I've been so so happy this week keeping myself busy and making sure i lose weight.  And I did, which made me so incredibly happy i felt i would burst with joy.

But now, i have no idea why, i'm just sitting here feeling worse than i have done in a long time.  It's like living a roller coaster of emotions and the drop from the high to the low is almost unbearable.

I don't know how i feel.  I guess it's just numb.  And i hate it.  I hate myself and i feel like that's never ever going to go away.  I feel so empty and alone and completely terrified.  Right now, i just want someone to hold me, and make me feel safe for a while.  But i know that the feeling i crave is transient.  'This too shall pass' is a quote always in my mind, sometimes helpful, sometimes not.

I just want someone to hold me and i may find the courage to speak the words which are so hard to find and impossible to utter aloud.  I just want someone to be with me right now.  I can't bear this any more.

Whilst on the subject of studying etc. I have recently discovered how easy it is not to attend classes and not to complete homework.  Throughout my whole school life, I was one of those kids who was, basically, a swot: I always completed my homework and handed it in on time; I studied diligently for every assessment from the major exams to the minor tests; and I never, ever deliberately skipped a class - in fact, I hated missing school, because it meant being at home.

In school, you just cannot win.  You either turn out looking like a swot by being a 'good' pupil which pleases your parents, but you get picked on rotten by your peers, or, you turn out looking like one of the 'cool' kids which pleases your peers but disappoints your parents.  Obviously, I was the former, out of choice or not, I am not certain.

However, I was thinking recently, how I can kind of understand why some students do not do their homework, do not study for tests and deliberately skip classes.  For the first time, I have experienced this lack of discipline, and it is a scarily easy trap to fall into.  I have started two courses (with the intention of: getting me out of the house; giving me something to do in my time off; building my confidence; finding myself) and for the first few weeks, I was doing well.  And for me to admit that is such a huge achievement.  But then I started to feel more and more fat which makes me hate myself more and more (which seemed impossible) and then I get more and more depressed and withdrawn, which makes me more and more reluctant and then subsequently unable to physically leave the house.  So I don't go out - I skip classes.  I feel worthless and unable to do anything to any degree of satisfaction - I don't do my homework.  I haven't done my homework, so I don't go to class and it spirals and spirals out of my control within a matter of...days at the most.

When something major is going on in your life, things such as homework seem trivial and unimportant compared with the big problems.  And you cannot talk to your tutors about this because, well, I just can't.  Then they get angry at you because they don't understand, and you get frustrated because they are so harsh but really, you are frustrated with your worthless self.

Easy.

This is something different from what I usually tend to veer towards writing about, or rather, ranting about!  I was thinking about it yesterday.  I seem to do a lot of thinking, most of it involves worrying about petty things, however, I thought this might be something I could write about.

Having missed a few classes both this week and last week, I decided to go to the library where I intended to spend the whole afternoon catching up and doing homework.  This was quite a positive step for me: being motivated to do something; planning my day; actually going outside despite being completely terrified; and making it to the library...where I found it closed at 1 o'clock on Wednesdays.  It was 12:21.

Bloody typical.

I went in, chose some books, got them out, then decided to go and say a quick hello at the place I work.  Quick turned out to be several hours after I was offered a little room to study in upstairs!  Huddled amid the stock, it felt like working in a little sanctuary!  And I managed to study for a few hours which was great.  I cannot seem to study at home, I just cannot seem to concentrate.  It is as if I need to be locked in a room where there is nothing else to do.  But when I am in this environment, I can study for Britain.  I study and study and study and...

...when I was walking home, I wondered why?  Why do I study?  What for?  What is the point if I just forget everything later on?  What am going to use it for?  Will it help me get places in life?  Is it just a waste of time?  I feel like I'm not achieving anything by all of this studying, and yet I still do it.  The study bug...

Way hay aren't I good?!  Two updates in as many days!

