update of the days of my life.
So, I’m going to school. For all intents and purposes, I’ve started over. And, it’s nice. I’ve got this salaried position, I’m doing exceedingly well in all of my coursework, I’m making new friends, I’m managing to eat all on my own.
I’ve got a kitten. He is a fucking nightmare and I love him to death.
I’m dating around, and going out, and getting drunk, and kissing cute boys. Which is GREAT since I spent all summer too high and too sad about Timmy to do any of that. I literally smoked pot all day long from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed. I can’t do that here, my job and my schoolwork requires brain functioning like never before.
My intellectual growth is astounding. I am learning SO MUCH, and they are training me to be a scientist. This is the stuff that I can’t get anywhere else, I cannot learn and have access to the resources that I do here on my own. The way PhD programs are set up is much like an apprenticeship; you learn from someone older and wiser. It’s incredible and I love every second of it even if I spend almost all day reading, writing, analyzing, discussing, teaching, or sleeping. It’s so worth it. My brain is literally firing off ideas in this crazy intense way. I never thought I was so creative. And, I get paid for this shit. I can get funding to start my own research. It. is. so. awesome.
At the same time, I’m struggling to get over Timmy. God, he’s such a child. A selfish and insensitive CHILD. For some reason I’m still seeking his approval. I want him to be proud of me. That’s all I want. But i know he thinks I’m crazy, and weak, and he treats me like I’m stupid. And it’s because I had a disorder.
And I’m struggling with the urge to restrict. Which, is every day. I still have stupid and gross food rituals. But, they aren’t as controlling as they used to be, and they don’t really interfere with my life. No one knows about my disorder here. And no one needs to know.
broke up with Tim on Friday.
I’ll manage, and I can make myself eat but it’s so so so much harder to do when I don’t want to do anything but smoke and sit.
I ache. Every inch of me aches with knowing he doesn’t love me like I love him. He still loves me, but he doesn’t want the romantic aspect. I don’t know what this means, I don’t want to think about it. I want to smoke, and smoke, and smoke, and smoke. And NOT let it make me relapse. I’m stronger than that. I deserve that.