I had a ridiculous evening. I felt rather hungry, but it was after one in the morning, and I didn’t want to eat because . . . I felt that it was going to trigger a binge-purge ordeal. . . I figured . . . okay, I’ll have a cigarette instead.
I snuck out-side and did such. . . Then I climbed up-stairs, feeling just absolutely horrid. I lied down with my head spinning, I was sweating, and my stomach started feeling ill. As I lied there in such discomfort, I tried thinking as to why in the world I even started smoking again to begin with. Did I really “need” it? No. . . I wanted it, but I didn’t need it. When I bought the pack I even questioned myself if it was something I really wanted to do then, and at the time I said, “no,” but I did it anyway. Why?!
And, did I really have to either chose having a cigarette or eating tonight?
I lied there for fifteen minutes or so. I couldn’t get rid of the sour feeling in my stomach. I took off for the restroom and I made myself ill, and all of this horrid bile came about. I felt slightly better, but my head still spun. I decided to try to eat something, which made me feel much better, but . . . I went over-board. . . I wasn’t feeling hungry, but still. . . I kept eating. Why? Why? Why? Why do I do this? I didn’t make myself sick afterwards, but . . . it’s just as unbearable for me that I even ate as much as I did. I’m always shuffling bad habits. . . Trading one in for the another that I had placed to the side. . . Why? Why do I do this to myself? I hate feeling this way. It’s torture, and there’s no-future in this. When I’m "straight and narrow," I’m constantly exercising and barely eating anything. Why is there no-middle ground? Why is there no-educated care that I give myself? Everything is so black and white, and I feel like an idiot trapped in bad habits. Is it possible that I like feeling this way? Or my mind is so used to it?
Sometimes I think the familiarity of it is what I’m looking for, because it has to bring me some sort of delight –perhaps control? I know this past week I was particularly hard on my body, doing things just to get out of my head, but now that school is approaching I can’t be so irresponsible, but I fear that my bulimia is just going to go through the roof, and I fear inducing physical pain on myself again . . . or maybe I’ll just go completely cold turkey and barely eat at all . . . but then I worry . . . how is my mind going to operate by doing that? It’s not. . . And I need to do well in school. I have to. I can’t pick-up chain smoking like I used to when I was younger, either, since that’s a huge no-no with the medication I’m taking. I can’t worry about getting blood clots on top of everything else. . .
How do I get out of these habits? I love the control aspect of most of it, but I know the damage it all does, and I’m finally at a place in life where the thought of such damage actually scares me. That’s . . . something, right?
I just don’t know what to do. The more I restrict, the more I may eat, the more I eat, the more likely I am to make myself ill. For a long time I was doing nothing but vomiting every single day, every single meal. I even was so bold to start doing it out in public. . . And then the shame. . . Once I saw a bit of vomit on a sneaker of mine, and I was both mortified and proud of it. What’s up with my head? I don’t . . . want to be that type of person. I also don’t want to be the type of person who has to exercise every other minute. . . I also don’t want the distracting of bandaged arms and thighs, keeping it hidden from my teachers and classmates. I’m so tired of all these extremes. . . I don’t know what to do without it, though. I don’t know how I’m going to cope with going to class every day and the social structure of it all. . . I feel like a complete wreck. . . The anxiety of it all just makes me want to shut down completely. . .
And here I am again, almost seven in the morning and I haven’t slept. . .