My grandmother died today. She died by choosing to do so. I'm surprised she lasted so long, suffering daily the way she did. While I was trying to mend my already broken heart, her passing away brought me back to point A. I love you and miss you already.

A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, Grandma.

Wouldn't you know, break-ups are a great weight loss plan. Coffee and cigarettes. Nicotine and caffeine. It doesn't change the fact that I'm dying inside though.

I regret every single thing I said, I said those things too softly.

I broke up with him. And he acted like it was nothing. However, he had the nerve to say (more like yell) "you act like we're supposed to grow old together and get married! Well I'm not getting old and I'm sure as hell not getting married." Spoken like a true fucking winner. Go fuck yourself. I'm so much better without you.

I wish I could be as insensitive as you, be as big of an asshole. But, in that same thought, I realize you probably like me because I'm sweet. A ray of big fucking sunshine. Well, fuck you. You've made me this way, changed me into something I never wanted to be. Fuck. You.

In other news, I'm a big fat oaf. Remind me to never eat again, for the rest of my miserable little life.*

*Maybe this is why you don't love me anymore.

I feel like crying again. I swear, you'd think I was PMSing, but alas, my depression isn't being driven by raging female hormones, it's a boy named H. Our date was a bust. Other plans came about, so we did that instead (other plans = Dungeons and Dragons. Don't laugh, there isn't shit to do in this town). On the drive over, I was happy that I was going to see him. Ecstatic, even. Things were going to be back to normal. Obviously my perception of how things were going to be were badly misconstrued. When I was in one room, he was in the other. He would go outside, I'd come in. I found myself feeling a strong sense of resentment towards him, annoyance. It's because he just left. He's left me metaphorically, physically, emotionally. He left me without any regard, without a care. We're alone, together. Miles apart while we're in the same room.

"You said, 'so go'. With such disdain, you know?"

Alright, real talk. On this coming Wednesday, big 'ol Hump Day, I will be moving into my new apartment. The following day is the first day of my second year. By then, I WILL be at 110lbs. I am currently between 113 and 115 (on a bad day, but who am I kidding, every day is a bad day). Therefore, I will have some, keyword *some*, wiggle room for error, but regardless. I WILL BE ONE HUNDRED AND TEN POUNDS BY THURSDAY THE LATEST. Fasting tomorrow. Fasting Monday. Possibly a smidgen of a cracker on Tuesday so I have energy for the heavy lifting the following day. Yus. Just a smidgen.

On another note, I confronted H about our awful tension here. Constantly grasping opportunities to lash out on one another, or completely ignore the other's existence (mostly H). Long story short, we came to a happy solution of letting stupid bygones be bygones. We had planned to have a date night tomorrow. We were going to go to our favorite cheap sushi place that is conveniently located a hop, skip and a jump away from the movie theatre. Unfortunately, some other plans overcame this one, though we're still going to be together. Finally. I hate to love that boy, every single damned day, but love to love him even more, every hour on the hour. Christ.

Ready Set Binge!

Judge all you want. I've had a shitty fucking week.

I feel like I'm in a deep hole that I can't get out of. I feel like my chest is caving in. I feel like I can't breathe. I still owe my school $1,600.00 with no refund check. I only get one paycheck this week, versus two. Not to mention, this ed thing. Granted, it gives me a sense of control, something that I have a handle on, but in reality, I'm really fucked up. And who is there to talk to? Damnit, I feel so alone. Fuck. I can't breathe and my teeny tiny heart is jumping out of my chest. I want to cry, I want to scream, but I'm afraid people will hear me. Will they hear me? I don't want anyone's help, I'm in the mess I am because I put myself there. Everything is heavy. Everything is so god damn heavy. Just make it go away.

Please. I'm begging you.

I'd rather not talk about yesterday's intake. Although I did go to the gym for a bit. However, today has been a grand success, aside from H being an asshole like usual. I'd also rather not talk about that either.

Alright, so I like to do this torturous thing from time to time. Last year, H hooked up with this girl that I was kinda-sorta friends with (only in social situations, really). He used to bring her around to all the parties and what not. She even drove out to see him when he was still in California for school. So, because I love to suffer, I constantly look at her stupid photos on stupid facebook and wonder if he's seen them, if he wishes that things didn't end badly with her...yada yada yada. I don't think she would bother me if he didn't bring her into conversations every once and a while. Like he's still spiteful or something. Other than that though, she wouldn't bother me. I mean, c'mon, I'm totally prettier than her.*

*Ha, yeah right. Funny.

