2004-06-16, 7:52 p.m.

Julio said he agreed with my drug doctor that I need inpatient treatment or partial hospital. I admitted to him, that if I was honest with myself, that I'd agree with them too.

We talked about treatment options and he explained to me for about the 50th time what they do in a facility. He tried to debunk some of the myths about hospitals, but he didn't need to, because I wasn't worried about being thought of as crazy or being held against my will. He told me wouldn't discontinue seeing me just because of this, which I was glad to hear. I was wondering it, but I didn't want to ask. He said depending on the treatment he could see me during or after, and if it was after, it wouldn't be that long. Most treatments last 21 days.

I gave him the go to look into treatment options, but I made it clear that it didn't mean I was deciding to do this. I just wanted to leave my options open. The thought of telling my dad that I have an eating disorder, I need treatment, fork over money, is nerve racking.

But this is all getting out of control. Just today I had to decide whether or not to get some gas or buy binge food. What did I decide? Binge. I scrounged together 2 dollars in change to get gas to make it to the store, and the other 8 or so dollars went to food. I some how need to drive 20 miles on that to see my drug doctor tommorow. I guess I'll have to "borrow" money. I'm in debt to everyone beyond what's repayable.

I don't feel like writing anymore. Nor thinking about this. When Julio was talking about treatment all I could see was his mouth moving and all I could think about was I need to either: get treatment, keep doing what i'm doing and slowly let it kill me, or just quickly go ahead and kill myself.

I don't like any of my options.