sleeping pills to feel forgiven

October 2006- Approx. March 2007

Breakfast:
1/4 cup oatmeal (when measured dry)
approx. 1/4 cup skim milk
1 tsp. brown sugar

Eat half. Throw the rest out.

Coffee (1 splenda, approx 1 tsp. skim milk)

OR

2 egg whites scrambled, 1/4 skim milk, salsa

Lunch:

4 cucumber slices, quartered
1 cup iceberg lettuce
3-4 baby carrots, sliced
1 tbsp. fat-free Italian dressing

Dinner:
Around 2 cups of vegetables--broccoli, red pepper, green pepper, mushroom, and carrots, mostly.
1 tsp chopped garlic
1 tbsp soya sauce

OR

1 English muffin, 1 egg

Control, for me, used to be 400 calories a day, an hour of pacing my room, and countless leg lifts. It used to be the space between my thighs and punishment over a cookie. It was throwing a phonebook because my parents response was "just eat something." Control used to be a razorblade in hand because it was easier to do that then to think about it. It is so much easier to fix a bleeding cut than it is to fix my head.

Fixing a bleeding cut, eating, exercise, purging--these are solitary activities. They require no involvement but my own, reliance is not a part of any of these. Because when you rely on people, they have a tendency to leave. The ability to stick my fingers down my throat--that doesn't leave. The ability to drag a razorblade across my arm--that doesn't leave. People do. You did.

I found this, a few months back, and the only thing I can do when I read it is cry: http://community.livejournal.com/proanorexia/35459872.html#cutid1

I hated myself so. much. I would chew in intervals of 6, 12, or 24. The feel of my hipbones and clavicle, the protusion of my clavicle meeting my shoulder blade--these were my moments of solace. What was I proving?

What am I proving now? I relapsed, yes. I have a diagnosis, yes. I have medication and a support system that is slowly dying and I have a mother who seems to think I don't need to see a counselor. I want to be healthy, but I don't know for certain what healthy is.

Kathleen recommended that if I have anything to say to you, just write in a letter. This isn't one of those letters, but I know you'll never read this. Chances are, this should not be on the internet. I'm really past the point of caring.

Did you know that contacting you is akin to self-harm for me now? I can't wait for you, I need to fix me. Are you really giving up that easy, do you really not care one way or another? I was starting to think that may just be my thought process going off in places it shouldn't, but I'm really starting to wonder.