Today I woke up in a miserable state, to glorious sunshine and planned a monster walk to burn as many calories as possible in an attempt to evade this miserable state I found myself in.  Did this happen?  No, it did not.  I spent, instead, a wonderful few hours with a wonderful friend which was undoubtedly better than spending the day walking, alone.  'You'll Never Walk Alone'...how true...I seem to have the invisible yet heavy weight of ana on my shoulders wherever I go.  No matter how much I want to run away from all of this, ana is bound to follow me.  Her company makes me feel more alone than anyone would ever wish to be.

However, sometimes, just occasionally, I can push ana to the dustiest, darkest part of my mind and forget for a while.  For example today, being with my friend, I could forget my label for a while.  A short while, for ana is back with me now, poking and prodding and rumbling within my insides, reminding me incessantly to listen to her commands.

And my obsequious self obeys.

Goodness, it has been so long since I blogged.  I've been sticking more to my written diary because the things I wanted to write, the emotions I wanted to release, were not really suitable to be expressed on here.  But since I found myself online, reading another blog, I signed in and thought to myself, I might as well write something, even if I have nothing to say, hence the ridiculously boring post.

Everything I have to say at the moment is ultimately depressing, so I'll stop here before I spiral into a downward oblivion once again.  I should salute these feelings with my glorious middle finger, but it is easier said than done.

I was doing so well...in the eye of those I'm getting treatment from.  I mean, I was eating a bit more, a lot more actually and I felt, and still feel like an absolute gluttonous pig.  On the one hand, I felt so so guilty that I wasn't going out running my nine miles every night and that I was eating what felt like a vast amount of food.  This guilt was overwhelming and overpowering, lowering my mood to such an intense level of self-loathing that I started cutting again.  Everything felt unbearable.  However, on the other hand, the lack of exercise felt, I'm not sure what the appropriate word is, but it was like a pressure had been lifted away.

Anyway, this lack of exercise and this increase in consumption of food inevitably led to weight gain.  And I felt like shit.  And then I felt even more like shit when I got weighed on Friday because it confirmed my greedy, lazy lardy fatness.  I felt so low that I just don't care about anything.

And now I'm on a mission - to lose it all again, and I am waiting in anticipation the high at the end of the week.  I don't care about anything else.  Ana has taken over and I'm not going to stop it.  Day one is done.  Day two, so far, is on track.  I just hope I can find the willpower to keep this going, keep in control, in the driving seat.

I wish my greatest fear was something normal...like...spiders, or...heights.  But my all-consuming fear is anything to do with weight: food; gaining weight; eating; drinking; scales; feeling fat; going out in public and being conscious of my weight...etc.

I've sort of promised to allow myself to be weighed on Friday and it is absolutely stressing me out to the point that I can't breathe properly, my heart is racing and I haven't slept properly for nights and nights and so tiredness, sheer exhaustion, is making the situation a whole lot worse.  And I have reverted to what I would have liked to have called a former habit, which is no longer 'former' since I have taken it up again.  And I know that getting weighed on Friday is going to exacerbate this habit because I will hate myself so so so much.  I haven't actually told anyone this, but it is just unbearable to cope with and I need to let it out somewhere.

I want so much to turn up to one of my Friday appointments and say 'Hello, yes I'm great thank you, I've had a wonderful week!'  Because, for the last three, or is it four, weeks, I have been unable to get on the scales, I have been unable to complete many of the challenges I wanted to complete and I have felt like a complete and utter failure.  I feel like I'm trying so hard but not getting anywhere.  And at the same time I feel so FAT, so grotesquely huge and the monster inside of me keeps urging me to give up and just carry on as I am.

So that is why a fear of something relatively normal that is incapable of ruining my life is number one on my Christmas present list...

Ooh, exciting stuff...I was invited to a party, which took place yesterday.

Only the senders of the invite obviously did not really want me to go, and probably knew I would not go, which is why they sent an invite.  Not the first time it has happened.

Anyway, it was about a quarter to eleven, and my Mum came upstairs saying that she noticed the sensor activated outside light go on and saw someone whiz up and down the drive.  Curious, she went out and opened the post-box where there was an envelope with my name on it.  My name, written in a handwriting that was obviously someone I knew, but they had made it unrecognisable, disguised.  It was the aforementioned invitation.

