I just found the Rainbow Diet, and it looks like something I want to do. Starving for a whole week is fun and all, but it f**ks your metabolism up. This is less than 700 kcals per week, but it looks really yummy (if sparse - but better than starving, right?).

Last night my friend and her boyfriend stayed the night (my boyfriend came along too but had to leave in the evening). It was…awful. He got drunk off hardly anything, and got really touchy with her, which made her really uncomfrotable. They didn’t do anything whilst I was in the room, thank god, but it was enough to feel uncomfortable. I hadn’t wanted him to come in the first place, but if it was going to be the four of us I didn’t mind.

But obviously I wasn’t thinking, because I knew that my bf had to leave, it just slipped my mind and I found myself in a hole. I just kept digging it and digging it. I had had such a bad day.

I had been at my grandparents, and had my results back. They want me to have extensive medicals and a joint session with me and my mum so that I can ”tell her how I feel”. I need blood tests and everything to check that my health hasn’t been affected by the laxatives. I was living off them for like, six months…

I bought a pretty dress yesterday though, to make me feel better. I shouldn’t have because it was from money that I owe my mum, but I needed a pick-me-up. Although I’m a little worried that my legs will look fat. But that’s just me being silly, I know that people don’t give a s**t what I look like. It’s just me. The dress is too pretty for them to care. There are bigger girls in my drama group anyway, and they wear dresses and look goreous, so why can’t I?

I got back yesterday with my friends, and my dad was home from abroad. He had just arrived and was in an awful mood. Really surly and rude. He humiliated me in front of my friends, asking them rhetorical questions that made me sound like a horrible person. He made me sound like a complete bitch, and he slagged off our family to them in a really sly way. They felt really uncomfortable and I felt like crying.

Talk about the good of the dress fizzling out.

He had a go at me, for nothing may I add, and when I got angry and told him how he humiliated me in front of my friends, he just said, “I know, you deserve it.” For what?! Seriously? The cat had ‘gone’ on the floor by the bottom of the stairs, and someone had APARANTLY stepped in it. We got back when he was cleaning it up in a foul mood. Well, I said, mum and I weren’t the last to be at the house, my sister was, and so he should ask her when she gets back. He wouldn’t listen. He’d made the assumption that it was me in his head, and he wouldn’t let it go.

He was SO rude!

I haven’t seen him so rude and angry in such a long time and this was NOT the right time, day, place for it. I said to him after he said about me deserving humiliation, “look, ive had a bad day and i DO NOT deserve this”. I wanted to cry the entire evening.

I was so glad that my boyfriend was there, even if just at the beginning. He held me so tightly and kissed me. He let me press my face in his shoulder and not breathe for a little bit. I didn’t cry on him, but only because he was there. I wasn’t alone. Then he left, and I have never missed someone more.

Then this morning once my friend & bf left, my mum accused me of lying to her and “duping” her into having my friend’s bf back just so that they could have sex! They aren’t allowed to sleep at each other’s houses, but it doesn’t stop them having sex! Their parents know full well what they are doing! He stays at hers til one in the morning every day, and I can’t imagine them being quiet.

Mum accused me of “letting people use our house as a shagpad”. How f***ing ridiculous!!

I’m not eating today. Tomorrow neither. Then on Monday, I’m starting the Rainbow Diet. I don’t care what they think anymore. They don’t trust me, and I have done nothing wrong. That anger that has been building that I talked of? It has burst, and I am externally angry as well as internally. And this time, I’m not going to focus on cutting my arms up to look like I’ve been tortured by some sadist, but I’m going to be angry with them. Because they are why I am angry, and I don’t see why I should take the brunt of it anymore. I’m not angry at myself like usual. I am angry at them, and it has been a long time since I have been angry with ANYONE let alone both parents at once.

I’m usually so contained. So, in myself. I hate myself and I punish myself.

Now I hate them too, and they will feel it. They will feel it like a lead bullet to the brain, because the one thing they can’t stand is not getting their way, and I’m not following their rules anymore. I don’t want anything to do with them. Consider me done.

This is a reply to unfitting’s comment on my post, “Reasons”:

She said that where I feel like I’m watching my mum die slowly, many people feel low and like that. I’m not arguing that other people don’t have similar situations, and I’m definately not saying I have it worse than anyone else.

She also said that my mum would feel the same way about me. Feel like she’s watching me die, too. I can’t agree with that, because to my family, everything is normal. The only problem I have is ‘minor depression’, because that was what I was diagnosed before I even said about food and self harm and the suicidal stuff. It’s progressed since. She also has no idea about the eating problems, because whereas most people with ED’s who say that they aren’t thin, I’m being truthful.

