I need you to cross your skinny little fingers for me, lovelies...

Yep. That's me. That's EXACTLY what I look like. Except instead of a drink, I'd be holding chocolate. Yes.
A brownie I never should have purchased found its sickly-sweet way into my hand today, into my mouth, and back into the bag in which it came...

*sigh...*

Then a three-pack of Reese's... Peanut... Butter... Cups. Satan's spawn, themselves. I finished the last one in its entirety, as punishment for buying these things, and then further punishment for c&s'ing them. Cal count for the day? Lost. Gone. I could estimate, but what's the point?

Shrink appointment this afternoon. You simply MUST wish me luck.

I sortofkindof have a plan of action.

I will present my case in the carefullest of ways, ensuring that he/she sees my genuine need for some sort of prescription assistance in this, my daily...hourly...battle against myself.

I can't very well go in there and lay it all out there in the way that I'd like (if only it were that easy!) but I don't intend to be all that dishonest, either.

Fact: I do want Topamax to aid in my weight loss.

Fact: I feel that I probably need it by now, considering my apparent inability to keep myself from binge eating/c&s'ing constantly.

Fact: The student health center on campus is well aware of my history with restricting and purging, and therefore its staff may be a little disinclined to prescribe to me a drug that has a known side effect of weight loss.

All the same, I plan to inform this new doctor that my depression, which is the main issue that underlies ALL of my other issues, is dramatically worsened in instances of heavy bingeing, be it true bingeing or chewing and spitting. The initial high caused by the dopamine overload during the eating phase is almost immediately followed by the comedown and, inevitably, further sinking into my big fat hole of loneliness/feeling disgustingly ugly/hating myself beyond all reasonable measure, etc...

I want them to know that I've been working with my therapist weekly for what seems like forever, but has only really been a year or so (at least concerning the ED issues...I've been in therapy for much longer, but it was always geared more toward being domestically abused during my later teen years and splitting up with the father of my child over drugs and distrust...all that good stuff). I wholeheartedly agree that any medication prescribed for treatment of a psychological issue *should* be accompanied by psychotherapy, and I plan to continue doing this. But that's where the teensy little bit of dishonesty comes up: I'm in therapy because I'm "trying to get better." I'm taking drugs because I'm "trying to recover."

Right.

Manipulative? Sure. Am I proud of it? Certainly not, but that doesn't seem to matter at this point. God, I just feel like if I can make it, if I can reach my goal weight and stay there, I'll be fine...I'll be happy. I'll feel strong and accomplished and satisfied.

Will I be? Ha. Well. There IS only one way to find out, now isn't there?

At 2:30, I will enter the doctor's office and do my very best to convince them that they should prescribe me some Topamax for my binge eating issues. I want you all to cross your fingers and send me all kinds of positive vibes, wishes, etc. Please? Gracias.

Off I go, to write a pastoral for my poetry class. Yes, the pastoral IS quite possibly the most boring form of poetry ever invented. Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of good ones out there...Just none of them written by moi.

Oh, and check it out... My little B's hair is getting SO LONG! Sure has taken a while. :P

<3 you. All 121 of you!! Yay! :D