I Swear I'm Interesting, too!

I had a panic attack and couldn't go into college today.

My mother thinks that I've developed agoraphobia as a result of my eating disorder. When I leave the house I'm not in control of the food that surrounds me and the order I planned my day.

I think she's onto something.

Today: liquid fast.

Tomorrow: probably the same.

I've changed.

I accept that I am no longer the confident, funny, interesting person that I used to be.

Now all I am is calories and stones.

Apparently my voice has gotten softer and more timid. I don't go out anymore because people make me nervous and its difficult to make conversation when you're constantly counting calories in your head.

I live for the number on my scale. If its 98; I'm pure. If its 104; I may as well be dead.

I don't want to be like this, but the moment I stop obsessing over food then I'll all will become painfully clear: the truth of how spectacularly un-special I am and how my whole life is void of any hope and any aspirations.

Anorexia makes me something.

I've become nothing because of anorexia, but I'm anorexic because I'm nothing.

Its a vicious cycle, I'm hungry.

I'm sick.

So...very...hungover.

I need a diet coke but the only shop near me charges EIGHTY FIVE pennies for a can. I'm currently trying to decide if my stinginess weighs out my addiction to diet coke. I think it does, which means I have to go to the Green shop. Last time I went to the Green shop, I got accosted by gypsies and got chased out the door. That says it all really.

Doesn't really sound like I live in London, does it?

Ah what do you know. He's fucked off again and didn't even bother explaining himself this time. I suppose I'm partially to blame seeing as I say nothing, do my annoying silent strop thing for about five minutes and then giggle like a retarded five year old.

So I'm going out tonight to get drunk. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon which means I'll get drunk quickly too. Anorexia is such a money saver!

Hm. For some reason when they discharged me last week I was under the rather deluded illusion that I would be greeted home with a 'welcome home' banner, seen all my good friends shower me with praise and gotten shitfaced. Every day. The reality is that I feel just as bad as I did when they admitted me. Nothing has changed at all. My mum is still a bitch (despite my vigorous efforts to manipulate her with my 'fragile mind' and 'Dr Refaat said not to push me into things, mootheer!'), my friends still piss me off, eating still makes me feel inconsolably guilty and I wouldn't be opposed to taking another overdose again. The Priory has such a prestigious title, 700 pounds a fucking night, but its all a load of new age bullshit really. It may be shocking to hear, but music imagery and holding hands in a circle did not manage to coax me out of suicide or an eating disorder. Maybe I should have given 'relaxtion therapy' a try.