EXTREMELY TRIGGERING.

Fuck "recovery".
I am not eating disordered enough to NEED recovery.
I'm going to get there and the Homewood staff will do their little tests, and then ask me what the fuck I'm doing there, because I'm not bad enough to need an inpatient treatment program geared towards EDs.
They'll send me home and tell me to fix my depression and borderline.
Because that's all that's really wrong with me.
I'm fucking convinced.

Either that or I'll get there and get myself get kicked out of the program.
At which point my two friends who will be there when I go up will be disappointed in me, and know that I don't really want recovery, and am therefore a fake, and they should therefore ignore me and go on with their lives.
The Homewood staff will know I'm just an attention-seeking little shit who just needs to get her fucking act together. Who could get her act together if she simply made up her mind to do it. (Which I could. I just see no reason to, so I don't.)

And after all that happens, I will be more miserable than I can possibly imagine right now.
And I would deserve every fucking bit of it.
It makes me want to try and get kicked out... be noncompliant.
Just so nobody can ever help me.
Because I don't deserve to be helped.
And, in fact, don't actually need the help at all... at least, not the specific type of help that they can give.

And after all this is over I'll probably end up kicked out of my house, living on like $300 a month, in a miserable, pathetic half-existence destined to someday end in suicide.

But maybe that's how this was always going to play out anyway.