I have been absolutely nothing short of terrible at updating this lately. I've had about a bajillion and one things to do, so this makes perfect sense, but given I haven't updated, my head is a mess.

I'm tired. It's midnight on a Thursday and I have been raring to go for about five days straight. Of course I'm tired. But, I can't ever sleep. I've been chock full of adrenaline all goddamn day and the chances of my sleeping tonight are incredibly slim, even with my having a class at 940 tomorrow morning. Clearly that's not motivation enough for me to shut my damn eyes.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I was having a relatively good day, too. I finished my psych paper rather early, had some bonding time with my father and stepmother, talked to my boyfriend. Nothing out of the usual realm of normalcy for me. But, for whatever reason, at around 11, I became really bogged down by shit about my mom. After my sister's party on Friday, for reasons that are too long and tedious to bother typing out, my mother and I had a bit of an altercation and we're not speaking for the moment. Given that the argument is about the dumbest fucking thing in the entire universe, I shouldn't give a flying fuck, but of course, much to my own dismay, I do.

My mother is my mother, to be concise. She may be a piece of shit and she may have hurt me a fair amount in my short life, but regardless of these things, she is still the woman who gave birth to me and I love her and accept her for her flaws even though I probably shouldn't because she can't accept me for mine. She pulls a lot of dumb shit. She always has. When I was hospitalized the first time, at Somerset, in the summer of 2007, she never visited me once. I was there for two weeks, more miserable than I had ever been in my entire godforsaken life, and she chose her boyfriend over me. That in and of itself was proof enough to me that I didn't deserve to be well - my own mother didn't even love me. That summer was a nightmare. I look back on it and see an enormous void of black space. I fell backwards again into my illness so quickly after that treatment that I barely knew what to do with myself. My mother's absence broke my heart. I thought I would die without her. And, when she came back into my life, how happy I was. How all I wanted was for her to hold me and tell me it was going to be okay, even if she had been the one who had made it not okay to begin with. I needed her. I realized almost immediately, however, that nothing had changed. I moved back in during my senior year only to realize I was still invisible. She wasn't going to stroke my head and get me help. She was just going to look at my longingly, sadly, and ask if she could buy me a diet coke. I moved back in and lost my mind, nearly losing my life. And, all I had wanted was a goddamn hug.

I don't understand why she can't be an adult and deal with situations rationally. Like, yeah, maybe I said some shit I shouldn't have said. I take full responsibility. I always do. But, I am tired of groveling, getting on my hands and fucking knees, and begging for forgiveness. What did I even do that I deserve this shit? I have done nothing but make her proud. Yeah, maybe I had an eating disorder. It's not like she ever did anything about it. The woman never even brought me to a mother fucking doctor's appointment and I've been seeing my current nutritional therapist since I'm 16 years old. None of this is even my fault. This is all her.

I feel sick. I feel like shit. I look in the mirror and I just want to pick at my face until it goes away because it looks so much like hers. All of this unnecessary hostility is building up and festering and I cannot fucking deal with it. It's projecting itself all over the goddamned place, particularly my body image, which is atrocious right now. I've had some bad days. This is completely expected. But, I actually feel like I'm crawling out of my fucking skin right now. And, I didn't even eat much today. I don't understand why this is happening. I look in the mirror and all I see is fatfatfatfatfat. And, my brain is having a fucking FIELD day. Like, no, I'm not going to use behaviors because a) I don't want to and b) I don't need to, but my mind is weaving it's way in and out of insults and spewing them at me at full speed. This is what happens when I get sad or overwhelmed. Instead of being able to support myself and say, 'It's okay. This happens. Take a minute to relax,' I switch into 'Let's fucking hate on myself' mode where everything is, 'You're fucking worthless and stupid and cannot time manage or eat right and god look at you, your skin is terrible and everything you do it half-asses and sub-par and you will never graduate because you can't even do anything right and god why the fuck were you even born, etc etc etc etc.' ISN'T THAT FUN?! I'm so tired of my brain.

Why am I wired this way? I'm 19. I cannot deal with this shit. I just want to go to bed and feel better in the morning. I haven't had urges in an ungodly amount of time, but I have one now and even though I won't act on it, it's there and that's what makes me so mad and upset and sad. I shouldn't have urges, I should be a normal fucking girl because I didn't ask for any of this.

I need to stop whining and being a child. Of course I didn't ask for this. I just have this and I have to handle it and get a fucking hold of myself. I have people in this world who really fucking love me and I need to hold onto that, too. I'm fine the way I am. I am a pretty girl and maybe I'm not 100 pounds, but I never will be and I can't physically be without dropping dead and that's OKAY. it's better that way. I just hate feeling like I'm going to die whenever I see my reflection. And, no one else can understand, which also doesn't help. No one knows specificially how it feels to be inside my skin. Thank God for that, because I'd feel bad, but it sucks that I have to maintain this itching, crawling, gnawing feeling inside my own bones when no one else even knows it's there or knows it's bothering the living bejesus out of me. On, the conundrum of eating disorders. How I wish they didn't exist and how I wish I could just go on living my life without caring about my physical appearance because it has zero to do with anything at all.

Okay. I think I'm done. /end rant.

I love my boyfriend. Thank God for him. I actually feel like, slightly sane whenever I talk to him. Positive relationships!