I’m called, “slim”. I’m the same size I always was, because I’m not anorexic. If anything I’m bulimic, but to be honest EDNOS is probably what they would call me. I flit between tendencies, and my weight ups and downs, but not enough to make a difference to my appearance with clothes on.

So actually, she isn’t watching me slowly destroy myself, because she has no idea. Maybe she is watching me self-destruct, but she doesn’t know it, and so isn’t being harmed.

Self harm is a cycle. I don’t even know why I do it anymore. I want to cut so badly, but I know that if I cut on my arm, I won’t feel anything. The pain has stopped. I’ve cut through the skin too many times. I started on the upside of my arm when I had no room on the underside. Now the underside has healed, but there are scars left.

I can’t win.

I wish I had never started cutting, but while they are there, I end up thinking, “Why not? I have to hide my arm anyway.” Like I said, it’s a cycle. But the pain has gone and so it isn’t working. I’m scared that it’ll get to a point when I start cutting my legs again. I don’t like cutting my legs because it means I’m self concious when with my boyfriend. He knows I cut my arm, and so he helps by not looking at it. He accepts it when I hide my arm, and put a top back on when we go to sleep.

But I can’t start on my legs again, not with him being so good about my arm.

I already have scars on my legs. I’m fighting a losing battle, but it seems I’m fighting for the wrong team. I’m fighting me.

I think that my boyfriend is the only person that ever asks me how I am. At home, no one is interested. It isn’t just me, we don’t ask each other at all. We don’t say that we love each other. Just saying it…it’s a big thing. An emotional moment, or for reassurance.

Well, even though they never ask, I’m not okay.

I’m thinking of kcals and food the entire time, and when I’m not I’m either purging or cutting. That isn’t okay.

I’ve asked for help, I asked them for help a long time ago and it got to the point where I broke and went to the doctor myself. They didn’t want the cracks in our family on paper. In the open. They didn’t want to accept the cracks, even though really, they knew they were there. More than that, they knew that we were living on the cracks. In the cracks. F**k, we are the cracks.

Maybe it doesn’t matter. They never ask.

If they talked to each other, they would know I have eating problems. I mean, my mum found a bag of food that I had aparently eaten, and she gave me an excuse which I just agreed to. My dad found an empty packet of laxatives that he threw away (I found it in the bin and stole it back). They know that I’ve been dieting since before I was ten. Surely, surely, it’s obvious.

Even so, they don’t want to see it.

They never blink when I skip meals. When I’m suddenly feeling mysteriously sick at meal times.

Tomorrow I get my results and the questionairres. Tomorrow I’m going to have to give them some information to ease their conscience and to satisfy their curiosity. I’ll have to make it up because the whole thing’s aparantly about eating issues.

I’m thinking…are they worth it? I pretend to be okay for them, not for me. It makes no difference to me. Maybe I should just not eat, not be happy and not pretend anymore. They don’t give a s**t, so why should I? If they ask, I’ll say that I’m just not hungry, that I’m too upset, too angry, too whatever.

My anger has been building inside of me, and I don’t think I can hold it any longer. I hate everything that I find myself watching. My dad being patronising (that’s when he is here, when he isn’t in whatever country working), my mum drinking and smoking herself to death.

She’s drunk every night and I feel like I’m watching a piece of my heart blacken and poison me. What was so good before…what I loved so much, I have no respect for. Only contempt. And it hurts. Because as much as I resent her for her slow suicide and her slurring, she is everything I have ever known, and I’m just watching her die. Slowly.

It’s like watching a tragedy that you haven’t ever watched before, but someone’s already told you the ending.

The heroine dies.

Today, well technically yesterday seeing as it’s just past midnight, I purged. I also exercised (although not as much as I should have) and cut. I only cut the once, but I so needed it. Needed it like an addict needs a hit.

Anyway, tomorrow (technically today yada yada) I’m starving completely and going to a hair dressers to fill my day. At least making the appointment. Tomorrow I’m also going to tidy the house, and sort some stuff out. Finish filling out job applications. Fun, fun, fun.

Keep myself busy, and I’ll be okay.

I’ve been talking to my boyfriend and my friends, and slowly things about me are seeping out. I mean, both my friends now know about the ED stuff and the depression, when they didn’t before. I tell my boyfriend everything (almost)… He said the other day about how I can be really drama-queen-ish about everything, and I guess I am. He doesn’t know the full extent of what I feel though, so he can’t fully judge…but I do over-act it, I guess…

Loads of girls purge and self harm, and although I may be worse on the self harming thing than anyone I know, it’s still a common outlet that people my age and older use. Even younger, but less often. What I’m trying to say, is maybe this isn’t something to worry over. Maybe I should just take it as it comes and accept that this is part of my life.