I mean, if someone wants you to go to a party, or an event, whatever, if they really wanted you to go: why would they write your name so that you cannot recognise their hand; why would they skulk around in the middle of the night; why would they drive around with headlights switched off; why would they sneak, being as quiet as possible, then drop off the invitation?  Why?

It is so petty and makes no sense to me...why?!?!  Is it me?!?

Needless to say, I did not go.

Last night was awful awful awful.

Ana is getting stronger and it is unbearable to live with.  I was freaking out about an array of things, but most of all about having to get weighed at an appointment today.

I just cannot go on like this, but it's so hard to give up.  Part of me absolutely desperately wants to give it up, wants to get better, to live my life - happily, because I cannot cope with these miserable, melancholic feelings any more.

But another part of me just cannot give it up.  It has got too great a hold of me, it is part of who I am, who I have become.  Yet it is like having a monster living inside of me.  I am a monster but it is not me: my thoughts are not mine; my feelings are erratic; my emotions are suppressed; I am no longer anything but a puppet controlled by an upper being.

How do I get back control?  How do I drive away this monster?  How do I live?

I don't have anything to write about.  Well, not strictly true...I just don't have anything interesting to write about.  It's all the same old same old...vicious circle of feeling like crap, because of this ED, allowing myself to be controlled by my ED, wanting to stop feeling so miserable but ED not allowing me to move forward, trapping me in this gloom and so I carry on feeling like crap.

I just want a hug.  Pathetic as it sounds.  I just want someone to hold me and say, it'll be alright.  Because I don't think it will.  Everything is falling apart around me, because of me.  I want someone to say 'STOP' and make it all go away.

But my wants are too much and I am too needy.  I've got to find the strength to do this myself, but I keep getting knocked back and I clutch on to ana to cope.  Or does ana clutch on to me?

It's been a while since I last wrote.  A while...ha, a bit of an understatement!  I got freaked out at the thought of people reading my innermost thoughts and feelings, but I need to get over being so...I don't know what the word is.  Basically I just need to let go, to be myself and be free from the chains I lock myself in.

Easier said than done, but I am working on it.

So much has happened since my last post, so I'm not even going to start writing down all the nitty gritty details.  I'm just going to start again, from today.

Today my fast starts.  I've been working so hard to beat this ED but I'm freaking out at how much weight I've put on (see, easier said than done to let myself go) but something happened yesterday that made me no longer care about working to get better.  I mean, what for?  I do want to get better, but it seems only so much.  I think it's more wanting to get rid of the feelings I'm feeling.  I don't think this makes sense, but then I don't understand this thing at all.  If I did, I suppose I wouldn't be like this.

I'm not a naturally miserable person so being, trapped, I guess, in this state of melancholy is laboriously exhausting.  I am constantly being told how pale I look, even my mum, who inevitably holds back, mentioned it to me this evening.  Much as I hate to admit it, pale would seem right considering how drained I feel.  Zapped of life.  And usually, from a down day, I am able to pick myself back up to my old smiling self, but it is getting harder, and more fatiguing.  The more tired I am, the more difficult it is to sleep and so I become even more tired which makes me hate myself even more and the more I think about how much I hate myself, the more I cannot sleep.  Once vicious cycle.

I hate feeling so helpless, when you know that someone you care about is upset, and you can't do anything to change the situation.  And they are always there for me, I just want to be able to give back the same amount of comfort and support, but I feel like I am failing.  As trite as it sounds, I wish I had a magic wand, to just be able to wave with one quick flick of the wrist, and make everything better.  The unfairness of it all is so unjust, so unwarranted and makes the situation so much more frustrating.  I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help.

