Today was my third day in a row of purging at night, after eating shit foods in the evenings.

I swear I can practically feel it killing me every time I do it, but I still can't. Fucking. Stop.

Clearly, this is why they call it a disorder. Stupid, stupid girl. Did you really think you could escape it that easily?

It would rather be dead than fat. So I guess I must rather that, too. Only, in my heart of hearts, I wouldn't rather be dead than fat. Anything is better than dead, isn't it? But I don't even really believe I could die from this, despite my general hypochondria about everything ED-related... if that makes any sense at all. It probably doesn't.

Why am I a walking contradiction?