This was taken yesterday. I'm currently 106.4 pounds and feel bigger than ever. After eating what I would call normally, to others this wouldn't be justified I only put on .4 pounds. I have no will to eat and looking at this picture isn't helping much. After walking out of my room my mother just asked if I liked my old psychologist. All I could say was "yes". My dad was pretty pissed off after weighing last night after dinner. I was 109.4 pounds and all he said was "Jesus Kristen you're lighter than ever, you need to stay above 110 at least." Well dad, jokes on you, I'm actually 106 pounds and plan on getting smaller. Is it fucked up that I felt smaller last year at this time when I was around 114 pounds? I was so excited because the first day of going back to Saint Rose I was down to 112 pounds and wore my new shorts that sort of fell off and my low cut orange shirt from American Eagle. I felt so happy and now I can't feel anymore ashamed. I'm not ready for recovery, I'm ready to just give up altogether. Seeing the scale go down doesn't make me happy anymore and seeing how much I'm hurting people isn't making me happy anymore. I told Mike last night that I wish my parents would pay for an apartment for me so I could just live the way I want and by six months into the lease I'd be dead. It probably wouldn't even take that long though. It wouldn't be that expensive and I could just stop hurting everyone. Anyways, my manic depressive disgusting-ness is over. Jason's coming over later to smoke with me and probably lay out. We have a lot of shit talking to do apparently. I'm not hungry so I'm not forcing myself to eat or forcing myself to exercise today. Maybe I'll face the salad my mom made last night. Sorry I suck lately. I love you all though tons.