without them clouding my judgement, and I find that I was definitely out of my mind unclear. Whatever, that's what drugs do to you I guess. Make everything all blurry, so blurry in fact, that you think you have absolute clarity.

Now, finally I can get to the goodish news. I am off oxy (kind of?) I never thought I'd be saying this in a million years. I'm not taking credit though, because it wasn't my own will, I just literally had none left and couldn't get more. And trust me, I tried. When I got down to my last two, I woke up and realized I better start weaning off them or I'll be fucked. I spent the next few days after that hurting. It's weird, I've never had any pain in my life, other than very minor things, but the withdrawal symptoms made me feel like I was dying. It hurt so badly I wanted to kill myself, but it hurt to much to get up and do it. And worst of all was the RLS. It's just so irritating because I couldn't stay still and it's frustrating. Plus having to move to cope with it hurt pretty bad. And sleep? Wasn't going to happen, even though I was exhausted in every possible way. Anyways, I started to panic though, because I was still on the oxy's, just cutting back, but I was going through it way faster than I thought and I was still hurting badly even cutting down slightly each day. I was doing three 80's a day at least and cut back to about 3/4-1/2 of that. I was still doing too much and I didn't have enough to last. That's when I got the best news, and I suddenly had a large amount of percocet (which has 5mgs of oxycodone in it). This made it much easier because I wasn't afraid of running out, and the small amounts helped me cut back more easily than with a 80mg oxy (have you ever tried to split one into 8 pieces or more?). I just took enough to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay. This was about a week ago, and I'm down to my last half of one, which I will save for tomorrow in case I need it (the pain's still there slightly because I technically haven't got the shit totally out of my system). But I'd rather take this slow and do it so I'm not wishing to die every second of my life. I might have prolonged this shitty stage, but I don't know if that's good or bad? Part of me wishes I were over it and able to go without hurting for a day, but part of me is glad I didn't because it would have been shorter, but much more excruciating. So, as of tomorrow, I will be completely oxy free. I'm kind of happy, but I'm also kind of sad, and even more sad that I'm not more happy about getting sober.

It's just that I didn't expect to miss it this much. I thought that once my body stopped needing it, everything would be fine. But once the need is gone, there's still the want. I just never expected I'd want it so badly. I never expected to feel this insatiable urge to feel the slight burning in my nose, to taste the medicinal taste dripping down my throat. I don't understand what's wrong with me. I should be happy, thankful that I had to do this for myself. But all I am is sad. My anxiety is threw the roof, depression's in full swing. And every fiber in my body is telling me that the answer is snorting more oxy. But I can't do that, so I turn to Jenna, my bulimic alter ego for answers. And yeah the binge purge cycle feels good at first, like my emptiness has been filled and the calories are gone, but then it's all guilt and shame and bullshit. But for some reason if I can't have drugs then stuffing myself and puking it out must be the answer. Cute. Thanks a lot Jenna.

And who am I kidding, if one fell into my hands tomorrow, it'd be crushed up and threw a straw into my nose in seconds. The only reason I "beat" this thing is because I had to.

My life is a fucking train wreck and I have nobody to turn to. How am I supposed to get threw all of this? It's not just one problem, it's tons of problems and they're all feeding into each other making all of them even stronger and worse than before.

I don't know what to do. Which is why I'm having a few drinks and writing this. At least it takes the edge off and makes me feel less alone.

Haaah. And I can't even think of something witty and clever to end with. Pathetic.

this will be the last time, everytime's the last time.

So, I haven't posted in anything since the night I said I was getting clean. Not because I didn't try, but because my computer was not in operating condition.

But the big question is, have I stopped using? Not totally. I wanted to cut back, and like, wean myself off of them, because I thought that if I stopped cold Tofurkey (not turkey, I'm a vegetarian, haaha) that the withdrawal would be so horrible that I would give in too easily. I know how weak I am, and I didn't want to put myself in a place where I'd succumb to my weakness.

Anyways, to summarize what's happened over the last week, I wrote my last post, got high, crashed and went to bed. I woke up feeling awful, and had so many things to do. I got high again just to make it through the day. I made a plan and cut all my drugs into small pieces, promising to cut back more and more each day. This went okay for a few days, but then I came into a bit of extra money, and I figured, hey, why not have a little bender as a goodbye to my addiction. So I started using like it's going out of style (ahaha, Mariana's Trench Lyrics <3).

Fast forward to yesterday: I totally ran out of pills. Like totally. My whole city is dry, because of the new Neos, which are the replacement that makes it impossible to use to get high. So I had none left, and no way to get more.