It has been a bitter-sweet day.  I faced a few challenges, which in hindsight seem pathetically petty, but I coped with them.  The herbs on the herb shelf in the kitchen had been muddled out of the alphabetical order I have them in, I panicked a little, but it was fine once I put them back into the right order.  I know this sounds crazy.  I went to the doctor’s on my own to have some blood taken for tests, and was more or less completely fine with it.  I went to the supermarket and, because my Grandmother is staying for a few days, there were a few different items from usual on the list, including generic, ‘chocolate biscuits’.  Well, I did not have a clue what to get.  I stood in the aisle, looking at the overwhelming variety of calorie-drenched, fat-filled, anxiety-inducing chocolate biscuits.  And they were all sitting there on their little perches, in their vibrant packaging as colourful as parrots, looking back at me, eyeing me up and down, throwing me into a panic.  But I survived.  Then I had another letter from someone who always, without even trying, manages to make me feel like shit. 

Now all these ‘challenges’ I faced, and conquered, seem so utterly trivial compared with what some people are facing at the moment, and I hate myself for being so selfish.  Now all I can think about is how worried and upset someone I care about is feeling and I don’t know what to do to help.

So I am sitting here now, avoiding sleep and subsequent nightmares, making origami shapes to keep my mind distracted from unwanted thoughts.

Sod's Law has been skulking into my life aplenty this week.  Yesterday in particular, I had one heck of a near miss...literally, a matter of seconds and all hell would likely have broken loose.  Luckily, the ‘terror-trigger’, for want of a better word, was spotted, right in the nick of time.  As if in slow motion, it crept up, resembling a ghost car, hovering, like a horror movie star wanabee.  I felt like I was in a horror movie at any rate. 

I spend my life acting as a sentinel on the lookout for this ‘terror-trigger’: always wary to the point of scepticism; always cautious to the point of obsession; and always terrified to the point of paranoia.  How typical then, for this ‘terror-trigger’ to turn up in this one particular place at this one particular time, almost catching me unawares. 

Leaping into panic mode, I almost lost it.  Luckily, I wasn’t alone in what would have been a nightmare situation.  Luckily, we were able to laugh about it, as we do, easing the fear and turmoil bubbling up inside me.  It was one of those situations that provoke an array of emotions (both at the time and looking back): first of all fear; then relief at the near miss; a dread of what could have been; then terror in waiting for the moment to pass; frightening flashbacks; a sense of comedy at how pathetic things have become; and actually, rather an unexpected distraction from having to be afraid of what I was about to face...the scales in the doctor’s surgery.

I dove into the back of the car and hid, lying down, as if undercover, on the back seat.  What a palaver came next!  It felt like an age, lying there, anticipating the worst, and not being able to see what was happening for fear of being seen myself.  I am just so incredibly glad I was not alone!  How horrible it is to be left alone with one’s fear.  How wonderful it is to have such a fantastic friend!  Time ticked on and ‘terror-trigger’ eventually emerged and evacuated the scene and I was able to surface and enter the surgery.

The doctor could not have been any nicer, but that did not make getting on the scales any easier, or make me hate myself any less.  I managed it, but I felt I had no choice.  I wasn’t forced, but I just cannot say no, especially under pressure.  I have to go for blood tests tomorrow, which, actually, is not bothering me in the slightest.  Just the stupid scales bother me.  Stepping onto them was the absolute most difficult feat I have faced in a while.  I’m still feeling like utter crap about it now, which has caused me to make really stupid mistakes all day and led to me taking it out on myself because I feel like such an obtuse imbecile.  What frustrates me is that it does not make any sense at all.  It is so completely irrational, and I know it, and I am so completely inane. 

Well now that is something that has never happened to me before...

I don't really know how to word what happened, but the closest phrase that describes it is, someone 'had a go' at me in the street.  There was no significant commotion or shouting or a real uproar, but it was nevertheless, an upsetting and horrible experience, to say the least.  And I just stood there, vegetative, and took it.

I don’t know whether to call it irony, or, Sod’s Law.

The thing is, I had been bothered about bumping into this particular individual all day:

1.    1.  I went to the town where, let’s call them X, is educated, and so was apprehensive about meeting them there. 

2.    2.  I went into the actual place where X attends education and was concerned about colliding into them there. 

3.     3. I caught a particular bus home and was anxious about running into X on that. 

