I'm back.

I got out of the treatment center right before Christmas. I left on a sour note, I had been put on Lithium among other meds which were really fucking with my head. So because of that (I think) I had had a plan to kill myself the day I left treatment. (Alas the blade was not very sharp.) But anyway, I don't remember at all why I wanted to kill myself all through December, January, and February. I just remember being ridiculously depressed and shredding my arms. The first day I went back to school in 2013 I went straight to the bathroom and cut the fuck out of my right arm. Then when I left I went to the grocery store and stole a razor head, so I could break the razors out and use them. That night I cut my left arm and my neck. The next day I put on a scarf in the morning and took about 10 days worth of my Lithium, intending on going to school, taking them, and going to the grocery store down the road to buy some more pills and OD. I never got the chance. When my mom saw I was wearing a scarf she knew something was up. I didn't go to school after that. I almost was put in the psych ward when I told her my plans, but I manipulated her to not put me in there. After that, I was homeschooled for the rest of the year. Some time in February or March I broke up with my online boyfriend and then took 10 Lithium. I spent the next day in the ER because everyone freaked out and thought I would have to go through Dialysis. Hello people, it was only 10, though I did throw up two times. But yes, only 10, and it wasn't a suicide attempt. I just wanted to fuck myself up. The only reason I didn't get put in the psych ward was because it WASN'T a suicide attempt. Escaped yet again from treatment. Then later in March, my poor kitty died of kidney failure. It was the easter lilies my parents brought home from church. I should have known what would be poisonous to her, but we didn't know until it was too late. I really wanted to either die right then, or escape my lonely house to go to the hospital, but I did neither. I stuck it out. Didn't want to be in the hospital for my dad's birthday. I'd already done enough damage to my parents. After I had my incident with the Lithium, my psychiatrist took me off of it, since it wasn't helping my mood. But mainly because she didn't want me to OD on them, again.
After my kitty died, I began to relapse with my eating disorder. I didn't feel the need to eat. I wasn't hungry. I promised myself I wouldn't cut after my kitty died, so instead I restricted. That went on for a while until I finally gave in once I got my hunger back. So then for a loooong month I ate "normally". Or binged. I don't know the difference between the two. After that month, I decided to start restricting again. It's been on and off. I get fed up with myself and I restrict; I give in to my hunger and boredom, I binge. Now, I am restricting again, for good. I need to prove to myself that I'm still anorexic.
I graduated high school at the end of May. I got to celebrate that along with my birthday. It is AMAZING to be out of school. It has been a long road of school, frustration, hospitalizations, and school again. Now I just have to get into college. I am planning on going to a community college, seeing as I never took the SAT or the ACT. I never wanted to, anyway. But my plan is to go to community college, and then transfer to a university so I can major in writing/english. That is my dream. And I'm hoping once I go off to college I can get away with not eating, maybe start up again on purging, too. I am in dire need of losing weight; this is ridiculous! I wear a size 5 now, in jeans, whereas before I was a 0.
I went into treatment last fall at 117, height 5'10", now I don't know how much I weigh but I'd say 140 at the least. I fucking hate my fat ass body. Some people suggest that I might weigh less than that, that I am overestimating like always. But it feels like that is how much I weigh, now. I would like to know for sure how much I weigh, but then again, if I knew I would probably beat myself bloody. I have never hated my body this much. I cannot wait to be skinny, again. More so than ever before. I won't give up this time, and I won't go back to treatment. I would rather die than be fat.
I plan on writing in here more now, when I get the chance. Just something else to occupy myself with, I guess.