School is bizarrely interesting and even somewhat appealing to me, even though about a week ago I dreaded the very sight of it. I guess some things work out after all, eh?

I've had a rather decent chunk of time on my hands as of late (I'm a commuter student, so any time I would have previously spent sitting in the lounge socializing and doing jack shit), and with that, I've been giving everything in my life that brings me stress a great deal of thought. I've also been doing all of my homework (thank GOD), which is a huge added bonus to being home - I actually get shit done instead of procrastinating my ass off. Anyway.

My family is an enormous source of stress for me and always has been. As of late, all has been relatively quiet, and I think this has a lot to do with my relocation. However, though I certainly have gone through periods of time where I sincerely could not bear to be in my own house, I do miss my mother (and of course I miss Carissa and Charlotte, but those two are a given). My mom is not the greatest person, and of this I am well aware. She has done a plethora of shitty things to me over the course of the last few years, things I will most likely never forgive her for, regardless of whether or not I accept them and make peace with them. She has her priorities very mixed up and I often wonder if she will fuck up Charlotte as bad as she did Carissa and I. But, even with those thoughts and those facts about her, she is still my mother and I know I would take a bullet for her and defend her against any opposition. My stepmom always said when I was younger that I "only had one mother." I often misconstrued these words and brushed them off. Now I understand. My mother may be a lot of things. She may drive me up the fucking wall and act like a three year old a large majority of the time, but even knowing those things about her, I still love her with all I possess and could never bear the thought of having a different mother. And, I really do miss her.

Being alone, too, has a tendency to stress me out and given that I'm now a commuter and a new commuter at that, I have more alone time than I've ever had in my entire life. I often freak out at the very thought of being alone, mainly because I thrive on human contact and also because a large majority of my eating disorder behaviors occurred when I was alone in my house or alone, period, but I think the challenge thus far has been reasonable. Of course my anxiety level has near sky-rocketed with all of this time to myself, but thankfully, I've been handling it quite well. And, I'm still clean of all my symptoms, 5 months and counting :]

My last main stressor over the past few years, I'm embarrassed to admit it, has been my relationship (or former relationship, I should say) with my ex-boyfriend of three years. Anyone with half a brain can understand why this is and has been a significant stressor for me, and a very large mountain of grief for me to climb over. What many people fail to understand, however, is why it has taken me so long to quote-un-quote 'get over it,' and move on with my life. Make no mistake, I have moved on with my life and did so quite some time ago. But, even with that, the ending of the relationship and my now non-existant relationship with him tend to upset me very much, not only because he was a very important person to me, but because he became someone I never expected him to. It also does not help that he is very enmeshed with my disorder - he was around during the height of it and somehow he managed to tangle himself in the web of illness I tried so hard to keep him out of. Thus, whenever I have an eating disordered thought or a moment where I feel invalidated and fat, for lack of a better word, I think of him, which goes in either a positive or negative direction. Usually the latter. I have a tendency to beat myself up over how bad our relationship was because of my illness, how much I fucked him up with it, how no matter what I do, he will never want to speak to me and I will never receive the closure I so desperately want. But, when I come to and snap the fuck out of it, I remember that he went his own way on his own volition. I may have affected him, but I didn't push him down any path - he pushed himself. I didn't make any decisions for him. He reacted how he chose to. I had nothing to do with that. Our relationship failed because it was too explosive and we saw too much. I don't blame either of us and I especially don't blame myself. Do I wish it had gone a little better? Well, duh. But, if I had never been sick, I don't know if I'd have ever met him or found any interest in him at all. I was attracted to him because I saw a very similar hunger in him, though, of course, not a physical one. He was a very stifled individual and was very closed off. I, on the other hand, was chaotic and eccentric and as wide open as a fucking baseball field. I taught him how to love and how to speak; he taught me how to not need so much, he soothed, and cleaned, my mess. This worked when I was fifteen, sixteen, maybe even seventeen for a short while, but by the time I reached eighteen, the bond had been broken and all I had left to hang onto were the threads of what once was. We became two entirely different people that wanted two entirely different things and I suppose that included no longer wanting each other. I am ashamed of some of the shit I pulled and am very hurt by the things he did, none of which I can justify, even after all of this time. In this lifetime, with all the things I have suffered and lived through, that relationship, or rather, the end of it, is my greatest loss. That sounds silly, but I am positive of it. I loved him very much, moreso than I loved myself, and for that, it is my greatest loss. Because I thought it'd be worth it and it wasn't.
What I've found is that it is no longer my greatest stressor or a stressor at all. It hurt me very deeply and continues to hurt me at times, albiet briefly. I sometimes forget about it entirely for days and days and it doesn't matter. For this, I am glad. And, lucky. I genuinely believed I'd be hanging onto that shit forever. I just wish I had the closure. But, I know I'm better off cutting my ties for good, so I will have to live with the open space. Sometimes a little breathing room is good.

Aside from that, all is well. This weekend should be lovely. I'm very tired now, though, so I'm off to bed.