I was, relieved, I think is the word I am looking for, to have passed the whole day without seeing X, or his little friends.  Apart from almost having a panic attack in the bus station whilst on the phone to my mum, I had managed to confront my fears! 

It’s curious how some things stay clear in your mind when you think back to them.  I think, that we, or I anyway, worry tremendously before making any decisions.  I fret about any consequences that could arise, I agonise over making the correct choice, I fear upsetting others or letting people down as a result of my stupidity.  What I am getting at here, is that I was, once again, worrying about making a decision, that is, at which bus stop I should get off.  I very nearly got off one stop earlier than usual, and if only I had!  The should-I-shouldn’t-I deliberation going on in my mind is extraordinarily clear.  There must be a reason for things like this.

But the past is the past and cannot be changed, obviously, so I got off the bus at the usual stop.  I noticed some people waiting in the bus stop, but, because I’m so shy, I am, in public, so focused on getting things right, not making a fool of myself and so on, that I just concentrate intently on what I have to do – get off the bus without falling over, thank the bus driver, start walking home, which route to take home, cross the road – watch out for cars etc.  I know it sounds ridiculous.

I noticed people in the bus stop, but didn’t take in who it was, being so fixated on my routine.  But then I heard, somewhere in the distance, like a familiar voice in the back of my head, someone calling my name.  When I was sure it was me, my name, someone calling after myself, I slowly turned around to see X coming after me.  When I say, ‘coming after me’ I do not mean that to sound at all in a threatening way, I just do not know how else to put it.

I was astounded, almost overwhelmed, that X had even acknowledged me, let alone speak to me considering their behaviour over the last few months.  But this pleasant surprise was ephemeral, fleeting to say the least.  I felt threatened.  Intimidated.  At fault.  Worthless.  X asked me what I was playing at and then recited rampant rhetoric about how I had destroyed everything.

Great way to end the day...

A few things upset me about this encounter.  Firstly, the Sod’s Law thing mentioned earlier.  Secondly, how I just stood there and took it all.  Thirdly, how very pitiable the whole situation has become for a mere teenager to act so pompously, due to indoctrination and manipulation.  And fourthly, X had an audience, without which, I do not think X would have performed.

It is all about image.  Life is all about image.  They have to look good, make sure it appears as if they are doing the correct thing.  As long as it looks as if they are right, nothing else matters.  Not even how rubbish and worthless and meaningless and hollow and rejected and at fault I am made to feel.  As long as they still have their aura of pure perfection, nothing else is of any importance.

No wonder I have my own image issues...

Do you ever get tired?  I mean, really tired?  So tired you feel you cannot do anything, you cannot face the day, cannot face the world, or even the people you love.

On these days, I just feel like giving up.  What's the point anyway?  I try my hardest, my absolute, and yet, it is never good enough.  I feel like a failure, so I might as well just give in and carry on as I am.  But then that makes me a failure too.  I'm trapped in an ironic limbo between success and failure where I need to fail at this consuming eating disorder in order to be a success.

I'm tired of being a failure.  I'm jaded from lack of sleep due to distress over the failure that I am.  I'm knackered of never being good enough, no matter how hard I try.  I'm tired of people thinking I am not trying to change.  I'm exhausted of constantly making the effort, but to no avail.  I'm sick, and tired, of living like this.  Because it's not really living. It's just existing, lost, lacking an identity, breathing and moving, but not feeling.

I hate going to bed, falling asleep feeling like crap and then waking up a few hours later, totally unrefreshed, utterly exhausted and still feeling like crap, or worse.  Yesterday was a good day.  No, it was a great day!  I had my hair done, a self-indulgent, pampering experience.  I bought myself some perfume, again, self-indulgent and extravagant.  I spent a little while with a wonderful friend and then spent some time tutoring two brilliant girls.  I felt good.  Then I got home, felt completely alone in contrast with my day which full of interaction with different people.  I grew lower and lower, recoiled and withdrew into this pit of despair for no real valid reason.  It make me feel ridiculously selfish yet I cannot stop it and now, today, I feel that I am unable to face the world.  I cannot even leave the house, leave my bedroom.

