Losing It

I'm scared. Terrified, anxious, panicky, petrified, and more. I can feel myself slipping with every meal I skip, every calorie I refuse to consume. I hate it and I want to hide from the monster that is trying to regain control. He's closer than he's been in a while. 

But I can't hide. There's no hiding from It and the terror I feel. I'm getting so tired of this, of fighting what It is trying to convince me is a losing battle. It tells me there's no way I will win this war. Mental battles shouldn't make me feel so physically exhausted but they do and that exhaustion is sucking the life out of me. 

It convinced me of a new trick, a new way of comfort (as stated in my last post) but most of all it's a punishment. Because if I would just stop eating I wouldn't need to be punished. But I eat and as punishment I must take the laxatives. And let me tell you, they suck. And yet I continue to eat and continue to use them. Jamie knows. I wouldn't tell her for a few days because I am mad at myself for getting sucked in. But I can't stop using them because I can't stop eating. And it's an awful cycle.

I feel like I'm going crazy and I can't look at myself without crying because I've gained so much weight despite the increase in exercise. I just need to sleep for a few days straight. Or get back to my low weight. Maybe that will help. Or so says It.

I know that neither of those are good choices. I know what happens if I figure out how to do both. And it sucks. And I don't know what to do.

I'm losing it and I don't know if I can stop it this time.