I know that it's been a while... and I will admit I have been craving me some livejournal. However I will say I am just a little bit disgusted by this heartbroken69 user name and I feel like I might create a new internet identity on here. Start off fresh, which is something that I have always been sort of anti the idea of doing. But heartbroken69- for real? It's so eighth grade angsty that it almost hurts.

But anyway, for now here I am because I'm too lazy to come up with some new clever username. It's 3:30-ish in the morning and I just can't bring myself to sleep. This is when I am at my best. How can I waste it? Sometimes I feel the need to just chill and do what I want to do because so much of the day I am sort of physically stuck in one particular environment in which everything is quite unstable and unpredictable. I kind of just have to work to keep myself sane and out of trouble so that I can just go with the flow and make the best out of whatever comes along.

Apparently the world is conspiring to shower me with blessings and the universe is always giving me exactly what I need, when I need it. I've been trying to look at everything through that perspective, even the things in life that happen that really completely and utterly suck. Because if they are happening they must be happening for a reason and if I look at the situation hard enough I guess that there has to be something to be gained from it even if it's just a little perspective or experience I mean really isn't that all life is anyway?

I'm starving but I'm scared I will get yelled at if I go down stairs and get a snack. I hate that I am hungry at the worst times.

Okay I'm done with this for now.

The days go by. They are very simple. I wake up, hit the snooze button and lay there planning out what I will wear and what I will eat and/or pack. Slowly I'll get up, go against my natural inclinations and step into the shower. Then I go down and eat, granola, almonds and bananas with a Splenda sprinkle atop, pour a cup of leftover coffee and retreat to my room. I then get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and gather my belongs, pack a lunch and head out the door, cigarette in my mouth. I go to work. I organize hundreds of cards, listen to old people and little kids playing the goddamn singing toys all day. I organize ornaments. Smile and make small talk. Nibble on lunch in between tasks. It is sweet, easy and something I just mechanically do, disasociating with any thoughts that aren't particularly pertaining to the task at hand. However, it really puts me in a bad position- me, little miss anti-consumerism, working in a store selling dollars and dollars of stupid kicknacks and peices of crap no one needs. They just feed off the the holiday and use it to make all these stupid decorations and cars and everyone is buying them and nativity sets and stupid stocking stuffers and collector "keepsake" ornaments and cards for every stupid thing you could possible send a car too. Whatever happened to actually writing a card for someone IN YOUR OWN FUCKING WORDS?! I mean really. But yeah, aside that I'm kind of going against my morals working at a Hallmark I actually kind of like it. It's peaceful, easy and there's always something to do. I kind of never want to leave. When I go home it's just eating which takes forever and getting lost in researching something online. Sometimes I find a random friend to hang out with or a little drive to a store or something; twice a week I have EDTC. But I'm almost always laying down, getting to sleep around 10ish. It's a very quiet, simple, not very interesting existence and it just feels so restrained, so unnatural. I have to keep reminding myself that this is what I have to do to get to the next phase of life and I just need to suck it up and get through it. I think I have been doing pretty good though. Just simple and stable. Not really connected to many people outside of EDTC, don't have to deal with drama and phone calls much. When I go back to school it will be different, more full, and when I move away somewhere new, everything will be better. I'll finally live the way I want to live. It's been too long staying here at home; I need to create my own world so I can be how I want to be, not just trying to fit into the person my  family needs me to be.

Other than that, my granola obsession has heightened to a new degree. I have boxes and bags of all sorts of whole grain, high-fiber or high-protein cereals and different types of granola. I have a bowl in the morning and late as I wait for my Trazodone starts to kick it. I look forword all night for that bowl of granola. Yummmm

I ended up getting sick on Thursday night, after my intense cleaning event. I don't know whether it was so much coffee, or what I ate, or the fact that I am on two new medicines. Either way, I projectile vomited twice, which really disturbed me. Just because of what that means to me. I don't want to ever throw up again. But I did, and it was okay. Friday morning we packed up and went to our mountain house. I did nothing but read the whole time. First it was "Good Enough: When Losing is Winning, Perfection Becomes Obsession, and Thin Enough Can Never Be Achieved" by Cynthia Nappa Bitter, which was about - YOU'LL NEVER GUESS!- an eating disorder. I love books about us. I don't know what it is, but hearing about some one else's struggle and what they go through intrigues me. Eating disorders are so personal and it's always a very-different, very complicated story when you look up close. I also always tend to find some new insight, some glimmer of perspective to steal from it. And maybe, MAYBE, some inspiration. But my proud ass would like to say I don't need inspiration. I am my own! (I'm so damn proud)

On Saturday I read "Dry: A Memoir" by Augusten Burroughs, about an alcoholics struggle for sobriety. His writing was intense and vivid and just like the struggles are for me. Or, in the least, some relief at the fact I'm not the only one struggling with it so much. The fact that he didn't cave in so often was kind of... like instructions for me. Like, DON'T DO IT. So again, there was some perspective gained.

Saturday night I watched a documentary about a black man who spent twenty years in prison, wrongfully charged for the rape of a white woman. The amount of prejudice, racism and pure idiocracy that the Winston-Salem police force and the state of North Carolina exhibited was astonishing and downright STUPID. The good thing was that he did finally get out a few years ago and he was reimbursed... but I mean, how can money take back the years stolen from your life? There's just no way to fix such a devastating mistake. I fell asleep towards the end of the "Manchurian Candidate" which was unfortunate because I really liked that. Today I read about half of Jodi Picoult's "The Pact" because I didn't bring a third book and my sister had finished it. It's one of those light, fast reads, and I kind of love the simplicity of it... even though it's about a suicide pact gone wrong and I guess isn't all that simple at all.

Anyway. I didn't mean to sit here and write about books and movies. What I wanted to write about was about how this weekend, I couldn't get Jon out of my head. Ever since I saw him, he's slowly stolen more and more of my thoughts. And the thoughts are about how I have never told him the truth. Never told him that I love him. Even when we were together and so fucking happy, I was terrified of saying those three words in fear of what he would say in return. I didn't want to screw things up. I also didn't think it really made sense (when does it ever?). I mean, we were together for such a short time. I spent more of our relationship missing him than actually being with him. How could I love him? But I do. I do.

And it's a strange love, not the way I have felt about any one before. I love him in a way that can't be broken. He couldn't break my heart if he tried. He could run all over the world, doing anything, doing everyone, and it wouldn't change a thing. I love HIM, for the essence of who he is. And for some reason, the fact I never told him has just been itching my insides, wanting to be released in a desperate sort of way. Like I need to get it off my chest, NEED to tell him. No longer do I care about his response or about how it will make things awkward. I simply want to tell him. For him to know that I love him, and that that is all there is to it. Nothing more than love. No expectations or hopes wound in there. Just love.

