07/05/2012

 My sister took a week off from work.  I’m ready for her to go back.  As much as I love her, I just find it hard to spend so much time together.  She’s incapable of independent action, and isn’t nearly so taciturn and solitary as I am.  Sometimes, we clash.

I don’t require conversation, for example.  I like silence.  She, much like my mother, requires constant chatter.  I find her unending talking annoying, she finds my silence frustrating.

I am fine for hours alone.  She can do nothing alone.  She hovers, I become resentful.  Hurt feelings ensue.

Thankfully, she’s returning to work tomorrow.

I haven’t lost a single pound in two weeks, despite cutting my calories and increasing my exercise.  I don’t know what gives.

I’ve mostly given up on sleeping.  I’m averaging 5 hours a night.  I don’t know if this is hypomania or what.  I just don’t feel tired. 

I tested my blood sugar the other day and I didn’t have to hate myself afterwards.  So, even if I’m not losing weight, my blood sugar is under control for the first time in…three or four years. 

Lake Superior is warm enough to swim in.   I still dream of drowning.

I picked out a bridesmaid’s dress for my sister’s wedding.  I need to pick out some kind of cardigan to go over it. 

Everyone liked the save-the-date announcements I made.  Three people have told me I should have gone into graphic design.  I don’t think so.  Like most things, it’s something I’m good at, not great.  Jack-of-all-trades, master of none, there is nothing I do that could not be better done by someone else.

Emptying the dishwasher today, I held a small knife in my hand and was crushed  by the urge to take it to my own skin, to hack and slash until there was nothing left.  But I have too many scars already, and with my sister’s wedding coming up, my options are even more limited. 

Is this what “recovery” is always going to be like? 

I haven’t hurt myself in maybe two weeks.  I haven’t cut myself in months. 

But I don’t eat, and I don’t sleep, and so soon maybe I won’t hurt myself, either. 

To be purged of all desire is to be free.  I am a slave to sleep, and food, and to the endorphins that rock me to sleep.

I don’t drink because there’ s too many calories in liquor.

My dad is going to jail tomorrow.

I’m such a fucking coward.

Can’t risk having an emotion, though.   It might knock this whole house of cards down.

“Everything means nothing to me.”