If this was a religion, Satan would have dragged me to hell by now.

My diet has totally gone to hell. I am officially too scared to weigh myself.

Ok, so it's probably not THAT bad, but in my head it feels that bad. Easter, as with most holidays, was a total failure. I think I ate my weight in lamb. I did NOT, however, eat more than a couple tiny bites of candy. And the lamb was cooked by my step-grandmother, who I'm pretty sure sold her soul to the devil so that she could cook the most perfect rack of lamb ever.

In order to rectify the horrors of the Easter Consumption, I have been perc-er-cising (exercising on percocets). 10 mg of perc lets me run on the treadmill for at least one hour. That combined with the sit-ups and the workout on the Total Gym means I burn about 600-700 calories every day. If I have the time, I work out longer, but I usually don't.

I haven't been eating like crazy this week, but I have been going way over the 500 calorie mark, which is just sick. I need to FOCUS. And I need to start doing better TODAY. So no more snacks or lunches, no matter how small. I've brought my bottle of skim chocolate milk, and that's all I plan to consume today, except maybe a bit of celery for dinner. And I'm getting my head bleached this evening, so I won't be able to work out.

No food. NONE. Because I'm a giant fat disgusting hippopotamus that doesn't deserve to live.

I want to Bleed.

This is what I call a Bad Patch. I had a nasty one starting last year around Thanksgiving, and it lasted until way after New Year’s. I got up to 115 lbs of blubber, but then I got some oxy-morphone from a friend and was able to do ridiculous workouts for 2 hours, 7 days a week, burning at least 800 calories at a time, so I could pretty much eat normally and stay around 105-110 and be happy. Then the drugs ran out, and I can’t work out like that without them, so I had to start starving again.

Now things are falling apart. It’s a Bad Patch as far as Ana is concerned, but a Really Friggin Bad Patch as far as life is concerned. I have friends who are giving me more grief than I really need right now. My grandmother is on her way out and having one health catastrophe after another (angina attack, blood clot, heart attack, perforated hernia, and renal failure over the course of 3 days) and that leaves my mother a hysterical mess because it’s a holiday weekend so she can’t find a flight over to Ireland to see her own dying mother before she breathes her last and leaves us all forever. And I’m just a mess in general and have been for a while because I am certifiably a little nuts. We all go a little mad sometimes.

I don’t like this feeling. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it builds and builds and builds to the point where I feel like I’m going to detonate at any moment and destroy everything in a 100-mile radius. I’m not wired for depression, so what would probably be depression in a normal person becomes something else in me. It begins as anxiety, which first exacerbates my OCD. I get antsy and fidgety and have to organize and count to 28 and make sure everything I do/see/touch/hear/eat/etc is in even numbers, and God help me if something is in a prime number because then I just need to take like 5 Sominex and sleep it off.

Once the anxiety reaches critical mass, it becomes anger, and I will take it out on anything and anyone within reach. You could be a complete stranger who just happens to try and read a sign behind me in a shop, and you’re frowning because you forgot your glasses but I think you’re frowning at me, so I’ll probably give you an evil glare and tell you to feck off in a very loud and threatening tone. Just an example….

The anger then quickly evolves to RAGE. The rage is like a high and low at the same time. It gets me thinking about sad things and suicidal things (depression with its wires crossed wrong in my brain??), but then I get so enraged about everything that I just want to lash out and go on a killing spree and destroy everything with large edged weapons and explosions. But I can’t do that, as it would likely land me in prison with a life sentence, or a lethal injection (which doesn’t sound so bad, when I get to this point).

Basically, I don’t really know what to do with my rage, so I tend to take it out on myself. I haven’t cut in 5 years. It got really bad and people noticed, so I had to stop. I resorted to punching instead, but that’s harder and also leaves marks that end up mistakenly identified as evidence of an abusive boyfriend, so I stopped that as well. Now, I feel like my life is slowly unraveling, and to top it all off, I’ve been having a harder time fighting the cravings for food. There hasn’t been all-out binging, but I’m eating, and that makes me anxious and upset and therefore angry. I haven’t wanted to cut this badly in a long time. I’m a recovering addict, and the addiction is still just as strong. I just want to get out the old hunting knives that are still stashed in my room and slice myself up.

I don’t like talking about my feelings. Ever. To anyone. This is the closest I’ll get, because I’m addressing an anonymous audience who may never even read this. I guess that’s why I feel so alone in these emotions. I figure if anyone else ever feels the same things I do – no depression, just anxiety and ridiculous anger, cutting, and ana – they probably don’t want to talk about it either.

The camel’s back is pretty full, and I don’t know what’s going to happen when the final straw breaks it.