I got so sidetracked earlier. I want to write until I am exhausted at the moment. Is that a good thing? Perhaps.
I haven’t done great with my eating the last few days. I haven’t exactly binged, but I’m terrified that I’m eating too much and will have gained weight. Today:
4 Weetabix with water
Few squares white chocolate
Oatmeal and raisin cookie
Small bag baked crisps
I think that’s it. Possibly. I feel HUGE. Gross, my tummy is distended, I look massive. I love the empty numbness I get when I starve. Yet I’m going through a patch where I want to comfort eat and starving doesn’t work so well. I tried today. I am still fighting it. Without consequences I would have eaten the house today. Yet I know that it will NOT help. At all. I have managed not to be sick.
Just ride out the storm…
The dog is keeping me company.
I feel like I desperately want to see my therapist before Friday. It’s so far away right now. I am freaking out without a lifeline. Sometimes I cope without her, but I’m not doing so well at it right now. I miss her. I know that I want to drown my fears in alcohol. I would die for a drink but I’m on the Antabuse at the moment. I am trying not to fight against it. I guess it keeps me safe, but it also leaves me to deal with raw emotion. It’s hard work.
I am considering buying benzos online again. Not sure.
Part of me wants to burn badly so that I will be hospitalised and get another skin graft. I feel so vulnerable and want to be mothered, babied, taken care of. Yet I feel so guilty for feeling that way. It’s pretty sad that the only way I know how to get attention is to self-destruct. I really would like to be in a safe place right now.