I’ve been researching ADD, and it is seeming more and more likely that the problems I am facing now are from having ADD underneath it all. Aparantly ADD goes unnoticed and undiagnosed in most girls because their symptoms are completely different to boys, and ADD/ADHD is thought of as a boy’s disease.

Teachers and parents don’t worry about the girl’s lack of organisation or focus/concentration, because generally they are amiable and don’t have early learning difficulties. Girls with ADD and a high intelligence are often well behaved and hard working. It’s as they get older that the concentration and organisation difficulties become a problem.

Indications that a teenage girl has ADD is poor concentration, slipping grades, talking in class, sexual promiscuity, drug/drink experimentation, drug/drink dependancy, eating disorders, being over-impulsive with food and spending etc, being in their own world and being viewed as either “spacey” or a “party girl”.

I can pretty much state that I have all of those things.

ADD would explain why I could never concentrate, why it got worse, why I now have manic depression and EDNOS. It would explain everything. It would make my parents see that I tried to focus and it didn’t work…I would have something to blame. My intelligence is high, and yet my grades have never been amazing. I was always expected to ‘do better’. Always told to ‘focus’ and ’screw my head on’.

I lose things all the time, and the amount of times I have got into trouble for it are uncountable.

I went to my dad as soon as I read about it and saw that it’s possible I have it, and he wasn’t interested. I called my mum, and she thought I was being hypochondriac-ish. They never listen. I don’t think that they can bear the thought that I’ve had a disease my whole life and them never notice it. But then, the depression they didn’t notice the full extent until I flipped out on them.

I need to talk to the doctor about this, even just to be told I don’t have it. It could just be manic depression symptoms being mixed up, but it would explain why when everyone else was learning their timestables, I was colouring in my hiker…(we had a multiplication mountain, and everyone had a cardboard hiker, and whereas everyone got high up, I stayed at the bottom, because I was more interested in making the hiker look good). It would explain why I was a bit behind socially, how I still don’t quite catch things as quick as everyone else.

It would explain why I had to be taught the difference between black and white people, why I was playing imaginary games until it was really socially unnacceptable…everything would make sense. They aren’t even listening.

Not that I like getting told I’m crazy, but I do have an obsession with personality tests and mental diagnosis. The tests that the psychiatric nurse did were like paradise for me. It’s ever so strange.

Anyway, throughout a few blogs this test has been going round, and I got it from http://unfitting.wordpress.com/2008/03/11/30/#comment-18 ’s blog.

Anyway, here are my results:

Look at the ADD one! I never even considered ADD seriously…but it’s almost equal with the manic depression and we know that I have that…

I’m going to check it out. My mum used to joke (still does actually) that I have Attention Deficit Disorder, because I can’t concentrate or focus EVER. I’m constantly in my own world, and I’m never really with anyone else…I can’t stop touching things. I’ll see something and have to touch it…that’s OCD though, isn’t it? But I flit from conversation to shiny thing and back in seconds…maybe there’s some truth in it?

I have to say to all those people online who have given me support: thank you.

I needed to do that first because they have been so warm and supportive, and they could never understand how much it has touched me. I come online knowing that I have to write, because if I don’t, they might worry whether I am still here or not. Just being here…and they don’t even know me. They took the time to write because they thought that my life was worth something and they don’t even know me.

That’s beautiful.

So I have eaten loads in the last couple of days. Without purging. Like, the amount an obese person would eat in a week, that is how much. Anyway, I had the munchies so there wasn’t much anyone could do. I’m strangely blase’ about it. I had a bit of a panic attack last night, about food, that is, and so I took some laxatives…

I don’t regret taking them. I just don’t want to get addicted to them again. My body was so screwed up after that. Before, I would be having at least three laxatives every morning, and an average dosage throughout the day would be about…eight? Anyway, I was solidly abusing laxatives daily for about six months. There was a few times when I would take 20 in one go…or was it 40? I think I’ve done both, actually.

The whole thing was painful, unnecessary (they don’t make you thin), but slightly rewarding mentally. Until I actually changed tact and thought about the biology of what I was doing and how screwed up my body was from it.

As long as I don’t get addicted, I’ll be fine.

Talking of addiction, I have been feeling really weird since having that weed. I mean, I’ve smoked weed before, but this was something else. I think I was high for two days straight. I think my body got used to it or something, because since then, and it’s been about three days now, I have felt really…odd.

