AUGUST TWENTY FIRST TWO THOUSAND NINE

Today, a friend came over with his new boyfriend. Friend Eric said, "I'm hungry." to which his new boyfriend responded, "BUT YOU ATE A WHOLE PIZZA!"

My response was, "Hey, I do that too but at least I have the decency to throw it back up."

I wish I could say I'm laughing wild amidst severest woe, but I really just think I'm losing my mind.

I'm sick of lying, more than anything. I'm sick of pretending that I'm making miraculous strides in my pathetic recovery to my friends and family.

"I'm feeling healthier and healthier every day!" and, "I'm really starting to feel like ME again!"

Well guess what, loving and supportive family? That ME you're so eager to re-establish doesn't exist. And quite frankly I'm unsure if it ever did. As far as I can tell, I've been this way all my life, in one facet or another. I've always had eating disordered behavior. From hoarding food as a six year old to chewing and spitting pizza at my best friend Erin's eleventh birthday party, I've never had a healthy, decent relationship with food. I have, however, had a pretty solid relationship with run-on sentences. And improper spelling.

There I go again, using what my therapist called "distractive humor". That might be why I don't see her anymore. Because she was too right. Freaked me out. I don't see my nutritionist anymore because she was a vapid whore, and I don't see my psychiatrist because she cut me off my klonopin and adderall. She said I was using them as a crutch in my recovery. Well..... duh.

The boyfriend comes home from Iowa tonight. Huh. Don't know how I feel about it. I'm not looking forward to being asked what I was doing in the bathroom every. single. time. I don't care if I was puking. It makes me feel like a child. And clearly I know EXACTLY how my highly successful recover should go, pah. But anyway. Having him gone was nice in the eating disorder sense, and also nice in the sense that he got on my nerves. I swear half the time he couldn't care less about my recovery, as long as I don't end up in the hospital againt o inconvenience his plans for that week. The rest of the time he's on me like a hawk. Ugh. But that's a whole new bag of beans.

I'm trying guided meditation as a means to curb addiction. So far, it's no working. But it's only been two days. I'll give the Dalai Lama time to prove himself I guess.

I don't even know anymore.