This is when I realized that as much as I want to be clean. I also still really like using. It makes me sad to know that I'm only going to be clean because I have no other choice. It's depressing to know that I couldn't do it, and that I never really even tried. That I will get sober, but not because I chose to. And the problem with that is, if I don't stop because I want to, as soon as they're in my face again, I'll be crushing and snorting.

You might say, "Well, maybe you won't. Maybe after you're clean you'll decide it's not worth it."

Haah. Wrong. Because somehow, I found some. And guess what? As soon as I got them tonight, after not having them for a day or so, I had it in my mouth sucking the coating off, dying to feel it burn my nose.

But again, I don't have much. And I'll probably run out all over again. And then I'll be sober by force, again. Maybe that will be the last time. But everytime is the last time.

when you can stop, you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't.

It's funny how that works. I don't know about most people, but for me, it was a conscious decision to start using. I never really thought I would ever touch any type of drug. I mean, my whole life (twenty years) I hadn't even taken a sip of alcohol. When I went on my meds for depression and anxiety, I guess that's when I really started, but that wasn't the start of addiction. I was so used to feeling so high strung, so up, with my mind racing all night long, with days and days of insomnia. And the less I slept, the more depressed and anxious I became. So when I was prescribed anti-anxiety meds and pills to help me sleep, I guess that's the first time I realized how fucking awesome it is to be fucked up. Because for once, my mind just shut down. My whole body was down, and I felt nothing. It was like all my tension, all my worries, all my anxiety was just gone, pressed down so deep in my body that I didn't even remember it had ever been there. I was so naturally up, that I wanted to go down. My boyfriend would talk about coke, how if he were to use, that would be his drug of choice. I asked him why, and he told me that you feel so awake and clear, and amazing. I didn't understand, it sounded horrible to me. Why would I want to be amped up when I'm like that all the time, and it only drives me nuts? I guess when you don't sleep and lie in your bed for hours with your mind running for days, you don't really have the desire to use something that will just make it worse. My mind moving so quick was the problem, I just wanted to be gone. To feel calm and sleepy and numb. My normally tight body was suddenly loose. I'd take a couple pills, and put on some music and just fucking dance. All I could feel was the beat of the music, and the sway of my hips. And then, when the music finally lulled me to sleep, I would surrender to it willingly. Oh yeah, and did I mention that when you feel this good, the only thing that could feel better, is sex? So that's all I wanted, to fuck, get fucked up, and to dance. But I was single at the time and not a slut, so you do the math. The funny thing is, that sleeping pills and Xanax would still be my drug of choice. That is, if I had a choice anymore.

You see, even though I don't like my current selection as much, it's what I'm hooked to. Something that at first was a choice I made. It's what was there when I didn't have another option. It was there when I needed something to numb the pain. But now, without it, it's my biggest source of pain. And not just psychologically, but physically. Sleeping pills and Xanax, although a better high in my opinion, never had me hooked. I never needed them, and still don't. If they were in front of me, I wouldn't turn them down, but if they aren't then it's still no big deal. I mean, I think about them from time to time, wishing I had some. But not desperately wishing I had some.

So after my dad died, and I was lost and hurt and aching and rotting from the inside out, I would lie in bed, wondering what I could do to kill the pain. And then it came to me, pain killers. Plain and simple. By association, I knew tons of people totally addicted to them, and they weren't hard to find for nothing. You'd think after seeing these people's lives torn apart by it, I would have thought twice. But I didn't. Yep, I actually planned for a couple of weeks, to start using until I couldn't feel anything. And that's what I did.

At first it was small, even just a little and I was fucked up. There were times where I thought to myself, "Nah, there's no point in doing any today." I could have stopped easily, but the other voice in my mind, Jenna, always said she didn't want to stop. And to be honest, I didn't either. I could have easily walked away, but I wanted to stay. And so I did.

But now, when I need more and more to keep me leveled, when I wake up with pain shooting through my entire body, mind dull, I wish more than anything I could stop. But how do I stop, when the whole reason my body hurts so bad, is because I've gone without for more than a few hours? It's like in exchange for killing the pain in my mind, I've had to taken on the physical pain of withdrawal. I want more than anything in the world to stop. Even more than recovering from bulimia. And believe me, I've tried. I've spent the last couple of weeks waking up and trying. But it's so hard to quit when you can barely move, and know that you probably won't be 'functioning' for another week without using. When people around you expect you to be up and about doing things, keeping up your responsibilities, and you can't even stand up, how do you quit? If they knew, it wouldn't be so bad. But not only do I have to keep my using a secret, but if I'm withdrawing, I have to keep that a secret too.

