It's always going to be here until I really don't want it anymore. It really is. I always knew that, my therapist always tells me that. But for the first time I ever...I've realized it. It's hit home.
Do I want to get better?

Do I want to be around to hear my favorite songs and see my friends and do I want to be free? Yes. And then the feeling comes slithering in, do you want to give up on your saftey blanket? Do I want to gain weight and "lose control"? This is where it gets tough. But I just realized just now...just now, I want to be in this for the long run. Maybe it's for all the wrong reasons. But it's because I want to prove them wrong. I want to prove wrong all of my friends who think they can't get over their stuff. I want to prove my doctor's wrong that I'm a hopeless case. I want to prove myself wrong.

This time it's all on me.

I feel so sick. I posted a few hours ago, and since then I just...broke. I just ate and ate and ate. And hurt. I just didn't want to cry, and I didn't want to think about it. Everything that has been happening. I atehalf of a pie, I mean, come on. Pathetic. I just ended up purging everything for the first time in forever.

During that time I kept thinking, "Welcome back, welcome back, Amy." But it's not! Just because I mess up doesn't mean it's all over. But it feels that way, it does. The worst part is I felt so much better, and safe with some disease to hide behind...no emotions to face, no excuses, no more hurt or struggle. Just, "I'm sick," and it's off of you. It's the disease. I can't be that way, I have to live. But I felt so much better. Honestly? I really miss it sometimes. I really do. I just feel so alone. I'm sorry that I feel so alone because that's so selfish.

I just don't really know what to do anymore and I feel so...bad.

I'm sorry I screwed up again.