I've been gone. I think I'm still gone.

Things have been kind of odd. And off. They still are.

I'm somehow back to 129, and I thought I was doing really well. I was nearly back to 126. I stopped (ab)using the laxies so often and I'm sure that has something to do with it. Probably a LOT to do with it, actually. I feel HUGE.

Enough of that.

Things are not okay. But I don't feel like writing about me. I talked to K last night for the first time in a long time. Yes. You remember him. The man I was sure for so long would probably end up being my husband eventually, just because everything always seemed to point in that direction, at least for the past close-to-two-years, and though there was no rush in getting to that point, we just felt...right. For the most part, of course.

I left him, though, for a number of reasons, and I've still not let myself fully grieve over the loss of our relationship, not really. I can't. I'm not able to experience any deep emotion in its entirety, not while I'm taking my Topamax, not while I'm under this drug-induced cloud of constant apathy. Obviously it's worth it to me, still, because I continue to take it. That's neither here nor there.

It has occurred to me multiple times over the past week or so that I should at least call him or text him to let him know that I've been thinking of him. I don't want him to feel that I've moved on completely and forgotten all about him; I don't want him to feel abandoned. I don't want him to feel alone. I care for him. I am not in love with him any longer, though, and I will not do anything to provide for him any sense of hope for any kind of rekindling in the future. Such a fine line to tread, and broken hearts are fragile.

He texted me last night. As I attempted a reply, carefully choosing my words, backspacing, contemplating, retyping, rethinking, he called. He's been horrible. He's been worse than ever before. About a week ago he found himself falling into such a deep depression that he wasn't able to do anything, or talk to anyone; he was all alone in his house, having panic attacks, and he didn't want to call me to worry me or stress me out, he told me. I felt absolutely...fucking terrible. He's been a wreck. And I? I've been...over here, just...living my life in my own selfish bubble, just trying to keep my own shit straight, keeping my head above water, keeping my own tears from drowning me. I've been ignoring pain and drinking and going out with friends and kissing boys and singing karaoke and tanning and purging and smoking cigarettes and taking pills and failing classes and Facebooking and reading convoluted novels that help me escape the world that fucking sucks...I'm living, and he's been dying. I know I can't necessarily fault myself for his depression, but fuck...Had I just taken the time to call him, to let him know he was on my mind, even THAT may have made a difference to him... Shit. Well. Whatever. Whatifs are not anyone's friends.

He went to his doctor. They put him on Lexapro, even though he requested Wellbutrin first. I don't know if it would have made any difference. He just knows that I've taken the latter for three years now and it's the only one that's worked for me. Everyone's chemistry is different, and it's such an inexact science. The Lexapro resulted in his having nearly every horrid side effect imaginable. Deepening depression, extreme irritability, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts... His very close friend, to whom I am completely and eternally grateful, flew him back home to MN to stay with him for a bit until he gets his emotional self all sorted. I just... We were so close for so long. He has been my best friend for nearly two years, and he's falling apart. It's incredibly difficult for me to separate myself from the guilt that's trying to pull me down into feeling like it's my fault, you know?

I know that remaining in a relationship in which I was not happy in order to spare his feelings would have been ridiculous. Still. This hurts. I just want him to be okay. He said it helped a lot just to hear from me, and to know that I want him to feel better. I told him that we need to make a point of talking more often. He agreed.

I upped my Topamax a few days ago to 100 mg in the morning and 50 at night. I've been alternating between bingeing for a few days to proper starving for a few, which essentially amounts to maintaining my weight...no sustainable loss. My dreaded appointment with the shrink at school is on Wednesday. I'm so inclined just to eat like a normal person would until then so that I can weigh in at like 132 or something...Just not to raise any eyebrows, you know? An 8 lb loss will be a lot easier to explain than a 15 lb one. :P

I just feel so out of it. Emotionally, mentally, physically. I guess that's the norm around here, huh?

Thank you all for your continual support. It does mean so much. The only girls who understand fully are scattered all over the world, and yet so very close to me, too.

I am so fortunate to have you.

Stay lovely.
<3