Death and release

I wonder what will come next. My next meeting with my shrink when I will clarify that I don't want treatment cause I'm not ready, but I do want emotional support. Or an appointment with the eating disorder unit in possibly the same building where I don't know what to expect at all. Some kind of psychological tests I suppose. They'll probably weigh me and measure my height. They'll probably ask a lot of weird questions that I haven't thought of.

I'm trying to imagine it. It just swirls a lot in my head now. I've only had psychological evaluations twice before. First time for Asperger and second time for Borderline. Oh, and of course for transsexualism, how could I forget. I've got 3 diagnoses, possibly 4 in the near future then. See, I collect them like flies to sugar. I'm just a mental fuck up trying to survive at least partially on my own. And look how well it's going!

Yeah, I just sigh, never knowing what's next to come, but I'm used to it. It's like yet another hail storm comes along and I just shrug and say "now what?" with a bitter tone in my voice. Cause things always go to hell and I'm not reacting much at all this time compared to before. I'm not panicking, I'm just trying to figure it out as calmly as I can.

Sure, of course I have my moments of utter panic, that's not what I'm trying to say. It's sort of become a way to escape reality for me now. That I'd much rather obsess about calories and food and weight than think about what tears at my heart. Cause this obsession is so huge, so immense and taking up so much space in my head, it's practically a piece of cake to distract myself with it, rather than away from it.

I don't know if that makes much sense, that I choose to drown in this eating disorder thing just as a method to not drown in something else that is much more terrible. Yes, it's a matter of degrees of awfulness and in comparison, I'm riding an ana high worth fucking dying for. So no, I don't think you can imagine the unspeakable torment that my heart is going through right now, under the layers that won't come off in the first place.

I hide it from myself, that torment that would rip me in pieces otherwise. In that, very fucked up way, I'm actually glad that I have an obsession this strong that can sugar coat even the most awful things. Maybe that's why I don't want to recover.

I need this, I need it to survive yet chances are it's gonna kill me. It's so fucked up, but I think I understand it now. It's a way of escapism that has taken control over me, and I let it, because I need the escapism. I fucking depend on it with my life and I'm fucking serious.

I'm not being over dramatic, it's true. The things that tear my heart to bloody pieces are so terrible that if things I fear are to happen, I won't be around much longer. I'm so sure of it that it scares me. I'd rather have untreated anorexia than admit to my fears.

I talked about them with my shrink the time before last and she made me sign a contract to not kill myself if things were to happen. I won't follow that contract if things go to hell. I just lie and please her to let her believe whatever she wants to. Cause if... that would be the end of me, the end of my world, the end of everything. And my fears keep me up at night, they cause panic attacks and make me cry myself to sleep.

But lately I've been able to tone them down, to control them even, due to my obsession. It's as real as the other but I can choose what to blindly focus on, and I'd rather die slowly from an eating disorder, than instantly from a broken heart.