Things are moving forward on the ED front.  I went to see a psychologist last week.  On the one hand, I was terrified, because, well, that's just me.  On the other hand, I was...not quite excited, but...ready to embrace, I guess are the words I'm looking for, the help that I need in order to move on and live my life to the full.  I wasn't sure what to expect at all to be honest.

It was pretty intense.  One of the first questions I was asked was, 'What do you think is the problem?'  Now, I haven't cried properly for a long while, and not in public, for years, for ever in fact, but this question made me want to bawl, and then to be comforted.  I have only ever cried alone, in the comfort of my room...not that it was ever comforting.  (I cannot believe I am writing about crying; it is making me feel rather awkward and I am struggling to word what I would like to say - apologies for the atrocious writing!)

Crying is a tremendously personal thing.  I find it near impossible to cry now.  Sometimes I wish I could just cry, and cry and let it all out, and have someone there to see how much I am hurting, to be there for me and hold me tight, but that's just pathetic.  I am not one for flaunting my weaknesses, or my positives for that matter, and so when this strange sensation: the watery stinging of the eyes; the lump planted deep in the throat; the outrageous burning of the cheeks; this surge of embarrassment; and shame of my eating disordered behaviour swept over me, I was shocked, caught by surprise.  And I stopped myself.  Kept control.  I just wish I could let go though, because keeping it back is holding my progress back.

I feel like crying right now.  For no particular reason, just the usual...I can't sleep, I feel so alone, I hate myself so so much, I hate the feelings I experience with having this eating disorder, but, equally, fear the thought of giving the thing up, I'm terrified of everything, I'm scared of the medical tests I need to have as recommended by the psychologist, I feel so selfish for having these thoughts when others have much more serious things to be worried about and I feel even more selfish for not being able to help as much as I would like to, which makes me feel useless.

Once I find a purpose to my life, I know that I will have something to work towards, which may help me on this more than turbulent road to recovery.

I passed my theory test today.  It gave me a huge sense of success which disappeared as quickly as it enveloped me.  Just like all other exams, like all other successes.  Short lived and seeminly futile.  I mean, OK, yes I was momentarily happy with myself, but then I read through the test results, and the questions where I had gone wrong jumped out at me.  Always eyeing up the negatives.  I seem to be an expert at pointing out the positives in others and the negatives in myself.  I just can't help it - it is like an addiction, like a smoker has to have a cigarette, like an alcoholic has to have another drink, I have to keep boosting others, making them feel great about themselves, in contrast with pointing out my own errors, my flaws, my imperfections...

...which may be why I have lost about half a stone after putting some weight on.  But it's still not good enough.  The more I lose, the more imperfections I find on my body, the more I hate it, myself.  I get so frustrated with myself for being so weak, for lacking such willpower and for being so utterly selfish. 

I just long to be normal.  I crave self assurance and confidence.  I want to be able to do things my friends can do, without flying into a frantic panic over nothing.  I want to be able to do things a normal twenty year old can do, without being consumed by fear.  I want the feeling of emptiness to evaporate and the feeling of loneliness to disappear.  I hate my wants.

It is strange that it is Mother's Day tomorrow.  Well, no, it is not strange, because Mother's Day happens every year, obviously.  It's just that this is the first Mother's Day in over ten years that I will have the opportunity to celebrate the occasion with my real mother.  For the whole of that motherless period, a mother is all I wanted, but now we are reunited and, despite the fact that I hate the commercialisation of such occasions, we should be able to enjoy the day together.  My mum's actually away so I am taking the opportunity to transform her garden and give her a whopping great, hopefully lovely, surprise.

