I’ve been in my new place for nearly a week. It has been immensely helpful. I’m 90% sure I’d be on a run right now, or worse, if I hadn’t left my sober house when I did. The problem is, I’m still me.
I still don’t really like myself all that much. I still want to lose weight… and I don’t. I still want to get high… and I don’t. I still feel like an unwanted burden to those around me. I’m still tired, all the fucking time.
Let’s talk about eating first. It seems that I am pretty definitely transitioning back from anorexia to bulimia. I don’t want that, either. In fact, I prefer anorexia. I have no idea what my weight is. I haven’t been on a scale in a week and it is flipping me out. I live 3 blocks from a Walgreen’s and am giving serious consideration to running out for a new scale this weekend. I’m also considering starting to run again. Fuck. I don’t know.
Regarding drugs, my urges to use are still down… and I still find myself on Dream Market, comparison shopping the available meth. I won’t buy anything, but why am I even there. Again, I don’t know. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.