I feel thick.

That is, in fact, the perfect word for how I feel.

Thick and sloth-like. Like I am trudging through glue or molasses, limbs moving at an abnormally slow pace, but with a tremendously tiring effort.

I feel so closed off from J since I told him about all of this. He told me that we would talk about it…and then we never did. But he said. And since then I feel like we haven’t had any kind of substantial conversation. I am afraid of what he thinks.

And I know this sounds twisted, but now I feel even more obligated to fast and starve and purge now that he knows….or else it would seem like I was being dramatic or something.

I just don’t understand. He gets so upset if I party or get into so-called ‘dangerous’ situations and then when I am literally killing myself he does NOTHING. And honestly, I made myself completely vulnerable and he’s just done nothing.

“Elle,” he said endearingly, “You don’t need to keep secrets from me.” OH REALLY? Well since I told you, you haven’t done anything. WHAT THE FUCK, MAN. I pretty much just asked you for help and you just LEFT.

Fjdkasl fhdka ;jskldfdlas sda YOU MAKE NO SENSE.

So now there is only one thing left to do. Lose a fucking shit-ton of weight very rapidly. So that you notice. Overdo it by a lot. Faint, stumble in my dizzy spells, refuse to eat especially in front of him. AND THEN HE WILL UNDERSTAND.

My GOD why does this make me so mad?