He's leaving early tomorrow morning, going back to Colorado and who knows where he'll end up, where I will end up, when the next time I see him will be. I got home from the Poconos and left him a message on facebook, saying that I wanted to see him before he left. He called me shortly after and we have plans to hang out after dinner tonight. So I'm here in bed, anxiously awaiting my moment of truth. I am scared shitless. When I look into his eyes, I tend to lose my thoughts and stumble through words shakily, as if I'm shy. I need to be able to tell him this though. I'm sure it doesn't really matter but inside me the urgency is burning, burning, burning and it's like I just NEED to get it out...

We'll see how it goes. Just wanted to update a bit.

My mania has slightly simmered but I bump it up. The night is young and already, I did A LOT more cleaning then I expected or aimed to do. Like, a ridiculous amount and I intend to continue onwards since there's not really another active outlet for me to be quite so productive. My parents are going to be like "What did she do?" and I'll just say "Just another one of my extremes."

I'm glad I'm so hyped on caffeine and whatnot because that way I don't get so fucking sentimental. I couldn't- and wouldn't- even attempt otherwise. I'm just putting my past away. Getting it out of my face every fucking minute. Maybe it will help. God knows I need change and not to be surrounded by images of 12-17 year old girls posing for the camera all day.

But I am starting to feel lonely and empty and like I wish I could take a break with someone.

Stop thinking, Jess. You are not your thoughts.

I am ravaging my room like mad. I can only cleaned when Hyped and when I have a long stretch of time alone in the house so I can blast my music and break up and sweat and strip down to my underwear and make a mess and get "in the zone" and not have her nagging fucking face making stupid fucking "encouraging" comments. It's been over two and a half years since I have cleaned this room. It is a mess of boxes filled with every stupid thing I ever got, every note, card, sample, pin, picture, notebook, every magazine clipping I ever cut, every recipe, every random thing ever. I live amoung faces I haven't seen since high school, people I haven't spoken to since seventh grade. Cheerleading pictures, frames, bows and ribbons, figurines and cards and notes and "psyche boxes" we made so long ago. There are wardrobes of clothing ranging from size 00 to size 5. There's stuffed animals, decomposing lipstick, every card anyone ever sent me, pictures floating around everywhere. Then theres the boxes still unpacked from Warren Wilson, filled with junk and note books and drawings made when stoned and memories I have to detach from because I miss them so much. It's obscene and I'm tackling it tonight. I bet I am the only girl in the world mass-frenzy cleaning her room in an empty house on Thanksgiving. And I'm just laughing.

Mindfulness. A certain technique in which a person becomes intentionally aware of thoughts and actions in the present moment. It involves breathing exercises that bring focus on to truly "feeling" and "experiencing" each part of the body, every feeling, emotion, thought and then... letting it go. The idea is that by doing this, the person gets in touch with both the inner chatter that goes on within the mind and realizes that these "thoughts are just thoughts." They can be released, for they hold no concrete or absolute truth. Happiness and peace, the person will learn, can be reached by "letting go" of our attachments to thoughts, feelings and judgments.

Mindfulness, they claim, is not some new age hippy shit. It was first taught in India by the Buddha and has been a core principle in Buddhism in order to work towards enlightenment and full human consciousness. Christianity has long used mindfulness as an essential part of prayer, or like in Judaism as a way to gain a fuller understanding for their higher power. Countless individuals through out time have reached this unjudgmental, peaceful state of thought. It is not new, but in today's fast-paced society, the mind is always struggling to keep up with the endless flow of flashing, moving, changing external cues and to simplify it all, generalizations and assumptions are made, therefore preventing one from being in touch what is real and present. By staying mindful throughout the day, one finds an open mind, balance, and the ability to cope with the world.

Although there are books, books on tapes, cds, cassettes, videos, teachers and who knows what else that "guide" the individual through various breathing exercises and practices, mindfulness is something one can practice at any time or place, with no notice to the outside world. Simply by stepping into the "present momemt," noticing our inner "commentary" and simply "letting it go" one can be "mindful" of many outer sensations, such as the wind rippling through long blond hair, the leaves crunching beneath us, the birds singing in the trees, all that corny stuff we usually ignore. By awknoweledging thoughts, we have the power to release them.

It seems so simple. "What is the point?" one might ask. They will be answered with a plethora of claimed benefits of mindfulness, from improving focus and concentration, managing stress and anxiety, enhancing quality of life, athletic ability, work ethic, and communication skills and about seventy eight other things. There is a "mindful running" program. Mindfulness can even serve as an adjunct to modern medicine when dealing with chronic pain. Apparently, those that study mindfulness have found that the mind tends to dwell on pain and fear, burning up energy and limiting ability. By distinguishing one's Self from their pain, the individual is actually able to release endorphins (body's natural painkillers) and increase the ability to be "present." Mindfulness can help us drug addicts and alcoholics! Many individuals turn to intense, instantly satisfying yet often unhealthy addictions in attempts to "live in the moment," such as food, drugs, alcohol, etc, mindfulness. The proponents proclaim that mindfulness is much like a "natural high." By "staying with" unsettling urges, individuals find that these thoughts do pass. There are also countless foundations based on the principal of "mindful eating" to conquer those eating disorders. They stress learning about "how" and "why" you eat, not "what" you eat, which lots of staring at the food and imagining and breathing and slow chewing and savoring and truly "experiencing" the food.

And the list goes on but I'm sick of defending it. Because honestly, I hate the whole mindfulness scam. I mean, yes- there are benefits to being mindful. What I don't get is that there are people out there existing that haven't already realized these very basic principles. People that don't naturally take a step back from judging, thinking and reflecting to just breathe because like everything else, breaths will come and go. People that don't realize "You are not your thoughts" but that we often end up prisoners of them. That don't realize that the past is gone, the future is not yet here and all we have is the present moment so try not to get lost in the thoughts because the future arises from every present moment spent. I don't know how people could be so ignorant. And I am damn sick of having to do the lame ass breathing exercises in the morning at rehab every day because me, I'm all hyped on my medicine and can't sit still. Or having some wrinkle-face tell me to practice mindfulness when I experience urges and end up relapsing  and I have to restrain from yelling "WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO ALL DAY! SOMETIMES I JUST CAN'T FIGHT IT!" Argh. It's just so damn simple that I hate being told to consciously be "mindful." I mean, I guess I could do it more often, but... yeah.

I guess that there is there point. I began writing in attempts to bash and trash the idea of mindfulness because it's so damn OBVIOUS but in about two sentences I realize THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT! We don't do it enough because it's too goddamned simple. So be more mindful.

You are my great thing.

You know how people have those certain life-changing experiences, the ones in which they grew the most, learned the most, felt the most? The memories you treasure so sacred and the times you remember most fondly? You are mine. You are up there with Utah.

And I know it doesn't make sense. How could something so short and sort of simple change me so drastically? I don't know. I've been through a lot these last twenty years- been a million people, met a lot of people, been a bunch of places and witnessed a lot of beauty, seen a lot and yet not much stands a chance when it's standing next to you.