So it's become this vicious cycle. I want to stop, so I don't have to hide anymore. But stopping means hiding something even more obvious, so to hide that, I have to use. And so it goes.

I should have walked away when I had the choice.

No.

I should have never fucking started.

moving on is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.

This is what happens every time I start something, try to get better, try to do something with what I've been dealt to help myself, and hopefully to help others. I start, with so much dedication and drive, but within a few weeks, my ED loops me back in, my addiction dictates how I function, and then I eventually give up because I can't seem to tell myself that I can do this, I can beat this. I say I can, but deep down, I don't really believe in myself  anymore. I started and restarted this blog in hopes to write my way through recovering from an excruciatingly long run of bulimia, and to maybe have someone, even if it's just one person reading even just one of my posts, feel like they aren't alone. That there's tons of us out here looking for someone to resuscitate them. But somehow on the way, I've just give up twice. And as soon as things got tough, I cracked. Instead of grieving the loss of my dad the healthy way, I snort drugs until I can't feel any pain. I'm no role model, and I shouldn't even have a blog. What is anyone going to take from me? That I'm a bulimic who tries to recover and ends up with a severe drug addiction on top of everything? I'm pathetic and nobody should look up to me, nobody should read this and think that I'm any example of anything. I wanted to encourage people. I wanted to give girls younger than me, less deep than me, hope that they can beat this. And all I've done is shown how weak I am. How I can't ever do what I set out to do. How I just let my problems walk all over me, let Jenna, the girl who's my reflection, control my life until I'm so beaten down I can't get back up.

I wish I knew why I just can't let go of this. Why I can't say good bye to my ED identity that is Jenna, for good. Is it because she's become so apart of me that I don't know how to live without her anymore? Can't live without her anymore? It can't be because I'm afraid of failure, I'm pretty used to that by now. I think it's because moving on, and letting her go, not living with my ED defining me, is so unfamiliar and uncertain. What if I get better, and I still think I'm fat, still think I'm ugly, still feel so worn down and tired? What if I let go of who I've become, to only feel the same or worse, just without my identity? Lost and alone. Because sometimes the only way I can deal with all of this is knowing that I am here, and Jenna is apart of me, keeping my going, even if it hurts like hell.

I think I'm just afraid that when I finally just simply let go, what's left after that will hurt. The process after will be hard, and long, and tiring. Afraid that it will all be for nothing.

So since I have nothing better to give to you, take this: don't look up to me. Don't read my posts and think I'm strong and can influence you to get better. You have to get better on your own. You have to pick yourself up and stop living and doing things because and for others. Because if you only try to recover because you read someone's blog, you're not doing it for the right reasons, you'll end up falling back down because you weren't ready. And in the end, pleasing other people is the whole fucking problem here anyways. So when you're ready, when you can finally accept that it's time to let go, don't be afraid, just do it. You only get one shot at this, and not going for it isn't benefiting you anyways.

Sorry about the gloom, have a good rest of the night (or morning? ahaha, drugs).

i tell myself it's all in my head, but i'm pretty hard to convince.

The problem with taking psychology as you major, is you realize how fucked up you really are.

 It's bad enough I'm bulimic with a capital b, but did depression, anxiety, and borderline personality disorder have to get thrown into the mix too? And now, I have a voice in my head, who takes over my body sometimes, in the form of a girl named Jenna . Well most of the time really. Is that split personality? Or schizo? Both? I mean, she even has a name. I'm so screwed.

The last thing I need is a drug addiction on top of all that. And I'm not talking minor leaugues here. My habits are bad enough, I don't think my mind could possibly handle it. But then again, don't I sort of have two minds? They could share the burden of one more issue. Right?

This is what Jenna is telling me to convince me to do it.
It'll make you forget all you're problems, you'll feel great without my help for once.
"I don't know, Jenna. Don't I have enough to deal with already?"
How could you doubt me after everything I've done for you. You'd be fat without me.
"I know, but this isn't a good..."
She interrupts me now, screaming.
Listen to me! I'm never wrong, you know that! You won't feel the pain anymore. Won't miss your dad. Won't hate yourself. Won't think about how everything around you is falling apart. And did I mention you won't be hungry any more?

She had me and she knew it. So I said,

"Okay, I guess trust you."

But she was wrong, and I'm foolish for ever listening to a voice inside my head. I tried to tell myself this before it started, but I'm (she's) pretty hard to convince.