Houston, we have a problem.

Namely, I've been binging. I did yesterday. I can see it. Even if the calories aren't too extreme thanks to a couple bulimic trips to the bathroom, I know what's happening. I can feel it. Is it me? Is it the birth control? Is it the fact that I'm out of meds?

How idiotic was it to start HORMONES without MEDICATION? Argh.

I'm obviously not doing so well. Yes, I have my surgery on Wednesday, which I'm excited about. But I'm a bit scared.

I just worry about my mental state. I can't let this begin again. I can't. I'm humungously fat, the scale hates me. What was that, 147? God, just that NUMBER freaks me out. I'm failing. I'm failing. This can't happen. And yet, I've let myself gain 5 lbs. I just let it happen. What's WRONG with me? Why am I letting myself fail?

At this point, my heart rate starts going, and the thoughts come in. The scary thoughts. The one I spend 1/2 my life trying to keep from coming back, and they keep coming back. I want to tell my Mom or Dad and have them hug me, but I'll just get a 20 minute lecture on why this all means I should postpone my surgery and "stop thinking this way" (Mom) or "call your psychiatrist and get new meds" (Dad). Neither include the suggestion I so desperately desire which is "get thy ass into therapy", because they both have this convoluted idea that I'm so smart I can fix myself. Yeah. No.

I'd call my therapist, but I don't want the lecture on how I know better than to play with my medications. But here's the thing. I don't want to be any more of a financial burden on my parents. My dentist bill was obscene, and my Mom gave the groan that says "Well, make your father pay for it because he's an asshole and I'm the good parent". In that she also points out that she doesn't have the money, and whether she means it or not, I hear "BURDEN" in bright, bold, neon letters.

I'm just a big old burden. Which brings me to the scary thoughts. Electrocution? Overdosing? Stabbing? Jumping off my roof? Options, options. Which way to die, so that I can stop being a burden on everyone in my life.

I know my head is HIGHLY fucked up right now, but that doesn't make these thoughts any less scary or the logic in my head any more theoretically right. It's like being possessed by the anti-Prozac.

I have lunch with a good friend in an hour. She'll probably want to know the truth, but goodness knows I don't want to worry her, AND if she thinks its bad enough, she would tell my Mom. Who would give me a lecture such as "Why do you tell Phyllis these things? Just STOP". Because the answer to all my suicidal thoughts, self-mutilations, and eating disorders has always been "STOP", right? It would be easier if I was dumb and they didn't expect anything from me. But the do. And I'm failing them. Again.