And we are what we are, some intangible, indescribable entity and who knows where in the world we will end up but no matter where you are you are always going to me a part of me, a part of my life. If you ever feel less than fabulous or less than amazing and inspiring and so complexly beautiful you can remember the way your mere presence in some little girls life is tattooed on her forever. And she'll always wonder where you are, what you are doing, who you have become and she'll always welcome you with open arms and too much love.

I don't care how smooth you are
or how many other girls have gotten
your passion-plumped lips
biting and sucking
or stared into your eyes of desire
and felt like the only girl in world that you have ever touched.

I don't care how many people you have gripped
how many hips you have pulled closer,
how many breasts you have kissed so tender,
necks you've sucked so soft.

I don't care how many you have been inside
how many were more experienced than me,
or better for you.

I don't care how beautiful you are,
how talented you are
how insightful and deep and inspiring you are
or how inadequate and boring I am in comparison.

All I care about is
when you are kissing me,
when I have your lips to feel meshing and molding
your fingers in my skin
when I feel your weight pressing into mine
and we squeeze to get closer
when I hear your heart pounding,
your breath heavy.
When I get to count your freckles
twist your nipples,
finger your chest,
grip your ass
When I see that look in your eyes
that sees through me in an instant
and wants me any way
The moments when our bodies fit together
like long lost puzzle pieces finally reunited
and I can feel complete.

Moments may be fleeting but they are as real as they come.
Memories might fade but the feelings never do.

And I don't care that you will never be mine
in a happily-ever-after forever sort of way
That you will only be mine in stolen moments and secret kisses
and that you might have that with other girls too.
But I look forward to them more than anything
and it's enough for me.

So my new thing is typing up all my journal entries and posting them to LJ in chronological order so my life is documented in one place, once and for all. And I'm sitting up typing up the days when I was oh-so-broken-hearted over Jon and then what happens? He calls me and says he wants to see me and asks if I can pick him up from the airport tomorrow night and even though I don't expect or want anything to happen except us to catch up on all this time I am very happy. It just means so much to me when I am not forgotten, when someone cares enough to call. Because most people don't bother.

It's just nice to have something to look forward to.

I had crazy dreams last night, dreams that disturbed me. Dreams that I kept dreaming I was waking up from but kept thinking "I probably didn't really wake up yet; this can't be real. This is too bad." My mom finally woke me up and I was so thankful.

I looked up two of the images that were reoccurring and after a wild night like last night, it all really made sense. No one would believe some of the shit I pull. Like, I'm terrible. Maybe I'll write more later.

( dream look up )

I come to and I realize I'm in a hospital. What could have gone wrong? I scream until they give me the splendid shot of Attavan and then I go back to sleep. I'm numb. I'm guilty and numb. I bit through my lip and have a huge sore. All I can do is let the sleep come and wash away the day.

Now I'm home with nothing to say for myself except that I wish I could just be holed up in some jessicahell instead of in this fake world I'm not really meant for.

I took the train into the city. He picked me up at the train station and he showed me his apartment, the one I still hadn't gotten around to seeing. It was small, but all you really need. Good location. We walked through those all-too-familiar city streets. It's been months since I have been there, and it was strange. Strange to be sober in a place I was rarely ever sober. We stopped in at Wonderland, saw my old family. They were so surprised and glad to see me- it's been far too long. Nothing really had changed though. Same people, same customers. I barely looked at the product but I assume that was the same too. We went to Capigiro, Jason's old job, took a load off before walking more. I was wearing my cowboy boots and my toes were cramped by the time we got to Govinda's to eat. Jason had suggested cooking all these things - spaghetti, pasta, french fries and I shamefully shook my head. "I'm scared of those foods. I'm sorry." But Govinda's was fabulous. It was warm enough to sit outside. We talked about high school, about the past. About change. Looked back on the days when me, him and Jon were a team, completely invincible. I don't have a hard feeling left in me about how it all turned up. They are both happy. Jason is working with my dad, who claims he will make him a millionaire by the time he's thirty. Jon's off in Colorado, doing who knows what aside from loving the mountains and partying with the guys he lives with. I miss them both, I miss how things were when we were all in that in between stage, transitioning from being kids and having mad fun... But now it's time to grow up, to be independent and make life really HAPPEN... and I'm proud they are both out doing it. I kind of can't wait till I get there too. But for now it's just rehab and meetings and eating disorder camp and waiting for the night to come and my sleeping pills to knock me out.

So it was nice. Nice to get out, be social, and mend a relationship I thought I pushed away for for a while. But he's not going anywhere. JJ knows how I am, how I get, and he's okay with that. He just wants to see me happy. And I mean, he's basically family now. And I love him.

My mom is yelling at me for eating too slow.
At least I'm fucking eating.

I'm panicked about going to dinner with a friend tonight.
I can't handle it.

I woke up in a good mood but the day drags on and I feel weaker and weaker.

So I have been carrying a huge secret my whole life. Well, I guess not my entire life. I told Dr. Garner when I was in Ohio a month or two ago. I was reading "Gaining: The Truth About Life After Eating Disorders" and had a realization and impulsively decided to confess my darkest truth to him. It felt good. But it's still so damn scary.

I was going to tell my parents tonight. I'm terrified. Terrified of hurting them once again, of breaking their hearts for the trillionth time. But I guess it's what I need to do. I think they would want to know.

Plus it's a huge part of why I am the way I am.

But my mom had something to do and didn't come and I definately was not going to repeat it twice or have my dad retell it in his words to her. So now I have a whole week to be anxious about it.

Dumb.

However, I cried and told my dad about how anxious I am about Thanksgiving and being around all that food and in that tiny room at my grandmother's full of his loud, obnoxious family that I can't seem to keep it together around. I don't think I have ever been there and not binged and purged.

He understood and told me I didn't have to go. SIGH OF RELIEF. I feel really guilty about it though, allowing my eating disorder to ruin another holiday for them. I mean, it's just sad for them. I'm sure they want to have a full family together and smiling on that day. But I just can't afford to fuck up again.

Other than that, EDTC was intense today. There is a woman there that I just see myself in so much. She's in her forties, struggling so much and facing even harsher circumstances than me. I think that is what happens with eating disorders- and all other addictions- every time you relapse, they get worst. The consequences get so much more intense. Anyway, after "recovering" at Sierra Tuscon in AZ this summer, she relapsed and just hasn't been able to get it together. Like me, she's an alcoholic. Her relationship with her husband is shit- he's a dick that doesn't get addiction at all and puts her down all the time. She's home alone all day long, suffering from these urges I know all too well. I don't know. It's like I look at her and kind of feel like in twenty years, I'm going to be her. That is, unless I continue to eat like a mechanical robot for the rest of my life, which is what I do now. I just fucking eat.

It's just so weird. Every day is going to be a tug of war between what I want to do and what is natural for me to do and what I am supposed to do. It's fucking exhausting.

