2004-06-23, 7:57 p.m.

Therapist today. I told him about how I'm feeling like hell, physically. He made me promise to make a doctor's appt and email him about how it goes. *gasp* do my ears decieve me? Is Julio concerned? I think Julio is finally getting a clue. He's upped our appointments to weekly (for now, atleast), he wants me to go into inpatient treatment, and he wants me to go to the doctor. He even admitted that I kept drilling it into him that I couldn't handle my eating disorder and I couldn't beat it on my own and now it's time to try IP. He admitted that when I asked him why he thought I should try IP.

I was very honest with him today. I told him about eating habits, my fears of food, my disoriented thinking of calories. I think it gave Julio a perspective check of how I am. I told him I was discouraged (at first called myself a "fuck up") because I failed at outpatient, but for the most part, we laughed a lot and made light of a really bad situation. But I think it's clear what I need to do. He's going to email me the treatment facilities he found, and I'm suppose to look into them. He's also going to find out which ones are covered by insurance.

So this is it. Reality comes crashing down. I really fucked up, eh? I wonder if the treatment place I go to will let me bring my laptop.

I wonder if I'll gain weight.

I wonder if they'll fix me.

I wonder how my dad will react...