I was browsing through quotes, as I do, and this one struck me: 'There is nothing to suggest that mothering cannot be shared by several people.' H R Schaffer.  I am lucky enough to have a couple of incredibly significant mother-figures in my life, without whom, I very much doubt I would be here today.  They are the most loving, kind, funny, generous, selfless, fantastic of people, that if I sung their praises all day, all week, all year, it would still not do them justice.  They have taught me so many valuable lessons, lessons which I will cherish and bear in mind for the rest of my life so that I can be care-free and happy, so that I can live.  And this is when another quote struck me: 'The art of mothering is to teach the art of living to children.'  Elaine Heffner.  I have never been taught, how to live, only to be subservient, to show deference, to be obedient, to be a clones, and thus, now, I am an obsequeious, painfully shy, worthless, seemingly arrogant being, always trying to please, and always failing.  Not good.

But my friends are helping to wean me out of this being.  I cannot wait to break out of this suffocating cocoon and emerge, a butterfly, soaring high and happy between silken sheets of blue skies under a golden-warm, nectar-sweet sun. 

Maybe then I will not feel so awkward calling my real mother 'Mum' or 'Mam' or 'Mummy' or anything mother-related after all these years of not being able to do so.  I have been so fixated on the idea that my mother would be the answer to all my problems.  But now I need to be realistic.  It is nice to have my mother back, it eases the guilt a tad, but by no means significantly.  I just cannot seem to shift this guilt which insists on weighing me down.  It is at times exhausting and I am so grateful I have two significant mother-figures to keep me going and I am so incredibly eternally grateful for all the support they are showing me, for always being there for me, and for always putting up with me, no matter how low I am.

Thus Mother's Day: I now think about it as not merely a day to celebrate love for a mother, but also think of all those out there who should absolutely not go forgotten, who act as mother-figures - a fairy godmother perhaps, or a fantastic friend.

I hate this turbulent, roller-coastering up and down, up and down.  One minute, I am my joyously happy self with my friends and, especially with one close friend, can forget, more or less, everything.  But then suddenly from this peak, out of the blue, the roller coaster decides to take arbitrary corkscrew turns, first throwing me about in frustration, then plummeting down, down, my happiness has fallen out of the ride, lower and lower until I have reached a trough, an inexplicable black oblivion.  Feeling at rock bottom for no reason that I can think of.

And this rock bottom is horrendous.  I cannot even describe it.  First of all, the deep sadness is random, as in, there is absolutely no reason for me to be like this...but I am, and I cannot, wish as hard as I can, make that roller coaster change path and rise up, up and up, hauling with it my mood.  So I remain stuck, trapped on this roller coaster ride of misery which absolutely terrifies me beyond belief.

I complain, and yet I deserve it.  After eveything I have done.  After the misery I have caused to more than an array of people, and people for whom I care about at that.  This is totally my own fault.  I have made people miserable, I have then, uninentionally, pushed people away, I have caused havoc and made myself a complete nuisance to othes.  Now I am overcome with guilt which leaves me bearing the weight of misery on my shoulders.  I daren't complain any more for I unquestionnably deserve this comeuppance, this emotion trapped inside me causing turmoil. 

So when people tell you it's better not to bottle up, it's better to talk about things, I never believe it.  And it always comes back and bites me on the bum.  It's not that I'm being stubborn.  It's that I actually cannot bring myself to speak of my own accord.  I do not know how to talk about things, or what to talk about, or where to start.  I hate the idea that I'm moaning.  I hate the idea that I'm inconveniencing someone whilst talking about myself because I'm so worthless.  And I hate what I talk about because hearing it out loud makes it more concrete, more real and makes me sound more crazy.

Sometimes it has to be let it out though.  Otherwise, these feelings build up inside, and you cannot help but find yourself immersed from the inside out in an inescapable state of sheer melancholy.  You find yourself so scared that you feel this fear taking over your whole self. No longer mere butterflies fluttering tauntingly in your stomach, but flapping manically, rising up through your whole body, leaving you in a state of breathless panic.  Try as you might, you cannot quell it, nor can you find a reason for this fear, which scares you even more, leaving you feeling even more frightened.  You find yourself so sad, that you are launched into a hollow pit of darkness, and the harder you search, the further away you are from finding a light.  Again, you cannot find a reason for this deep state of melancholy which renders you feeling so pathetic and thus even more sad.  You cry over absolutely nothing, which, for someone who has learnt not to cry, is terrifying.  You are losing control, again, terrifying.  You have all these feeling torturing you, and yet you are empty, you are numb and just feel dead inside.  You just want to be held tight, safe, and never be let go of.  You want to run away, to escape from this being.  You want someone to just make it better.

