2004-07-06, 8:11 p.m.
I was pissed about Julio yesterday. He was suppose to get me in last week, but I hadn't heard a thing. Ironically, I checked my cell phone late evening and there was a message from his office saying he got a cancellation and to call if I want to come in the following day.
Before leaving, driving there, and walking up to his office, I was anxious as hell. Thoughts swarmed my head about treatment, my dad, and what I should do about it. I tried to breath and calm down but it was no use. I sat in his waiting room starring at a sports fishing magazing. I knew it was Julio's magazing since that was one of his hobbies. That made me smile till I remembered. Treatment. Dad. Money. He'll flip out. I need to decide. Decide. Julio wasn't out from his last patient yet so I grabbed the bathroom key and walked out quickly.
I paced around the office buildings and my head pounded. Okay, think rationally. I need to face up to this eating disorder eventually. I'm miserbal. It's running my life. But maybe wait till after I move out? Ya. Right. I'll probably die before then. I starred at my reflection, my sunken eyes, my thin body. Okay Melissa, either go out and kill yourself right now, give up, or face Julio. I felt like I was going to be sick. Except All I had ate was a slice of tomatoe, so I didn't think that was possible.
Julio told me my insurance would cover a place in WISCONSIN. I nearly laughed in his face. "I'M NOT GOING TO WISCONSIN" I said, a bit too loud. He said he'd find out about the more local places. We talked about what's keeping me from wanting to go, which is my dad. He wants me to have the attitude of "screw you, i didn't ask to be born, now take care of me." With insurance, Julio said treatment could cost 2-4 thousand. I started to sob. My dad is going to hate me.
Last Friday I asked my dad what most disapointing thing I can do was. He said not taking care of my health. Not partying, drinking, a tatoo. MY HEALTH. Talk about ripping out my heart. If he only knew...
Well, he's going to know soon. That's what kills me. He just wants me to care of my health and I'm killing myself slowly. Julio wants me not to care what he thinks, but I just can't.
I blame myself for everything, I told Julio. No one but me wanted to be thin, and made the decision to puke. Julio didn't argue, but he also put up the protest that my parents are partially responsible for the way I turned out. My dad can't say, Julio said, that if only she took her vitamins, if only she exercised, this wouldn't of happened.
I left our appointment wanting more. Wanting more answers, wanting the hole inside of me being filled. I just left feeling so empty, and, I don't know. Disatisfied. I'm not sure why.
Right now, I feel like crying. I don't know why either.