Falling Apart

I hate myself. I'm back above 145. This is disgusting, I truly am going to do my best to eat nothing until next Thursday. I need to get rid of this fat, get rid of this body, get rid of myself. I'm worthless and disgusting.

PerfectingmyEmptiness, you're so sweet. I also hate seeing people go through this, I wish everyone could recover and be okay. I'm sorry for putting you through the stress of seeing me to this to myself, I love you too. You're so beautiful, and I hope you can be happy and learn to love your wonderful self.

I slept for so long today I can't even believe it. I went to sleep around 1:00 or 2:00 this morning, and woke up around 5:30 p.m. That's 15 or 16 hours of sleep. I don't know why, I was just so tired and so upset about the cookies and the weight gain (I woke up for a few minutes around 10:00 and weighed myself... then crawled back into bed, disgusted). Now I feel like a worthless lazy piece of crap. My grades are terrible, my room is messy, I have laundry to do... I'm lazy, fat, stupid, and terrible. I really can't stand myself.

Now that it's so late, I screwed up my carefully planned day. Now I'm going to have to rearrange it. I'll do laundry and clean, then while the laundry is going I'll do a bit of studying for English and Women's Studies, then once the laundry is done I'll go for a 3 hour walk to burn (according to this: http://www.icb2001.com/Calories_Burned_While_Walking.asp) about 750-800 calories (to make up for last night's eating) and then I'll come home and relax and hopefully do some writing. The last poetry slam before finals is this Saturday, and while I qualify for finals with my current score, I would definitely like to bump up my score if at all possible.

I wish I could bring my ED playlist on my walk, because all I want to do right now is think about this stupid disorder and how much it screws up my life, but the playlist is on Youtube and I can't exactly walk around with my laptop hoping that I'll keep internet and enough battery power to listen to music the whole way, haha. Honestly, though... on here I talk about my ED as though I'm okay with it, like I don't mind how it interferes with my life. But I do mind. I want to lose weight, I really really do. But I wish I didn't. I wish I didn't care, didn't hate myself. Next weekend my mom wants me to go home for Easter, and it's my friend's birthday the same weekend, so if I went home I'd be able to enjoy a birthday party and Easter with my family. But I'm trying to get out of it. Why? Because at the birthday party there will be food, and at Easter there will be a lot of food. Candy and chocolate and fattening disgusting things. The party sounds so fun. It's a bonfire under a bridge, in the moonlight, with a bunch of lesbians (one of whom, the birthday girl, has a crush on me... and I kind of have a crush on her too!) and vegan food and even vegan jell-o shooters and stuff. I don't really drink and I've never been drunk so I'd be a bit nervous about taking part in the drinking, but it would still be fun.
But I'm trying to convince my mom that I have to stay in Guelph to study for my exams. It's too bad, I wish I didn't have to try to convince her of that. I wish I could enjoy holidays with my family, and birthday parties, and all that other shit that you're supposed to enjoy. I wish I could look forward to going home for the summer, instead of dreading it. But because of this stupid disorder, this stupid side of me, 'Monika', I can't. And I hate that.
But I hate myself more. So instead of getting help and trying to beat Monika back, I let her win, and Kinnery (that's my real name ― I've been afraid to post it, in case anyone I know ever reads this, but the chances of any of them finding this are slim) crawls back and sits in the corner and lets Monika take over.

