............ meanwhile.

I am so unhappy, with myself, with my life and with how things are going. With how I feel and how I wánt to feel, how I look and how I would like to look and.. The only thing that has come out of this is that I have become a more mature and a better person.

Yet, does this stop my friends screwing me over? No.

Does this make the break up with M. any easier after all that time? No.

Is my family situation any better than before? No.

i am not allowed to blog, or even to think of my blog or any of you, I am not allowed to do much to be fair. Because if I will I won't be allowed to go to uni, and I have the most gorgeous in this perfect located appartement with my own shower and my own little kitchen. it's all I've ever wanted, going to Uni, away from this family is all I ever wanted. It's what I still want. Yet right now I am blogging and I shouldn't be, yet, I wonder. Does it really make a difference if I write down how I feel or if I just think it? And, the fact that I am now blogging, does it really prove any fucking thing? No. I am still doing what the hell I should be doing even though it's not making me more happy. Most of the time it doesn't make me sad as well.

Doing this has cost me to lose a part of myself, this little bit of me that I've been cherishing, even nurturing it, making it grow up and eventually take control over me. I know I went to far, I know how dangerous things had become.. Yet I also know that I think maybe two or three weeks ago I tried to claw my eyes out.

...

The real question there is, is if the path of recovery will kill you, or if as they say, will make you stronger?

I am not sure yet.

My anorexia defined me, it was the one thing that I knew and liked about myself. It was the one thing that MADE me stronger while I was a weak, fragile pathetic little girl. It consumed me, intoxicated me and I loved it. I had a purpose, I had a goal.

Yet I didn't love myself and because I couldn't love myself I was desperately seeking for the love of others. Something my family wouldn't be able to give me. I clenched and hung onto my friends for dear life and they were trying to save me. They tried and partly succeeded.

Then there was M.. He was all I needed, all I wanted and my best friend. But as they tried to take away the monsters inside of me, I turned into one and I nearly ruined the guy.. So he ran as fast as he could and he left me.

Is it impossible for others to love us, while we can't love ourselves? Isn't it that the first and most important relationship you have is with yourself, and that if that one is going strong... Other relationships will work out eventually? Does this mean that I can't have a relationship until I have either fallen back into old patterns, or have moved on to the land of happily ever after?

Does this mean that until I am able to love myself, my friends won't be able to respect me and love me like they love their other friends?

I've always thought that my friends would be there to break my fall, yet as from the first of September I will be all by myself, in some big old city I don't know and I don't have real friends in. And the one person that was going to accompany me, and who had promised me to make sure I wouldn't relapse into old patterns has decided that I am the worst friend ever because I had to work on her 18th birthday. All day.

When I came home I was hungry, I was in pain (I had to undergo fucking SURGERY to have my fucking wisdom tooth removed), my feet were swollen and blue and I hurried and rushed to be able to go.. But as I ran downstairs it was already past eleven, and it would take me twenty minutes to go to her place in the dark. In the dark I say, because I'd have to go on my fucking bicycle (I still don't have a bloody license yet) through the fucking middle of nowhere, where at least 2 girls have been raped earlier this year.. I wasn't even allowed to go all by myself...

It seems that not being able to make it to a birthday can be a reason a friendship of 4 years can be destroyed... The things she has said and done to make me feel horrible, while I was feeling horrible already because I had been looking forward to her birthday for weeks, having the best present and all that.. (Gave it to a friend of my mums, who turned 50 earlier this week.)

Yet it proves that even while you try, and try, and try.. That you'll never be good enough. That fighting for your recovery and trying to make everyone happy and smiling, that it does not matter anymore. Because there is always something, or someone, that will let you down. Let you go, and it's not always possible for someone to catch you when you fall.

So I've fallen, and fallen.. and now.. I think I've finally hit rock bottom again.

And even the milk I'd been so addicted to in the morning tastes bitter now.