So this kid, Andrew, at my morning out-patient rehab program, relapsed this weekend. Drank and used his drug of choice. He came in looking haggard, puffy black circles under his eyes, all tweaked out and hyper but not quite with it like you are after nights of coke or crack. He talked too much, interrupted everyone, and downed water like I down vodka (meaning cup after cup after cup). Nancy, the therapist, ended up kicking him out "for the group's sake." I guess she wanted to protect everyone else from being triggered, but I just felt badly about the situation. I was there only two short weeks ago, feeling like a failure and drowning in the guilt of disappointing my family, once again. I put myself in his shoes and knew that in my head, that would be such a justifiable reason to go use again. To fuck up even more. If you can't find hope/help in rehab, is there any hope?

After group, a bunch of us go to a meeting at a nearby clubhouse. On my way there, I called him, told him he needed to come. "I'm so thankful you called," he told me afterwards. "I was about to go back to the city and pick up again."

I know I can't save anyone, let alone myself, but it felt good to reach out to someone and have it make a difference, even if it was only for that hour long meeting.

I'm headed towards becoming a post-aholic; many apologies for clogging up friend pages.

I slept in late today, thank mother earth, because it meant four long hours of nothingness passed by unnoticed. After waking up and making a breakfast, I crawled back to bed to eat leisurly and sip at coffee and look at people I no longer know's facebook pictures. I spent the rest of the day force feeding since I missed breakfast and anally taking notes on vegetarian, vegan and nutrition articles and books. It's what I do for fun nowadays. Take notes for a nonexistent test and study my handwriting obsessively, trying to absorb every last fact. I agonize over every vitamin and mineral in everything I eat and ensure that I'm getting adequate amounts. I can only eat completely balanced meals; otherwise I freak out. I hate the weekends because it means I am subject to my mother's less-than-perfect meals and hours of anxiety about what she'll cook and whether it will be "safe" for me to eat or if I should plan on making my own dinner. I don't really think I could possibly eat any healthier, which is really disappointing considering it's the only thing I take pride in anymore.

I might be a stable weight now; I might not be active in my eating disorder. But still, I am not normal. The funniest thing about it is is that I wouldn't want it any other way. I never want to eat normal because normal is not healthy.

After dinner, my parents forced me to go to another lame AA meeting and I didn't argue because it's just easier to do what they want than to disappoint them more.

Thank god I had Jen to talk to because without her I would be dying. I crave connections with people so intensely. I guess that's why I'm back to LJ. It's where the truly lonely hang out.

I cut off all connections
and then wonder why I float through the days
unconnected,
why there's nothing within my reach

I've broken every bridge ever built

I've gotten what I deserve

It's not sad; it's what it is.

Haunted by fading faces and loves long lost
Consumed with emptiness
Left with only an eternally aching heart
I rot with loneliness
The stench of sorrow seeping from each pore
Words, like lead weights, fall to the pit of my stomach
There they fester
Heavy with memories, deeper I sink

If I could,
I would forget that fleeting notion of happiness
Erase the faces of strangers I once knew
Wipe my head clear of all these regrets
Move on and start anew

But the sky is starless and I'm out of wishes

There is no such thing as a savior
when all you are is million shattered shards of glass

There is no such thing as a savior
When there is nothing left to save

I have spent more of my life missing people I love
than actually being loved

Time rewinds for no one

I got my hair cut this morning and for an hour or so I pretended I was normal.

Then I came home to a room of memories and a computer full of faces I can't stop missing.
I even hate looking at my icon because I was so happy then.
I never had friends that got me like Colin and Alex and Alex and Holly did. It hurts to have nothing after having so much. I dream of the Blue Ridge mountains and Asheville love-vibes.

I ache for His eyes.

These days friends are impossible. I have to be sober and no one else is. What do sober people do anyway?

Me, I'm back on Adderoll. I read books on vegetarianism and study nutrition, carefully taking notes for a nonexistent test. I drive to rehabs and sit in groups for hours, sipping at tea and waiting for the sweet relief of a cigarette. I give good advice, I talk my heart out until there is nothing more to say. I drive home, crawl into my lonely bed, take a sleeping pill and wait for night to fade away.

I understand what I have to do for the time being and I do it well, but underneath it all, I hate doing it.

I want sweet herb and smiles, just every once in a while.
I want nature unbounded and untamed freedom.
I want someone to get me so I don't feel so alone.
I want a world to wake up to with a little more hope.

I miss too much and my reality doesn't seem natural. I want the next few months to slip by so I can begin to make change. I'm so impatient and the days are so long.

My complaints are lame but that's okay because they are just flailing through the never-ending hole that the internet has become. No one is going to stop and pick them up and thank mother earth because I'm really quite a hopeless cause.

Damn. It's been months since I wrote in here. So much has happened. It was so good for a while, full of love and orange juice and vodka and best friends and a world that seemed to fit together oh-so-perfectly. I was thriving, living, growing. Smiling through those dirty city streets, not afraid of anything. Learning about public transportation, fancy restaurants, being fabulous. There was a warm body to come home to, and a golden light gleaming through the windows- and His eyes- every lazy morning as I'd admire his beauty as He carelessly flipped eggs. Working in that Wonderland, cradled by a family that nurtured my love for the herb and friends that let me drink till dawn and pass out in their beds and always forgot about the drama I caused, never putting together just how serious my problems were. Time went on and I got thinner, drunker, higher, further gone than I'd ever let Him know.

And then came the big sad eyes and all those deflated hopes- that aching feeling of failure, of love lost but still lingering. All those tears and all that pain cracking and cracking my heart until it finally burst into a billion broken pieces that exploded like shards of glass on my insides. Torn and battered, I deteriorated, sunk into my self, into my addictions, into this delusional state of Sick. All those nights away from home, with people I couldn't stand but that always could stand me, even when I did the crazy, completely unacceptable things I'd do far too often. Waking up blank, wearing and re-wearing the same dirty clothes, racing down the streets, shoving through crowds of business suits and bums, ducking into deserted alley ways for the few desperate minutes I needed to mask my overwhelming stench of death, to pretend to ease anxiety and settle that fragile stomach of mine. Idle hour after idle hour, my mind consumed with food, drugs, alcohol and Him. Train rides home, dreading facing my mother's concerned eyes and the inevitable lecture about whatever unmentionable horror she had found hidden in my drawers or buried in corners of my room. Oh, I was crazy and it was worse than I'll really ever admit.

Then that promise, ten pounds. Ten impossible pounds and the impending reality of hospitalization. There was that weekend at kyle's that i don't remember anything about except sneaking off to finish the vodka and crying about my lost glasses that next morning, six am when it was time to go. I was wasted in the waiting room and it took hours. When I finally was admitted they took me right to lunch. When I opened my tray, I started bawling and my mother told the tech it was too much food for me. But I did it, mechanically, robotically, bite after bite, tears streaming down my face until my shrunken stomach was tearing and stretching with this pain a normal person cannot comprehend, my only incentive that beloved cigarette I would only get if I ate 100%. Weeks went by, pounds packed on. Thirty pounds in three weeks. "Remarkable," they said, but looking back, it was basically cigarettes that saved my life, the one addiction I could cling to.

