i'm standing on a line between giving up and seeing how much more she can take.

I know I'm supposed to be recording all my food/liquid intake. But I just can't bring myself to do it.

I can't bring myself to eat either. I ate too much this week already. I'll be happy if I stay below 500 calories to make up for the last few days.

I know this isn't productive and that I'm supposed to be making changes. I just am so afraid. I don't want to get fat.

I guess I'll go start on my homework for next group. Maybe it'll jog me back into optimism and reality. I hope so, I can't do this much longer.


P.S. I could really go for some dope. Any kind of dope. Meth, crack, pills, junk. Just something to make me forget that I'm so fucked up and too afraid to do anything about it.

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.

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.

secrecy, once accepted, becomes an addiction.

Have you ever had a secret? One that's so big you can't tell even the closest people? Probably, because everybody has at some point. And if you're like me, you don't go around announcing to everyone how you stuff your face and puke it all out the next minute, or that you hide out in the bathroom with the water on to hide the fact that you've been crushing and snorting pills for five months without anyone knowing.
But what happens when these secrets, these secret addictions are about to rip you apart? How can I ask for help when nobody knows? I don't want my boyfriend to know how fucked up I really am, I don't want my mom and brothers to have to have the burden of my problems, we've all been through enough this year. And once it's all out in the open, there's no going back to secrecy. Not really at least. Somebody will always be watching, listening, looking for the signs that I'm lying, that I'm not sober, that I'm still bulimic. That I've gone back to hiding what I just came clean about all over again And honestly, I'm surprised they can't see it now, I must be a good liar. I should play poker. But once your secrets are out, once they aren't just your to hold on to, if you ever go back to them, that's all you'll ever be. A liar. And a disappointment at that. Haaah, then I'd be the lying disappointing bulimic drug addict daughter that nobody wants to have to deal with.

Kind of sad.

So this is why, once you accept these secrets, and acknowledge that as long as their only yours, they will be another one of your addictions. Cause I mean, you'll hide them as much as you hide your habits. And the secrecy will tear you apart just like your habits. And what's a secret, if you tell? Not a secret anymore.

There's another adjective i forgot should be on my resume.

Secretive.