8:05 a.m. - 03/04/03
white-knuckling.
I can't be online right now because of the supposedly impending doctor's call (so I'm not.) My goal was to be off by 8:00 (figuring he wouldn't call before then) and I made it by 8:05; not bad. It's not that I need my morning rituals, so much as that I like them, and that I wanted to write in my journal this morning, and I don't like to do that on pages which aren't intended solely for the use of writing in one's journal. (I also refresh the page until finding a banner I like. I have standards for this; oh, I do.)
I just want to clarify that my physical life was never in jeopardy last night. I feel a little frightened to say this, but- that hasn't been an option in some time. It just isn't anymore. It isn't an option because I know that if I could break the Berlin walls inside my head, I'd find all the reasons I need to stay alive (the ones I knew three days ago, an hour past, and so forth) and because ... I can't consider it, knowing what I know. Still, I was contemplating my own worthlessness for longer than any girl should, thinking thoughts like, "I am wasted space and breath, body and air" and "my organs could serve someone better than me." I don't like the idea of what my life is, and I turn that, quickly, into not liking who I am. I still consider the present to be everything; where I am is where I'll always be...I can't imagine that, living in D!@#$%^, that I deserve more than D!@#$%^. I can't imagine.
And there are banshee-queens inside me who scream at the thoughts of school and of breakfast. Writing this, I'm ending up glad he'll call sometime this morning; food should not be so hard again. What I really considered last night was relapse, and at this point, that could be considered suicide. It wasn't when they tried to tell me so, two years ago- that eating disorders are just a slower method of losing one's life. Knowing what I know now, having lived so differently; it would mean giving up more than I can. In the meantime, the doctor and I have brought up issues I don't (yet?) have the means to manage on my own. And if that doesn't make a girl want to starve and cut and purge, what will?
I want to be the picture of recovery, and I don't want anyone to think this is recovery. I consider locking the entire journal just to shut myself up (off)...just to keep myself from being heard.
And thank you, thank you, thank you. Alice Ripley saved my spirit last night.
chord
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