When I got out, it was freedom but not really. Days full of group therapy and art therapy and skinny girls I wished I still looked like and the looming uncertainty of when I'd go to Ohio. I was terrified, overcome with dread. My mom flew out with me and we had lunch in Detroit and drove into Canada for about ten minutes before heading to the hotel. The girls were nice, the room was beautiful and my doctor wrote the first book about eating disorders back in the seventies. He got me, he understood. Oh, you would never believe horror when I saw the kind of food I'd have to eat- all processed, pre-packaged frozen meals and junk food I hadn't touched in years and years. I stole alcohol from the supermarket next door the first night and I spent the second (or third perhaps?) night in a hospital with alcohol poisoning. I'm trouble but Dr. Garner liked me, saw something in me, wanted to save me. I had a second chance, one I eventually blew and landed myself back where I began, ruining my only chance to be healed in a true way.

After a week, freedom meant rehabs- day programs- one for drugs and alcohol, another for eating disorders, and I did well for a while, meaning I survived. But life was just waiting for another program to begin and another meal to fight through and another episode of Law and Order to watch. I faded, fucked up hardcore, wanted to die. A chemical problem, caused by medications. I lost it and my poor, traumatized mother knew nothing but to take me back. Back again.

However, this time I came home on the meds I told them to put me on from the beginning and now I am functioning, reading, smiling again. I had a job interview today. I watched my brother lose his last game as quarter back for Strath Haven and my heart broke for his pain; I know all too well that familiar emptiness that crashes through reality when a chapter of your life ends on a negative note.

I've been a million different people. So much has happened- so much insanity, so much pain, so much trouble, so many tears and fights and broken hearts. So many lies, so many secrets, so many people, faces, places, states, hospitals, therapists, medicines, doctors, so many worlds I have crossed in and out of and back again. No one bothering to read this could understand or recognize who I've become.

But then tonight during half time, I'm huddled by the bathrooms, a cocoon of of spandex and sweatshirts, sucking on a cigarette and peering out from under the furry hood of my winter jacket at crowds of high school kids and I can't help from starting to ache for those days again. When everything wasn't about the future, when life was still being lived in practice mode, when the only real consequence was detention and being grounded. It wasn't life or death, it wasn't all or nothing. It felt so important but it didn't matter in the same way it does now, when everything is so real and it's time to get it together, move on, do what needs to be done or face a miserable existence in a hospital.

But then I kind of realized that high school- or growing up, for that matter- meant a lot more than I was giving it credit for. The demons I fought then are the same demons I am struggling to beat now. Everything I went through then has stuck with me; the only difference is that with time, everything multiplies. And I know these are going to be battles I fight the rest of my life, it's all going to be ups and downs and triumphs and failures. I started to get all mopey and regretful, but the lyrics in my ear caught my attention : "Why not think about times to come, and not about the things that you've done. If your life was bad to you, just think what tomorrow will do. Don't stop, thinking about tomorrow, don't stop, it'll soon be here. It'll be, better than before, yesterday's gone, yesterday's gone."

And suddenly Fleetwood Mac put everything in perspective for me.

    Moments are empty and time drones on although the pleasure is gone. The Grateful Dead plays but the sound is mostly droned out by the constant buzzing of the fans. There are three. A ceiling fan, a small, circular one that sits on Holly's desk, strategically placed to aim directly at her when she sleeps, and a large box fan that sits on my window, tentatively leaning against the barely-attached screen. All these fans and still the room feels hot and stuffy. The stink of the rats that Holly adopted for three weeks this summer still lingers despite intense Febreezing attempts.
    I have spent the afternoon sprawled in my bed, surrounded by a mess of textbooks and wrinkled class syllabuses, multiple notebooks, zebra striped pillows and a multiple assortment of trash, pens and cigarettes that littler the blanket my Aunt Jean hand knitted me. Outside the sky is coated in gray clouds and I've stayed inside to avoid the acidic, polluted tears it's shed all day. The darkness of wet trees and sloshy mud depresses me and the air is heavy with a dampness that seeps into my pores and weighs down my spirits as much as rain does the branches of trees. Inside the sky is white and pure and vaguely reflects the images below it. Nothing falls from it, and despite the smell of staleness, listening to music and lazily getting through homework is much better than being brought down by a nasty day in nature.

Every morning it's a stress over my meds and the meals and every day I feel I'm going to flip.

Breakfast was a banana, a bowl of cornflakes, four ounces milk, two margarines, eight ounces orange juice, egg beaters, a piece of toast, an Ensure Plus.

LATER

Never have I been this stuffed. Lunch was a huge plate of MANICOTTI and carrots and fruit juice and milk and one cup cantelope and two margarines and ensure and I WANT TO DIE. I cried through the whole meal. Manicotti is not something I would ever let my body digest. All those carbs, that cheese, that sauce slopped over it all. I want to die.

Morning in my room is like quiet crickets, the hum of the radiator and the sound of Kerry's shower. Already did vitals, stuck the plastic disposable thermometer under my tongue while waiting to be weighed (backwards, since God forbid I know how much I gained) and then I sat on the couch while the nurse took my pulse and blood pressure (both standing and sitting because I'm orthostatic). Took my Prilosec and calculated with the nurse when I should take the Visteral because it lasts six hours and I need it to work through breakfast and lunch. I have so much anxiety about my anxiety. It's very intense.

Dinner was one baked potato, one cup green beans, one cup cottage cheese, one cup fruit, one dinner roll, two margarine, four ounces milk and an Ensure Plus. I figure if I eat 100% of all my meals then I will gain faster and go on the maintenance level where you get to eat less faster.

And it's not the disease talking when I say that (although it probably is). But to me it's just the desire to be NORMAL. To not have to eat SO MANY damn calories. I don't want to be like this, gorging on yucky food because it's just GROSS. I want light meals. I want what Jess wants.

Jess is here because she can't function. I can't, and I need to figure out something to live for, something to get me out of my mess of life. It''s scary to admit that you just don't want to live, and so if by chance I want to be thin too, well then, what's it matter. I want to want to live more, and yet how do you find that? I'm stuck like a little girl. Twenty years old, living at home, no money or plan for the future except that I am here and that when I leave I will be "healthy" and hopefully able to move and function and be alive again. Today I felt a difference. The walk made me happy. Cigarettes make me happy. I laughed at things I would have rolled my eyes at before. Like Ollie saying that she hasn't been hit on in years and the first guy that whistled at her was a crazy guy standing outside the Crisis Center. And people. The girls in group are great. It is such a relief to be around people that GET what this disease is, to be honest about it, to even joke about the absurdity of the situations we have gotten ourselves into. I had enough balls to call Gail back tonight and tell her the truth. She wants to visit. Her message made me cry.

