On my forum thread, a friend said: "what happened to treatment? what did your GP say?" (I had been vaguely considering actually doing something about the bulimia)


I told my GP I was still binging and purging, and that I couldn't stop, and that I didn't know what to do anymore. And she said... nothing. Except to just keep trying. Which just basically showed me that I'm clearly not in any sort of crisis, therefore I don't need treatment at this point. I felt that asking about treatment after what I said, and her reaction, would just be basically whining for "extra" that I didn't really "require", and so I didn't bother.

But it's okay, because I am so fucking done with life it's not even funny. I don't care if I can keep my job long-term, or if I ever go back to school full-time, or anything. I don't want to do anything except what I have newly planned to do. And so I am going to do it.

It's Christmas Eve, and I wish I could say that I've enjoyed it as much as other years, but that would simply not be true. My aunt's gathering was an exercise in "how little can I eat and still look normal?" with a little bit of "fuck, I didn't have to eat THAT" and "why did I eat so much of that??". I ate, literally, 60 calories before going to her house, not counting the milk in my two half coffees (max 20 cals), and by the time I was done like 4 hours of work I was really tired and cranky and just wanted to go home, and I've had a couple of significant downswings today, mostly related to my sister's completely inane yelling about extremely stupid shit. Seeing my family was good, and talking with a couple of my cousins that I haven't really talked with, and getting presents... but overall, this day really hasn't been so great. And I'm not expecting too much more from the next couple of days.

The only, and I do mean the ONLY, reason I'm surviving right now is because I'm also self-destructing. Literally nothing else is keeping me alive.

I've just... given up.

Merry Christmas.