Written at 5pm on Tuesday, March 17.

Today was long, but Monday and Tuesday are always the worst because it seems like the weekend is forever away. Spring Break is in about 3 weeks - April 4. I'm anticipating and dreading it. I know it's going to be fun-a week in Texas with Tiff, her mom, and no school...how could it not be?-but I know I'll have to eat more. Two years ago, on my last anorexia "fling", when I went to Florida for Spring Break, I ate a little more than I was used to, but I was also a lot skinnier then than I am now. Probably around 110-115 lbs. Now I'm 124. I'd feel a lot better if I could get down to 115 by April 4. So that's about 18 days to lose 9 pounds. A pound every two days. My body's still "on strike" and now cooperating with my efforts at weight loss. The scale never seems to change in the morning. I hate it. A little motivation would be wonderful. Anyways, Tiff's a huge fan of Mexican food. Which means we're sure to hit up Poncho's and On The Border. Both otherwise known as Fat in a Taco Shell and Would You Like a Million More Calories with Your Rice and Beans. FUCK. Even if I were to be eating a normal sized meal, what can a vegetarian do with a restaurant whose choices are only between beef and chicken? Tiff promised me we'd go to Subway alot but even then the tuna has alot of calories (I'm pescovegetarian, meaning, I eat fish). I wish I was going to have more control over my meals that week. It's stressing me out and still 3 fucking weeks away. Tiffany also said we would go walking every day but I'm pretty sure I remember her saying that last time and we never did so. I love her for trying though. It must be hard to watch your best friend go through what I'm going through, I guess. She's been so great and understanding, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't realize yet that my final goal isn't recovery this time. I'm not sure that I even realize that. I just look around and see how beautiful life and the world is and how blessed I am and think, "Am I even worth it?" I don't think so. I think that this life should have been given to someone else. I don't deserve it. I haven't done anything even remotely close to good enough. When I'm thin, I'll finally deserve something, though - death. It's the most I can hope for at this point.