I don't know why I'm saying all of this. I'm not going to change. It's not like this makes me sad all the time ― just when I gain weight. Even if I have to miss events and stuff, at least I feel in control and powerful, for once in my life. There's nothing else I can control.
My brother has Asperger's Syndrome. He's 20, and one of my best friends in the whole world, and I love him. I basically raised him, because my mom was working, running a small business and trying to keep us from losing our house. My dad was an alcoholic, lived in a different town, saw us for a few hours every weekend but otherwise wasn't around. So I raised my brother. But I couldn't control him. He'd have tantrums and he'd beat me up. He'd get angry and throw books at his teachers and I'd be called out of class to go calm him down. Now he's 20, he doesn't really have any friends, he's not in school. He recently got a little part time job, but before that he wasn't working. He's been living off of Disability payments, sitting all alone in his apartment. And I can't control it. I can't help him. I hang out with him when I go home, I make sure he has someone to talk to, but when I'm gone, how can I help him? Now he's finally getting things together. He got a job, as I mentioned. And in September he's starting college, taking a multimedia art course. He wants to be a video game concept artist. So I'm happy he's getting things together. But I couldn't control it. I had to wait, sit around for two years waiting for him to get everything together on his own. And I hate that, I hate that I couldn't help him.
Then there's my mom. She's alone, she has few friends, none her own age. She's depressed constantly. She's only just starting to make enough money to support herself. I spent my whole childhood and adolescence trying to please her, trying to get good grades and make sure she was happy, trying to do my chores so she wouldn't be too stressed, trying to be a good kid. Trying to be there for her. I never told her when I was sad or upset, because I didn't want to hurt her, stress her out. It's the same way now. I wanted to have control over her happiness, I never wanted her to be sad, but no matter what I did, it wasn't enough. She was never happy. I moved out when I was 17, got a live-in job so I could make money to help her out and stop being a financial burden on her. She lost the house just after I moved out, and had to live with my brother in his apartment. Now she has her own apartment, and she's doing better. But she's still so sad. She went through so much in her life, and I just want her to be happy, but I can't help. I love her so much, I just want everything to be okay for her, and I can't.
And then there's my dad. He was an alcoholic, but he raised me when I was little. My mom worked, and he was a stay-at-home dad. When my parents split up when I was seven, I was suddenly only seeing him once a week, and I was living with my mother, who I barely knew. I missed my dad. He moved into a little apartment, and he sat and drank and smoke and that's it. He became more and more reclusive. After his best friend died in a boating accident, he stopped leaving his apartment at all except to go to his factory job or to visit us. It eventually became a chore seeing him on Saturdays, because he was depressed and we were his only socialization, so we had to entertain him and keep him happy. He also had Asperger's Syndrome. As I got older, he started getting less and less appropriate with me. Once, when I was nine, I went to sleep over at his house. He got drunk, so drunk, as he did every night. And then he crawled into the bed we were all sharing and touched my chest and said, "Sorry honny, you know that was an accident, you know I would never do that to you," and I believed him, I believed it was an accident. But I still wished I was able to control him, keep him sober. And as I got older still, he started making comments about my body. He would tell me that I had a nice ass, that he was glad it was so round, not a "skinny model ass". He told me I had nice breasts, "Not that I want to fondle them or anything, but they're nice, I check you out every time I see you." I wanted to control that. I wanted to make him look at me as a daughter, not as anything else. And I wanted to disappear. I thought if I became smaller, make my ass a "skinny model ass", make my breasts go away, made my whole body disappear, then he'd love me the right way. Or I could just disappear all together and he'd never be able to see me again and I would never have to be seen by anybody ever again. When he was diagnosed with cancer, I almost hoped he would die. He didn't. He got better. My surrogate sister has terminal cancer, the same kind my dad had. She's going to die from it, and he didn't. I was angry at him for that. And he was so skinny. He looked like he had just come from Auschwitz or something, he was so so small. He lost so much weight during the chemo, and he never gained it back. He almost never ate, because the radiation therapy destroyed his taste buds. Eating was a chore for him. For some reason, I guess because I felt guilty for wishing the cancer would kill him instead of my sister, I wanted to become like my dad. I wanted to become skinny, to stop eating, to disappear and be sick with him.
Then finally, in May, he got really sick. He was weak and tired. My uncle went to visit him, and my dad confessed that he wasn't doing well. Finally, he showed my uncle that his genitals were extremely swollen (as he'd drunkenly told me over the phone in tears one night, scared that he had cancer or something). My uncle took him to the hospital, and it turned out he had a serious, terminal heart condition. Alcoholic cardiomyopathy. Being an alcoholic for so many years had deteriorated his heart muscles so much that they were barely working. They told him if he didn't quit drinking and smoking, he'd be dead within six months. He tried to quit for a while, but then he gave up. He gave up and no matter what I did, I couldn't control it. He gave up and in November, he died. I was the one the police called first, so I had to tell everyone. I was the one the coroner called, to ask what to do with the body. I was the one the funeral home called, the one the police called asking me to pick up his belongings. I was in my first semester of university, being called out of class every few minutes by another person. I still have "Coroner" and "Funeral Home" saved in my phone as contacts, because they called me. I had to deal with it until my sister finally took over everything.
I couldn't control any of that. I can't control anything. I couldn't control my dad's drinking or my brother's tantrums or my mother's poverty, I can't even control my own grades because I'm too fucked up and depressed to get out of bed to go to my classes. I'm such a fuck up. I still have the scars from when I carved "FUCK UP" into my arm the second time I tried to kill myself (and about a million other scars from the years of cutting). I wish the scars were easier to read. Because it's true. I am a fuck up. Now, I'm failing at controlling even my weight and my eating. Those are the things I should be able to control.
So from now on I will have control. I will have perfect, perfect control. For the next week, I will drink water, and nothing else. I will eat nothing. I will be empty and pure and perfect and in control. I will only eat if I have planned it out, I will know exactly how many calories I'm eating, I will have utter control. I'll be my father's daughter, and waste away.

I'm sorry. I don't know why I just wrote all that. I just... I needed to think out loud about why I do this to myself, I guess. It's okay if you didn't read it all, it was long and stupid and ranting. I know my problems aren't really legitimate, I'm just a spoiled whiny white girl like I said a few posts ago.

So I guess I'm going to go get started on my day... even though honestly, I don't want to do anything but pull my blankets back over my head and go to sleep again.

Thanks for listening.

UPDATE: I weighed myself right after writing this, and I was 145 lbs exactly. And I'd just had something to drink. So I've probably maintained from yesterday, the extra was just water weight.
I'm still going to be extremely strict with myself, but maybe not as strict as I had initially intended to be. Maybe I will start having my 140 calorie soy milk every day after today (which is a strictly water day). I'm still going to go on my 3 hour walk, I hope. I'll do at least one hour, and see how I'm feeling from there. If I'm not too weak/dizzy, I'll do another lap or two of my hour-long route.