|I give up
||[Jan. 8th, 2009|03:22 am]
you flubbed the punch line!
Okay I don't fucking care about being skinny, being fat, counting calories, binging my brains out, eating a whole box of teddy grams, the guy that invented South Beach, Dr. Atkins, the story behind the invention of the Cliff bar, ketosis, the benefit of reverse situps, "thinspiring" ed communities, Dr. Phil's opinion on eating disorders, ice cream being the easiest food to throw up, your mom, his dad, their brother, our sister, thin scene kids, hair cuts that make me look skinnier, scale anxiety, or ANY OF THE REST OF IT. |
I just want things to change. I'll take anything else.
I JUST DON'T CARE ANYMORE. I give up, God. I surrender all of that to You. Everything. I surrender to You completely and allow you to tell me whether it's time to eat or to suck it up depending on actual physical hunger and not emotional stuffing of feelings with food. Did that make sense? Whatever, God knows what I freakin' mean. I'm sick of myself and doing everything with Kayla's will attached as a memo; it just leads me to despair: laying in my bed, trying to sleep away the day and night and life at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, hating hating hating myself, wanting to cut myself again. The pain just getting worse, and yet continuing to do the same things that got me to Pain Island of Isolation in the first place.
I'm sick--so sick--of myself and life as it is going. I'm not suicidal, but if this is the way it's gonna be then I don't want to stick around.
I left all my ed livejournal communities, I did OA step work, I called Sandra and cried my eyes out, I ate abstinently, and most importantly...I gave up. I gave up in the past tense and give up in the present tense and all tenses otherwise.
Please God, let me remember this before I eat again.