Krista wrote a "book" about her eating disoder/recovery and I'm reading it now but half of what I'm thinking is that I could write it better, half is that there is no way that I am as thin as her. Her bone structure is just smaller. She has less to her bones than me.

I have family therapy at 10:30 and I don't know what to except just that I really hope it goes well

There is a girl named Krista here and she is the thinnest, most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She is so thin her bones pop veins and look delicate enough to break at the softest touch. She has these little knees that poke out of her baggy pants. Her brown eyes are huge, wide, lined and sunken. Cheekbones high and defined. She's perfect and my ideal.

There's also Jaci, who came in at the same time as me. She told me that Krista had to sign her 72-hour release form because her insurance is running out and that she is scared for her. I am too. She has osteoporosis and edema to the point that she can't sit, her feet are swollen and bloated and she has to rest them all the time. After one week, four days here, she is still so frail and thin... So I agreed with Jaci "She is SO thin," and Jaci was like, "So are you!" Me, I'm like "Are you insane?" and Jaci goes "You are as small as here, if not smaller. It's a toss up." I was so shocked to think I could even be compared to that beautifully thin and pure little girl. "Krista even asked me if she was as thing as you."

So I guess I am scary thin. But SERIOUSLY she looks a lot thinner than me. And the other cute little girl here has to be smaller than me and Jaci laughed at that. "Maybe after two weeks here you'll look like her!"

I know we shouldn't compare, that we are here to get help not inspiration. We aren't allowed to talk about these things but like, I needed to hear that. That my thinness is extreme. Because there is NO WAY I would have thought anything of the sort. But I trust Jaci, I guess. She is 19 and normal sized and not sick in the way I am.

This is the scariest place ever. For breakfast I ate two eggs, two pancakes with apples on them, two butters, one bowl of Rice Crispies, four ounces low-fat milk, eight ounces orange juice and an Ensure Plus. Lunch was grilled cheese with four slices, tomato, lettuce, one cup broccoli, one lemonade, four ounces low-fat milk, one cup of fruit, a granola bar and an Ensure Plus.

I am so stuffed. My belly is like a balloon popping out of once-taut skin and it feels like there is some large, foreign object stuck inside me. I can't handle this feeling all day, every day. I want to just get fat and get out of here soon. They say the pain will go away but I can't wait even a minute.

We wake up at six. Showered, got a cigarettes, waited until 8 for breakfast. Then we had group, lunch, observation, a group with some guy, a group with Ollie, the nutritionist, and a group with Dr. Rita. Now we are waiting around until 4:00 till we go back to our rooms for "free time" until dinner, which is at 5. After dinner we are on observation again, free time till the 9:15 Ensure Plus snack, smoke break at 10:15.

I ate my whole breakfast and my whole lunch. I cry at all the meals. It hurts so much. My body doesn't work right but I guess it never will if I don't ever try.

I met with a therapist Eric who was nice even though I was hysterically anxious about whether or not I could get my anxiety meds before four so by dinner time they would work. He made it happen and I calmed down and was nice and general. He even let me walk down to the pond and spend some time outside. All this land- one hundred acres- and we only go out for smoke breaks. Surprisingly, the eating disorder patients are the ONLY ones allowed out beyond the fences. We're the least likely to run, I guess. But I think we should get nature walks and eat outside. For me, nature is healing because it's the only form of true beauty, the only kind I know that isn't starving and suffering. Nature is only beautiful when it is thriving and blossoming and it's so ugly when it is wilting and dying.

Maybe that's the point I need to see. That I am not beautiful wilting and dying either..

Karen and I are so different but very alike. She is a happier me, ten years older. She loves the Smiths, coke and is a complete hero. I realize more and more how much I look up to her.

I want to binge. Hardcore. Like you don't know.

Do you believe in true love?
I'm scared of my life.

If I'm not passed out in thirty minutes, I'll binge.

Today was my last day at Wonderland and it was busy as hell. I had a nervous freak out in the morning- threw up a lot and was terrified to eat so I threw it all in the sink and didn't eat until 4:20. Then I had 1/2 a tofu sandwich and a cup of coffee and 1/2 a Naked smoothie and I feel really good. I didn't feel nauseous, tired, sick and gurgly- didn't feel every painful moment of digestion. Just felt normal. And I'm so fucked up, I know, but I am really freaked out about the future. I've been in this Wonder-bubble on the other side of the looking glass for so long that change seems incomprehensible. How can I trade in the Wonderland people for anyone else? I love them and I hate them but they are my world. I'm scared to not have people to talk to, that know and love me in that not-completely-but-enough way- they know Worker Jess, Drunk Jess, Stoned Jess, Skinny Jess. And they don't want me to leave and I'm just glad to have them, despite all my prior complaints. I love the place, with all it's secrets and skeletons and shadows. Without it, what do I have but an addiction, a disease and a broken heart? The Philadelphia Experience is ending- because I'll never go back. I didn't love it enough to want to try again.

So much of this Wonder-life has been alone. Killing time. Waiting, walking, smoking in hidden alleyways and stoops, throwing up in the train station bathroom, eating halfs of tofu or hummus sandwiches, stressing about Septa and Wonder-time, walking through the city streets with a million bags, prepared for everything. Stealing food from South Square and then smiling and making small talk with the big black security guard. Binging on more food than you would ever imagine. Wearing hippy skirts and sundresses and before, it was skin-tight everything. I was hot. Now I'm so self-consious because when I eat I get so damn bloated. I functioned so happily with Jon and fell apart without him to have to look forward to. What's what this is. Me, when I am heart broken, even though I was out of control far before then. Far before I even remember.

Woke up. Shit, threw up bile, made smoothie. Laid in front of TV drinking it. Talked to Kyle until I got him fed up. Watched TV. Walked outside and smoked. Don't want to move, shower or go to work. Every day sucks. I'm just a human failure and I want to DIE. Not live, die. Cease to exist. It's so pointless.

Disappear, disappear
all this year,
all I did
was disappear.

Sunk
Let gravity prevail
Deteriorated
Just lost it.

The word DISEASE
DIS - EASE
My life is in dis - ease mode
It is not at ease

I hate this notebook. Never want to write in it. Mom got it for me for my birthday and it's ironic because on the front of it, it has Eleanor Roosevelt's famous quote: "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift; that's why they call it the present" when for me, the present isn't a good present and neither is this fucking journal.

Anyway, rehab is post-poned until Monday and I am freaking out. Can't eat or be normal in any sense of the world. All my hope, all my efforts- they are lame and don't measure up and so I've ceased trying. It's sad and stuff, but I am happier that way. Free to fail.

Mom knew I was wasted last night and I was. I drank like a pint of Ketel One and don't recall much more than that.

I miss Jon but I'm not going to say bye. Just going to leave. Out of sight, out of mind. But still, I never was EVER happier than that time and my life and it's gone but I'm just glad it was reality for a bit.