But you know that is not going to happen.  You know you are going to have to confront it all and that is what terrifies you the most.  So you keep bottling.

Don't you just hate it when someone puts a spanner in the works?  Especially when that someone was a person you were close to - close to by blood and close to by friendship. But that is all now shattered, like a mirror disintegrated into a trillion tiny shards, impossible to piece together, lost.  Thinking about this loss makes me sad - sad for the loss of the good times, sad for the loss of a friend and sad for the loss of a brother.  Then again, what is the use of living in the past, in a dream world?  I need to just remember those good times, cherish them, hold on to those happy memories, and move on, grateful that I have experienced happiness in my life, unlike many people.

That doesn't mean I'm not angry for the time being.  It's all just a game, a pitiful petty little game that they think they can win.  And they will try anything to win, even the most manipulative, coniving tricks, like sending their own son to dish the dirt on his sister, their own daughter.  The harder they try to win their game, the more and more they push me away.  Why are they so blind to this?  They don't seem to realise they're playing on their own.  Their actions have served as a catalyst creating an erruption, an explosion which, little do they realise, is harming them just as much as it is harming everyone they are trying to harm.

I realise this post is rather cryptical...I guess it's just me trying to sort things out in my head, thinking aloud...

Funny isn't it, how you can make youself think things like...new month, new start.  Today for example, 1st March - St David's Day.  Or...new hair, new you.  Again, today, for example, I have now transformed into a blonde with a fringe in my quest for finding a different person in myself.  You have all these ideals you wish to fulfil in order to better yourself as a person, and you feel excitingly positive concerning the good you expect to ensue with your new frame of mind.  Everything is going to be humdingity alright.

And then boom!  Something happens.  Hits you like an arrow on target, smack bang central, pushing your Negative On button and shatters your picture of perfection into a plethora of painful shards, which cut you, deep.  You blame the way you now feel, (drained, exhausted, hurting like hell, disappointed, rejected, controlled, lost, confused, worthless, and quite frankly, pissed off) on the way you have been treated.  You can bottle it up or rant and rave all you like about this...but then how will it help? 

At the end of the day, you are in charge of your own emotions.  I heard someone say, a few weeks ago, that people do not make you feel a certain emotion, you make yourself feel that emotion.  Whilst I don't totally agree with this, (I mean, if a person hasn't done something to make you feel angry, or sad, then you would have no reason to be angry or sad, so people do make you feel certain emotions).  I see it as people can make you feel certain emotions, but then it is down to you how you deal with it.  For example, if someone makes you feel so worthless that it prevents you from getting on with your life, then that person is partly to blame, but then at the same time, so are you partly to blame for allowing them to make you feel so worthless that you are prevented from, and prevent yourself from getting on with your life.  Deal with it.

But then it's so much easier said than done isn't it?

So...this is my first post...exciting stuff eh?

Well, it would be, but I don't really know what I'm doing. I mean, I don't know what I'm doing in a technical sense, and in a sense that I can't believe I am doing this, that I am going to write things down that I have disclosed, willingly, to a very limited number of people.

Now it has come to the crunch, I find myself unable to actually write what I intended. I can see the words there in my mind, swishing around, tauntingly, like a big juicy carrot being dangled, swaying to and fro, teasingly in front of a starving donkey. I'm such a coward. It's probably because I'm ashamed of my selfishness that I find it hard to admit my stupidity.

Someone once told me, 'just blurt it out', and perhaps that is the best thing to do. Get it out and over with, and then wait and see what the reactions are...

So, I have finally admitted that I have an eating disorder, and am now standing on the edge of a precipice. I can choose to keep on walking and keep falling into this abyss of hell, or take the little footbridge to help me across - but the path is so long and challenging, that sometimes, remaining the same is easier, and safer.