I've been in therapy for a long time now because of my depression problems. So its not like I feel its a terribly good idea to just stop going right now. But today I just ran myself further into the ground when I ended up correcting her about her misconception that I am purely a binge eater. I got really defensive and told her that the binges are just in response to fucking up because really I just don't want to eat. Apparently not wanting to eat is worse than whatever she thought I was doing. Oops. And she says my eyes light up when I talk about how generally I'm good at what I do. Also oops.

The one thing I've ever been truly passionate about is not my art or my music, but my love affair with this thing. And its going to make me dead.

Flunking out of art school was due in large part to restricting so much that I didn't have the energy to leave the house. The last time I went to any of my classes ended with me in the bathroom purging out my guts from stress and self loathing. Earlier that week I'd nearly passed out in another class because I'd been fasting and forcing myself to walk instead of taking the bus.

By all rights, I should want to recover and stop all this and channel my perfectionism into something else. But all I can think of is that I would just be a fat, ugly failure if I did. Honestly, I'd rather be dead and pretty.