If you could take a pill, and go back to any day you wanted, would you? Would go to last summer, when the sun was shining and the beach was calling. Would you back to primary school, where you have nothing but good memories. I would go anywhere but here.
I'm going to the doctors again. Mum found the stash of food in my room where I put all the food I don't eat. So I'm off to the doctors to get a check up and then to some other therapist or something. JUST GREAT.
I climb and climb until I can see the top, but then I fall. In fall like a rock. But I get back up, again and again, until all I can do is lie there, watching everyone else get to the top, but me, just lying here.
I know for a fact that people don't want to hang out with me. I'm just a burden. The one no one likes. The one whos jokes you laugh at, but the second I leave you bitch. About my hair, my clothes, my voice, my stories, my background, just whatever. Because you don't realise, that when you've been through what I've been through, every little thing makes a difference
Sometimes I wonder how I'm not obese. I eat so much and I go to throw it up but there are people right next door to the bathroom and I can't. And then I think, "why not?" Why not just keep eating cause I'm already fat and it's already bad so why not just make it worse. I'll just have another slice of cheesecake and not eat tomorrow, but then tomorrow comes and I'm oh so hungry. I'm fat and I hate it. All I can do when I'm sitting down is just feel the rolls that tumble over my waist line and ...
What is better? How do you know when you're better? Sometimes I feel like I can see the finishing line, the ribbon stretched across, welcoming me. But in a flash it's gone, replaced by the endless steep and windy roads that lead to it. And sometimes I think, whats the point in even trying to get to the top? I know I'll fail. So fail is what I do.
Better than expected
Therapy was actually ok. It feels great to finally talk to someone who actually understands! I was doubtful because I walked in to see this old guy, about 50 sitting in his office. But he was actually hilarious (well as hilarious as anyone can be in a therapists office).
You know what?
I'm just so over caring right now
Burst into tears twice today surrounded by people. No one even fucking noticed.
It used to be fun. First year of college. It's meant to be the most carefree year of college. But here I am, surrounded by my friends, but blocking them out. Because they don't know what I'm going through. Because they won't understand. Therapy in 2 hours. So scared.
I don't know how I feel about it. I'm too scared to do it now, but there's always later. People at school make jokes about it, but to me it's serious. The thought of it goes through my mind daily and when I'm doing really badly I plan all the ways I could do it. In social studies I think about what people's reactions would be if I jumped out the third floor window. In science I plan ways to steal the toxic chemicals we use. But I know I'm too scared. So I don't. Not yet at least.
It's my first sessions tomorrow. How do I act?? All stroppy and mysterious like in the movies? Or deadly honest? Or more likely I'll resort to my favourite answer, "I don't know." Dad always get's annoyed when I say that. "We're just trying to help you but you're not making it very easy for us." Nag nag nag. Maybe I don't want to be helped. Ever thought of that?
In an ultimate world I would have a boyfriend. A guy who cares. Who sees my scars but doesn't judge. Who kisses me when I'm depressed. Who understands my problems. Who makes me laugh when no one else can. I want to be part of one of those couples who are always together. Always texting, talking, laughing together. Who tell each other everything. Who stick together.
I used to be...
alive, budding, calm, dazzling, extraordinary, funny, gorgeous, happy, interested, joking, kind, laughing, motivated, nonchalant, optimistic, pretty, quick, real, self-accepting, thoughtful, un-afraid, victorious, winning, youthful and zestful.
It's probably too late to start a diary. All the action has already passed. The best time would've been when the rumour first came out. Or last year when I stopped eating. Or even just a few months ago when I started cutting. But I guess now is as good as ever. So here goes... My name is Sophie. I'm just your average girl. 13. Sporty. Not too smart, not too dumb. But there's more than that. Sorry if I'm out of place complaining about all the petty things that are wrong with my life, but I ca...