I live for addiction and without it I know and live for nothing. Everything else is just something I have to do, something to drag myself through. I miss liking people, not just preferring to me alone because they all suck. That's when you sink into addiction. When substances are better company than the people you surround yourself with. When they people you know are more trouble than they are refuge. When there's just nothing else meaningful... at least there is fucked up you. You become your own entertainment, especially because you don't remember doing half the things you know you did.

So it's decided, I go on Friday and I am scared shitless and my problems are just worst. Had another fucked up binge-fest weekend- "My last weekend of freedom" I thought to myself blissfully as I gorged on pastries and ice cream and meal after meal, bathroom after bathroom. Then I realized Dawn had hid the alcohol from me so I watched Weeds for hour after hour.

It doesn't scare me, losing time. It just means it was too much. I'm an asshole. An addict. Dying, and liking it, a little too much. I'm such a drunk. Alcohol- just a few inches of that sacred liquid- makes life feel bearable. People seem mildly interesting, or in the least, tolerable. Otherwise, I am just standing, waiting, hating. But what would I rather do? I mean, if I could answer that, I would do it.

I want to be in Asheville, hardcore. Near them. My family.

I went to Dr. Shafto this morning and then to the doctor's to get blood taken. I was tired and almost hungover, maybe a little drunk. Mean to mom and very sick of all this rehab talk. I take my meds, vitamins and supplements and call it alright. So fuck them, I eat.

I'm at work with nothing to do. Just one sale in one hour. K-Bomb brought in great pot for Michael and literally smelled up the whole store. We have been Frebreezing and burning incense hardcore but I can still smell it. I'm getting a quarter today and I'm excited. But I am so sick of work- that's the reason I am considering this whole hospital stay thing. What no one knows or believes is that regardless, me moving home after it will just set me back to where I don't want me to be. I can't be there.

My belly is huge today! I hate it, I feel self-concious and unworthy of more food until the rest of time. It's insane. Everything is when you are this far gone.

I complain about being alone but it's all of my own desire. I want to gain up to 95 pounds, that's it. I guess rehab would do it. I can barely make 80.

I've been so drunk and fabulously insane lately. I am rehab-bound, most likely. I can't stop. Not completely.

He will be the song of my sadness I sing to myself every drunk night of my sorry existence.

I am not in reality. I lost touch with everything when I gave into addiction some autumn ago. The hopelessness of it all is what sucks most. The fact that it doesn't matter makes everything okay. All the harm I do don't matter.

Death is so common any more. Michael's friends, Brad's friends, Bill's mom, Neil's mom, Tracy, Dad's grandmother. Me so close it's scary.

But who wants to be old?
Let us die before we fade.
Let us celebrate death.
Cry, but don't be selfish.
Life shouldn't be held with so much importance.

DRUNK and I'M OUT!

After this weekend I can't help but face the fact my problem is real and big. I am dangerous to myself and the people around me. I eat this 1/2 cup mixture of quinoa, veggies and tofu and I am full and in pain and I can only eat it with a bowl and two cigarettes. No one knows this, but I cannot digest comfortably with out pot and cigarettes. I eat I am so uncomfortable. I chew and rechew because it comes back up. It's so gross.

I did mad blow this weekend and made a fool of myself... called people, TRASHED Dawn's kitchen on some mad woman cooking binge epidsode. Blacked out for a while, can't remember me roaming Philly in the early of the morning, binging and purging stolen diner food and Dunkin Donuts and throwing up til I felt like death in the train station. I barely remember the train ride, I don't remember coming home, I just remember being detirmined to feel better so I ate and drank a smoothie and passed out until 6:30 when Michelle came to check on me and the way she told me "I don't like to see you this way" broke my heart. I don't know... I made dinner, had a drink, ended up cooking up meal after meal to binge on and freaked out when half way through it all, my cousin Whitney came in and I sent her away in raging anger (she was checking up on me and ruining my plan) when really her ex girl-friend that she was living with had brought another girl home and Whitney had no where else to go.

And me, I threw up till I wanted to kill myself, drank, drove to Wawa for cigarettes and almost die and am too ashamed of what I have become to look people in the eyes. I eat and pass out watching Weeds and woke up every two hours throwing up. I almost called out of work, my head and body felt like hell and I was loopy and hot and dizzy but I finally just showered and cleaned up my mess and made the train.

Regardless, it's been completely insane. I look at myself and it's like I don't care. I am like so aware of the problem but I never can stop myself. Even tonight. I already ache for a drink. And I guess that is just proof. Proof that I can't shake this routine. I have literally been drunk for weeks. My lips are numb and puffy and red and I don't know how to explain it to anyone.

For today, I am going to be my best to not be bulimic or get too drunk. If I fail, I'll go to rehab.

I talk too much when I do coke and when Dan is around.
I hear too much. Michael thinks I am bulimic.
Karen though, she gets it. Replaced in Wonderland.

Jon and I never could fulfill happiness in the same way. I loved him and I'm crazy and I'm too crazy to manage to love the love of my life, the only guy I'd really want to keep close to me that makes me happy.

I could spend the rest of my life making Jon the happiest guy alive because all I want is to be part of his world and near him.

Cocaine and love. It's 330.
A million hugs will make you numb.
Coke + sloppiness = life scared of death
and she is
but I am alone.

Lines are great give love like we don't always see.

(lots and lots of unreadable chicken scratch followed this statement...)

The doctor wants to put me inpatient whether I agree or not. Mom wants me to comply so I can go somewhere "better"- has even offered to pay for my "recovery" which WON'T BE REAL since I refuse to get better on anyone else's terms.

Fuck them all. I yelled at them this morning. If only they knew how uncomfortable I am all day striving for the "health." Right now I feel like there is a foreign object in my belly, churning, turning, grumbling around. It's all I can feel and it just sucks when you can function better in life after throwing up because your stomach is too small to handle even three barely-meals.

The world is slow tonight and I am bored, but as always I have nothing to look forward to. I haven't gained any weight despite my attempts and efforts to consume more. What I eat is veggies and they are good for me but so low in calories that I will literally be stuffed but just not GAINING. I tried to overeat today to ensure I weigh more tomorrow at the doctors but I hate the feeling more than I hate much else in the world. I suck at dealing with that feeling and end up purging (already did) and then overcompensating with coffee and a protein bar. My belly just sucks.

First off, why are the lines of this page so far? Is it so when I am drunk I have room to be sloppy? I guess that is a good thing but it looks like too much of an empty page to me. Not saturated with enough content.

But I opened this book to write what I thought. And that is: I DIE BETTER THAN SYLVIA PLATH. In more ways, every day. I bet I am the best dyer since her.

20 years old. End of the day comes down to maryjane, a girl to sustain me that will suffice for love. The best friend that hasn't let me down yet. I hate life and feel so sad. I think I look as sad as I feel now.