I’ve been really scarily honest with people, my anxiety about the truth is slightly gone, I’ve been wandering around laughing to myself, imagining the weirdest things, staring for hours, having really bad headaches (I never get headaches), and being really eerily calm…but then it twists and I feel really paranoid about everything because I know that something has messed my brain up…and I’m not thinking normally. I’m not being myself.

I don’t feel like myself, and I’m being too open and not caring. I went to the bathroom and when I was leaving it, I saw a disposable razor that no one had used. I picked it up and held it in my hand, intending to keep it for the next time I self - harm because (although I tend not to use them anymore) my other one is getting a bit horrible. Anyway, I walked straight out of the bathroom, it just hanging in my hand, and had a brief conversation with my mum. She knows that I don’t use disposables, but she probably made an excuse in her mind.

Then there was when my dad kept coming into my room this morning to talk to me, and I swear I was half asleep but with my arm on show. Either way, usually I would hide the razor in my trousers, or up my sleeve, and I NEVER let my arm out on show. No matter how conscious I am.

The thing is, my friend (one you’ve not heard about before) is a bit like this. It’s not about not caring, it’s about not even thinking about it. You don’t really care about your life enough to care about the reactions you get. Sometimes, I do things just to shock. Make life a little more interesting. Not that I don’t have enough to think about…but I still do it. I guess in a way it’s a way of me bringing people into my world. Giving them a window into my head.

I don’t know whether this strange behaviour and feelings is because I chose to commit suicide, or because of the weed. But although the things that I’m doing and feeling are quite in my normal boundaries, there is something not right there. I can’t pinpoint it, but it bothers me.

I really want a banana.

Although the thoughts are still as fresh and strong in my mind, I haven’t killed myself yet.

It sounds so melodramatic and over the top but I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. I was at a party on Saturday night, and because of the amount of weed I had had, and the mixture of that and a bit of drink, not as much as usual, but it was the mixture which screwed me up, anyway, I got sick.

I’d been having a really deep conversation with two girls who I’m friends with, but had never been amazingly close to. We were party friends. Then I found out that they purge and self harm too, although not as bad as me (them saying that my self harm was bad really messed with my mind). My boyfriend was there, and he was really out of it. The whole episode confused and freaked him out.

Anyway, I heard what they felt, and then I just felt sick. I started to throw up, and I don’t even know if I did it on purpose or not. I wanted to throw up…I was thinking about purging, but knew I couldn’t because they were all there in the bathroom with me…and then I just threw up. I made the retching myself, and the sick followed.

As they talked about purging and self harming I cried into the toilet, and I tried to hide it because the hurt was so much. My boyfriend noticed, but didn’t say anything because he knew if I was hiding it I would be hiding it for a reason.

What he doesn’t know is that the whole time I was thinking about the drugs that I have collected, and when I could take them. Whether they had enough just at her house so I could start of then.

My boyfriend left, he had to take the car back. Thinking about it, he was probably wasted still from the weed. I don’t think he had drank. It would be the second or third time he drove stoned. He’s usually so sensible and careful…maybe I’m a bad influence. That and the weed.

Anyway, he’s left, and the girls changed me and washed my hair for me.

I don’t remember much of that period, and I know that I fell asleep pretty much as soon as they left. I was covered in bathroom towels to keep me warm, and I was wearing my friend’s boyfriend’s jumper. Why are guys hoodies so much more comfortable than girls?

Anyway, I woke up when everyone was settling down, and then went to bed with my boyfriend’s brother and one of my friends. I made a pact with my friend not to eat after Sunday. Nothing happened with the brother, but it wouldn’t have anyway. It was nice to sleep beside him. He makes me laugh. I needed that right then. I also needed the comfort of another body without having the worry of them trying anything on with me.

I didn’t cry that night. After the toilet incident, I didn’t cry. I felt out of it and completely messed up, but I didn’t cry.

I still feel out of it and the weed is out of my system.

I keep on going into trances and not caring about what people are saying to me, or what I’m saying to them. My head and my mouth are no longer connected and I’m watching myself disance myself from everyone else. I don’t know why I’m doing it, but maybe it’s because I want to die so badly.

I hate all of this…

The thing is, although I’m not religious, certainly not Christian (although I was brought up Methodist), I’m scared that if I kill myself, there will be a Heaven and a Hell, and that I was wrong. I’ll go to Hell, and there’ll be no escape from that. None. I’ll be lost and alone for all eternity with no chance of redemption.

But sometimes…even that fear (and it’s a real fear) isn’t enough to stop me wanting it. Lately, it hasn’t been enough.

Maybe I should self harm more…I haven’t lately, but maybe I should. Maybe it will help rid it out of my system.

Maybe.