I’ve been out of the hospital for two years as of friday.

It’s been a crazy two years now that I think about it.

I read my inpatient journal just now, or at least the last few days of it. It’s insane how vividly I remember everything. I remember names of staff and patients. I can visualize every part of the place. Do I want to? Not really. Remembering where I’ve been helps me. I can compare where I was to where I am.

I still get overwhelmed sometimes. I still feel my chest tighten and feel like the world is closing in on me. I still feel like laying around on my floor and staring at the ceiling and hoping everything will just go away. But you know what? Living is better than that. I genuinely enjoy living. It has been such a long time since I felt that.

Oh, and I’m getting blood work done tomorrow.

That’s a nice thing to remember.

Oh well, purging never screws up my labs.

I just purged for the first time in 5 months.

Fuck.

I don’t understand my logic.

Have a decent day. Take a ton of laxatives because no one will be home tomorrow morning.

Why does my therapist feel the need to talk to me about how my eating disorder is going to negatively impact my sex life, or lack there of?

And stop talking about Joe.

And I’m not giving you my laxatives.

I walked away from today’s session feeling really crappy.

Almost passed out in class today.

So I came home and ate a bagel. 300 calories.

I’m still eating relatively ok.

I just feel like shit in general.

I can’t concentrate in class or when I’m reading. I spend too much time obsessing and crying in front of the mirror.