Here's a thought. I finally had some success, finally was healthy/happy perhaps. Motivated. Believed in myself, what I wanted. Had pride in talent and faith I could do it if only I wanted it that bad. I want nothing now but a packed bowl, some OJ and vodka and a sleeping pill. But yeah. Right after that... I let it all fall. I questioned myself for the first time, opened my eyes to the bowl, was instantly hardened. And there's really no going back.

I was weak. Did not withstand. External pressures have squeezed me dry.

Like Dawn said, I'm "already worn out by the world." Pre-worn, used, recycled. This is hopefully my last life.

As I move along,
I am killed, I am killed
Parts of me believed in us
I believed so hard
And now when I look at you
I can't help but know the truth
And yes, it kills me
Oh, it kills me
But it's how it is,
who we are
Nothing can changed that fact
or the fact it kills me.
Lets me down in ways that kill me

So I die
and I'll die again
But for now
I'll move along
Reborne myself anew
Since you killed me
Oh, you killed me

I get high at the train station, real fast. Sitting in the grass to the side. Legs sprawled out, prickly and naked. Smiling at strangers. I look tiny and innocent. Interesting, maybe, with wild hair and my own sloppy-hippy style and all my bags. But not like who I am. I'm not pretty inside. I'm crazy. Crazy enough to smoke in all these public places because otherwise I can't deal.

It's the little things, I tell you. I'm unable to deal with them.
Staying stoned gets me through the imaginable.

The fact that he asks ugly girls to hand out, well it's done. I'm not happy with it anymore and I knew the time would come. It hurts too bad and he just doesn't care enough. Who am I but the one that loves him most.

The hope of him learning that alone is not enough to sustain me here anymore. I came for him but he let me down. This life hasn't lived up to much.

Colin and I have the same memories, same stories and I love it.

Maybe I really must just go with the gravitational pull I feel towards those guys at WWC- they are my favorite people and I can't be going wrong.

I'm always following my heart.

Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do but I needed it. I learned alot and experienced a lot and grew up a ton. Learned about the retail world, about public transportation, cooking, health, having a job, newspaper reading on the train, sex, drugs, pipes, sadness, alcoholism, bulimia, addiction, being clean, not being clean, city life.

And what else is there when no love sustains me?

What could be better than a lazy early morning - I DIGESTED 1 over easy egg with cheese, toast with butter and coffee- a great shower, new books, new make up, new clothes and a swishy bright green skirt? The fact that the sun is out, everything was free, I have a matching green flower in my hair and I'm on my way to work bouncing curls and beaming smiles. I'm getting paid. I'll see Jason and maybe Jon and either way it's okay, because tomorrow I'll be on my way to REAL sunshine and REAL warmth and LOTS of skirts and dresses and sexy bikinis and mass quantities of relaxation time... all of which I NEED.

I'm in a great mood. Been productive so far and I have a feeling it will continue.

Sunshine and Adderall, the perfect combination to happiness.

Lying in Rittenhouse Park, pretending I am at WWC, although with my eyes closed it feels the same. Same sun shining, making me happy, same grass, same blank paper, same inky black pen. Drinking coffee. People pass and I don't care.

I have work in an hour and that's beat but whatever. I'm sloppy and gross today. Last night was Dawn's birthday and I went over after work. We ate like crazy and drank terrible strawberry-flavored Shmirnoff that reminded me of high school.

The biggest problem in my life now is the fact that I am off the radar when it comes to clothes. The sizes stop at 00 and my weight is far below that. I stepped on a scale a month after him and I started ending for the first time and had to face the number 84 and the fact that I am just skin and bones. I've been trying to buy clothes for this damn cruise and NOTHING fits. I look like I am wearing a bag all day and I like tight things, sexy even though I look 12. It's so hard though, to gain. And keep anything down. My body hurts too, my bones pop out and my back aches. It's just so hard for Jess.

I get why people become drug addicts, alcoholics. It's the only way to stop your mind and habits enough to fall asleep. It just so happens that the best way to do so is to use substances deemed socially unacceptable and rightfully so. Those who can't break routines and shut off their minds are usually the crazy ones, the ones who will kill people, rob stores, be loud, violent, obnoxious- all that jazz associated with drugs and alcohol. It's understandable that society would prefer to blame the substances than the people themselves, easier to ignore the horrifying hoplessness we all are.

It's 75 degrees today. Sun inspires and life feels okay. I woke up and had a slow, lazy morning, showered and shaved, dressed and had lunch with mom. Now I'm on the train to work.

Hopefully it will be a good day, but I was up late last night because of the movie and me drink, drink, drinking. I feel my tolerance rising and I see it in the fact I drank a bunch and stayed awake long enough that I never really was anything but a little sloppy. I would say I'm not going to drink tonight but I already finished my bottle, but I need to get more just because I can't be tortured if that's what I want to do later and I have no access. We go on the cruise Saturday and I have some shit to do in preparation... mostly spend money, which I love. Jon wants to go out to dinner this week and I'm down, but I don't know what to say. Tell him how much I miss him? I wish he had just been okay with all of us getting a place together. I believe in it in spite of the potential for it to get sloppy.

Lonely cocktails. I've been drunk so long that I don't get drunk very fast anymore. There has not been one night since Jon and I "broke up" (if you could call it that, since we never really made everything official) that I haven't drank.

I went over tonight to get my stuff. Jon and Jason were grilling on the rooftop, doing blow and throwing down beers. I wanted to stay because it was such a nice night and I just miss them. Him. Jason. Us. Our reality. But I didn't.

I learned from what happened. I love him, but in a way I don't want to admit. I don't want to do that again. Fuck it up. So I came home.

Can't get him out of my head though. The whole time I watched a movie, I thought how much he'd like it.

And am I stupid for wanting this? For being willing to sacrifice it all- all I have, which is not much- for him? And it's not true, not really. I have a good mindset on it, but with hidden hopes.

The last page. I have nothing to say really but inside I am panicking because after I fill up this page I won't be able to survive and I really don't want to. Even though I'm saying nothing. I've just been so downhearted. I'm down about me, about what I'm doing, feeling crazy and excessively drunk. There's a lot of guilt, shame and helplessness. I'm in a hard place and I keep digging myself deeper. I guess I want to be alone and that is what I am doing. It;s just so hard. I am so sad at night. I should have friends. Without Jon and Jason, there is no one aside from the Wonderland crew and we all chill a lot. Me, Morgan, Dawn and Junior and a random assortment of their friends. But it's funny, I think, how family-like we are and how little they really know me. I miss real close groups of friends. I sometimes don't feel real. Warren Wilson created a tight-knit community feel that the real work lacks. It leaves life with a void, a cold hardenedness and I think it's because it's so beautiful there that you can't help but appreciate it. Here it's scary and littered and nature does not envelope you - it is just trees planted in little parks. We destroyed it. Rarely any stars. I think the disconnect between people and nature makes us hard and selfish and I feel it happening to me. That's why I want to get a move on if I can't be in love.