slipping away.

It’s sad what my life has come to. So sad that I am in tears as I’m writing this. My life is made up of numbers. These numbers control my health, my happiness, my emotions, my control. I caught myself writing down how much my teacher said she would want to weigh if she was a certain height. I was going to look up the BMI. I’m sure I still will. I’m obsessed with these numbers, but how can I not be? These numbers are all I have left. I found myself making phone calls today to friends. Their concerned voices were just replied to with bawling on my end. I can’t tell anyone my problems. I can’t tell anyone about these numbers. They ask what’s wrong. I lie. What has my life come to? How long has it been this bad? When will I get better? Will I ever get better? When will the numbers be low enough? Will I ever stop? I know this is a game I will never win. So why do I put myself through this torture?


Yesterday it was one of my dearest friends 6 months since he passed away. This made me extremely emotional today. I can’t tell you how many calories I had today. All I can say is that I binged. I ate, and ate, and ate. I instinctively purged. But I stopped myself. I have to live with what I ate. No easy ways out. I fucked up and not this food is going to sit in me and rot.

I called an old friend today. One that told me about soco ana and soco mia when I was a freshman in high school. (apparently there’s such a thing as soft-core ana and soft-core mia?) I am now a senior. She introduced me to the dangerous world of the so many proana and mia websites you can see everywhere online. She became my ED buddy. We shared everything food related, but once she realized I could go days without eating, and that I purged everything I did eat, she didn’t want to do it with me anymore. I guess I was too hardcore for her. I wonder if my ED would be this bad having not met her. She is a great person though. Super fun. Any who, I almost told her that I really do have an ED. But I didn’t. I for some reason can’t bring myself to tell anyone about my EDNOS. I want to. But I’m afraid of what will happen. My biggest fear is the unknown.

I’m beginning to accept things now. I probably will never be happy. I will become obese eventually, like T told me at work today. And things won’t get better, even though people consistently tell me they will. I’m slipping away.

I wish I had someone who understood me. Someone to make me better. I always wait for that prince charming. My last prince charming raped me. I guess I was good enough for him.

As I think about the last few months I can’t see any happy memories. Friends have faded. Friends have died. Family has given up, family has died. I have lost control. I have almost died. As I look into the past, all I see are numbers.