so. buttons.

yeaaah.

I was recently prescribed ritalin by my physician. That is supposedly a Good Thing, considering my history and current predicament with severe ADD. Of course, my mind being the wonderful machine that it is, the first thing I thought about was the fact that it may help me lose weight, especially if I'm still taking provigil. What. The. Fuck. Have I not tortured myself enough, punished myself enough? I mean, c'mon. So I'm at a high weight. That should be a big "whatever"--but it's not. As I lose control of my studies and have fallen into depression, the conflicting desires to lose weight and overeat take control of my mind. What am I to do? My new therapist has set new goals for me: take my meds, go to classes, work out non-compulsively, read to relax, get out my Renfrew notebook and start doing exchanges again. I would give that entire idea a mainly apathetic "mehhh."

I can be healthy again, right? I can be strong again. More muscle. I mean, I don't hate my body right now. I would like to have wider hips and a smaller waist and narrower shoulders, but hey, nobody is perfect. It's just that I really miss my muscles. Fuck being skin and bones--seriously, FUCK THAT. I'm sick of that shit. It's neither cute, nor hot, nor pretty... it's gross when you look sick. It's one thing to be naturally thin, but really, to starve or work yourself to death is just uncool. I want to start walking more, and swimming, and lifting weights. I know I shouldn't run, since that has never been healthy for me, and definitely not while I'm still smoking. For that matter, I should cut back on smoking. Maybe get my aunt's bike like I said I would.

I feel terribly guilty about wanting to lose weight. Everyone does everything they can to convince me that it's a horrid idea. I want to believe them when they tell me I still look good. One of my old teachers looked me up and down before saying with a hint of relief, "You look better." Another teacher said after I got out of Renfrew, "This is the best I've ever seen you." I know better than to take that at anything other than face value. There's no point in reading between the lines. People that I trust for the most part tell me that I'm beautiful. I want to believe them, but I can't see it. I hate these diseases for what they've turned me into. I look around, and all I can see is beautiful people. They surround me, and I feel like I don't belong. One of my friends pointed out a long time ago that I only associate with beautiful people. Why is that? I don't know. Another one of my friends tried to convince me that I'm not ugly by saying that she would never be friends with an ugly person, just in case she ends up sleeping with them and has to wake up and look at them. Comforting, right?

I just look at all of the old pictures, and while they are scary, I miss looking like that. I fit better. I was less of a burden. Actually, no, I was a pain to be around. I couldn't hold conversations or just chill and hang out without being incredibly anxious. Everyone walked on eggshells around me. They treated me differently. If anything, I was more of a burden, because they worried about me. I even made people cry for me. But they loved me differently then.

I went back to Greensboro for fall break. It broke my heart. I can't stand knowing that I can't help anymore. There's nothing that I can do. I have to acknowledge that it's out of my control; they're out of my control. I just want to fix everyone's life so that they'll never be hurt again, but I can't. I just... can't.

I miss Bekah. She would be kicking my ass right now.