Can't you make me fall

Oh yea (=

Sun, 12 Feb 2006 16:14:39 GMT

P.S.

I'd like to thank Aunty Psycho for her PM on TFF and everyone else at that wonderful site that gave their support. You didn't need to do/say anything, and I greatly appreciate the words I've been offered.

Thanks (=
<3

Home (=

Sun, 12 Feb 2006 16:10:48 GMT

I came on here every other day or so, to email my friends and update this. Well by the time I finished e-mailing, Nurse told me it was time to blah blah blah off the computer. But I'm home, right now (= .

Every morning, Nurse would come in at 5:30 and wake me up. By six, I was out of bed and weighed without being allowed to look at the numbers. Usually in my hospital bed clothes, we'd go down to the caferteria and sit there with other troubled girls eating part of a large breakfast. The whole day is very dull and insignificant, and then in the evening we would have Group and then go to bed.

Anyway.

I'm home and the scale is gone. I checked purely out of curiousity, and now I'm unsure of my feelings about it not being there. I feel guilt that it's gone because of me, guilt that I've disrupted something of the family. I also feel glad that it's gone and I won't feel threatened by it. I can't tell if I was secretly dreading or anticipating my home with the scale, so thus I can't tell exactly how I feel that it isn't here.

I just want to get 'better' be 'normal'.
I've come to the sad realization that even if I get better, 'full recovery' or whatever, I can never be 'normal' in the sense that I'm thinking of. This will always be here, in part.
You know??

((*Lilith

hello again

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 01:25:35 GMT

It's a slightly dark silver, this thing on my legs.
And it's hot, too, but the warmth is a comfort against the flesh of my thighs, as I type aimlessly, avoiding looking at the shiny black keys as my eyes stray to the scenary outside while my fingers mechanincally march across the board of which connects me to some sense of people.
I am feeling vague and alone- rather ostracised, too. It's hard to know you have an eating disorder but ignore the fact and go on with your life- just to crash into the disaster of everyone catching up to you and your heart rushes in fear...and then they soothe you, they love you...but slowly, guilt is worked in as you are told you shouldn't have an eating disorder, you have no need for one, is it my fault? Is it dad's fault? Is something wrong with school? Why aren't you okay? What have we done? What have you done?
And then, you get registered into some hospital.

Mother's lips are pursed, and for once her eyes remain only on the road, rather than everything surrounding it.

"Your father isn't going."
"Mmm."
"What?"
"I said yes. I know."
"I can't believe he won't go and see you before you get in there."
"Yep."
"Will you stop typing?"
"No," I said shortly, and my fingers fly faster across the keys, making a louder and most obnoxious noise as I pound away. She's so predictable- bitching about my father. Sure, I was annoyed- he wasn't going to 'see me off' or anything. He was just going to 'call me later'. But I didn't need her- as always- complaining about him.
Sometimes, if I don't respond well enough or not at all, she snaps about I have to at least pretend to like her and etc. I snort and she explodes about 'what was that for'. I always inform her that I will not pretend because I do not NOT love her. 'Well you don't act like it, the way you talk to me.'
GROW UP I want to scream at her. She is so dramatic. And passive agressive. She's an attention-seeking, annoying, and ugh.
Ohh yes, she is my mother.

We've pulled into the parking lot and I'm sitting here.
My sister shifts in the backseat noisly. I wonder how she feels- she's the one that found out about my disorder and ran to Mom.
My mother seems frustrated.

first entry

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 21:05:41 GMT

So, here I am...

I admit- I originally thought that it had seemed such a simple idea to write away my thoughts on here as some nurse sat in a chair and pretended to keep an eye on me while she really is just inspecting her nails.
Now...it's not just as easy as I had assumed. I'm trying to write this first entry before I leave tonight, and I find it hard to type. What do I say? How can I focus enough of my mind on this instead of when I will be in this room again, on this same computer, with my darling cat on my thighs?
Thighs...disgusting.
I hate my body- I like my bones. They are amazing and so thin and frail...yet they hold us together. If you think about it...well, I don't know. I've lost my train of thought, so nevermind.

I don't know if anyones reading this, and I don't care. This is my places to ramble and release things I don't speak, regardless of whether or not any of my online or real friends are going to bother to watch.

I am leaving in an hour for ths hospital, and now is the time for me to end this preliminary entry and check that all my belongings that I may take with me are tucked and packed carefully into my luggage case.
I must smooth my bed's blankets and fold a corner just so, and when I am back home soon I can see if anyone has slept in my bed for some reason. I must walk around my house and trail my fingers along the edges of each surface and know that in my short absence, someone will touch where I had.

Am I insane?

((Gosh. My family is simply insane. I don't need a hospital and I don't want to go!! I can deal with everything myself.))