Begin to Hope
And all the colours start to change beneath the light,
You might forget that the worlds so sad.
You might forget that things are awful bad,
And its alright,
(Regina Spektor, Begin to Hope)
Time is flying past, and its only now I'm starting to achieve things. I haven't been up to much. I lost my virginity in an (extremely) drunken one night stand. I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I remember, just (I had about 12 shots of vodka that night, along with 10 shots of other stuff) it was the morning of Valentine's Day, and she was asleep next to me, and although I was chuffed I did a good job, I never had felt so alone. And I knew I didn't want another one night stand, but I can't help think it'll probably happen again cos I hate the way I look, relationships are too damn risky...
I haven't posted because I've forgotten, and I've been way too crazy. And I've forgotten how lovely, and how easy it is to write out everything inside of you. So I don't expect anyone to read this. It's so likely I have no one left to read my stuff, which is fine. I've been very lax in that respect...
I've also had countless anxiety attacks. I ended up resting under the desk because I was so anxious and I finally realised this is what has been messing me up so much over the years, even as a child. Anxiousness shuts me down, turns me into a zombie, a compulsive liar, an alcoholic, a cutter, a professional self-saboteur.
It's only now people are starting to listen to me, but not really. I'm on my sixth and seventh therapist (in three years!), and they are just starting to acknowledge my crippling anxiety issues. Yet, I'm being offered in-patient treatment for my compulsive eating. I didn't think it would get this far...well thats a lie. It's one of my greatest fears. Ever since things started to go wrong when I was 11, I was terrified beyond anything that I would get locked up in an asylum. And now they want me to go into one, willingly. I can't say yes. But I need to go, I know that. But not for my compulsive eating. I've got an eating disorder, so fucking what! Really. I refuse to be made into a shivering, fat, incoherent ball of anxiety because they want to analyse it and fix it that way. I am not something you strip down like wooden floors.
So now, everyone, including my Dad, both my therapists, and my Ria are urging me to go. How could I say yes? It's the only way I can hope for my life to be my own again. But at the same time they want me helpless. And I won't let them. I will never compromise myself like that, no matter how much I hate myself.