Day 3: Fallen Angel

Completing by force (Ed’s force).

Skinny bitches in shorts.

So triggering to see leg tendons.

Going to crack sooner this time, I think.

I almost cry every time I complete.

I really just want to boost, but I want my car and I want to leave so I HAVE to complete.

Ed gives me the will to complete.

But makes me feel like shit for it.

Don’t open up.

Don’t share.

Don’t tell anyone anything.

I’m fine.

I’m good.

I’m train-smoking.

And lying.

I’m not here to make friends.

Unfortunately my damned expressive face shows what I’m thinking to the other patients.
Milieu staff aren’t nearly as good as last time.

No where to hide.

So I literally hide out back on the porch under the pretense of smoking.

I don’t want to be here.
I don’t want to restore so quickly.

But my dietician put me on a full meal plan plus 2 snack 2’s to begin with.  I hate her.   Ed hates her.  Because fuck.  Now I have to complete, everything.  I am not staying here.  I don’t want to practice being me.  I want to hide and be left alone.  I want to work and do school and hide.

She said I’m a really high functioning malnourished brain.  Wonder what it would be like if I were healthy.  I’m fucking smart apparently.

Good. Let me be smart.

Alone. Away from here.

Let me die.

Let me punish myself for being the fuckup I am.  I deserve it.

God forgives me, but I don’t forgive myself.  And I feel worse about that because who the fuck am I in light of his majesty?!

NO FUCKING ONE.

I trust no one.

There’s no one to trust.

I’m a fucking failure.

I’m not even good at my eating disorder.

I want to be good at it though.

Thoughts at a 10, obviously.

I should just go take anxiety meds and boost my fucking supper and pass the fuck out.

I’ve never wanted the day to go by so quickly before.

I watch the clock incessantly.

Tomorrow is Ceramics in the City.

Maybe they’ll let me drive.

I doubt it.

Last time I made an elephant.

I don’t even give a shit what I make this time.

I just want to die.

Why won’t anyone just let me die.

I’m fine.

I don’t need to check in.

Please don’t ask me how I am doing or if I want to talk about it
Because I DON’T.

I hate this so much.

So, Tell Me What You Think.

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