Alright, so day 1 was both a success, but may be considered a fail. Depends on who you ask. I started off this morning by eating one toasted poptart (200, don't judge, I've been craving it), as well as a frozen cappuccino from the local handy mart (approx. 300). Totals 500 cal, give or take. Didn't eat alllllll day, some how managed to make that miracle come true. But then I got home and had pita chips with hummus and two giant slices of cheese pizza, accompanied with ranch. YUM fat. Of course, I purged all of that right away, and I'm pretty sure I was able to get rid of it all. Huzzah.

On another note, I'm having crazy thoughts about H. I don't understand why I feel so insecure about our relationship. I just feel so disposable to him. I was once even referred to as his "weekend girlfriend" because that's the only time I saw him, when I drove across town to see him. I thought I was over all that unsureness and anxiety, but the "incident" has made me feel like he could care less, like he could live without me. I don't want to be with anyone else; he's all I think about, day in and day out. I think I'd die if we ever broke up, that's how much I love him. I love that fucking asshole.*

*Spoken like a true naiveté. Get over yourself.

Just when I'm feeling thin, that maybe I can take a break from this for awhile, I get a reality check. A big, FAT reality check. (Yeah, my skinny jeans were snug.)

And it's getting worse.

I have eaten a cup and a half of chocolate chips, countless pita chips, a granola bar, a sugar cookie, wheat thin crackers, a glass of chocolate soy milk, two toaster strudels...a small binge, but a binge nonetheless. I've guzzled down almost a liter of water in hopes of getting it all back up. No one is home. The porcelain god and I can finally have our alone time.

I want to cry right now, though I'm not too sure what for. Perhaps it's because my mother and I got into a fight, which ended up in her kicking me out. Perhaps it's because I think H really is falling out of love with me. Or perhaps, it's the never ending battle with my shitty self-esteem. I suppose I should explain the three topics:

1. A few weeks ago, I had developed a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI). Damn that bastard, H. Anyway, I took care of it accordingly, drank lots of water and cranberry juice, starting on a Friday. Saturday I was still flushing it out. Sunday, however, I was urinating blood. Obviously this is a serious symptom, so I made a mental note to go to the doctor the following business day, as the office is closed on weekends. (Sidenote to keep in mind: My family currently has outstanding medical bills from an accident my brother was in. He's fine, been fine - that kid is made of steel, I tell ya - but, I've been made aware that we are pinching pennies.) Monday comes along, no longer peeing blood, but I decide I still need to go to the doctor for meds after work. I tell this to my mother, as well as the seriousness of the matter, and she gets pissed, raging pissed, that I didn't tell her about it. Apparently she "had the right to know", as if she was the one dealing with it. On top of the UTI, I have also been aware of a suspicious lump on my labia (sorry if it's graphic). I told her that as well, and that pissed her off even more. Long story short, it got physical, she wouldn't let me leave the room, hit me, yelled at me, called me ungrateful and selfish, et cetera et cetera. All of which ended up in me being kicked out of the house due to the "my house, my rules" policy. Apparently, my body and personal health needs to be her business.

Since then, we have spoken, nothing important, mostly about school and what not. I did tell her that I cannot and will not come back unless we see a therapist. After all, she is one of the primary reasons for this damned disease. But I do miss her.

2. The past two nights, I stayed over at H's house because "when the parents are away..." That being said, and to keep things PG-13, he left. Right in the middle. Simply said, "I'll be right back", left the room for a few minutes, then climbed back into bed with his back turned to me. I want to break down and cry just thinking about it. And he doesn't tell me he loves me, only until after I tell him. Really, the only thing I can do right now is to prepare myself for the worst. Cue the depression.

3. I've hit the lowest of the low. Rather than puking into a toilet bowl, I've taken up empty beverage cups and grocery bags from inside my car...in the privacy of my car. I have to feel my own hot vomit in my lap, sitting uncomfortably with the empty 32oz cup between my legs, hunched over it, hoping I don't miss it and get it on my jeans or the seat instead. One word can describe this type of behavior; pathetic.

I am dead to the world for now. Hopefully the cause of death is starvation. Maybe then, at least I'll be pretty. At least I'll be worthy.

I hate this.