"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.

"I don't much care where-" said Alice.

 "Then it doesn't matter which way you go," said the Cat.

"-so long as i get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you're sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."

 

 

 

 

I can see the path that I am treading, and it is a dangerous one.

Binges.

 

Binge, binge, binge.

 

I succeeded, for the first time the other day to finally make myself sick.

Now that I am armed with that knowledge, I can see the rickety, wooden bridge that I am standing on start to crumble.

I always seem to have to do something self destructive.

My eating went well yesterday, but I was overwhelmed with the desire to cut myself. It was all consuming. I was shaking.

So I popped a Diazepam, pinched myself, picked at a few scabs and had a bath.

 

I would have cried if my antidepressants didn't numb me so much.

 

My therapist says that it is just one form of self harm replacing another.

If it isn't binging, it is cutting. 

And binging will only lead to restricting and obsessive exercising, something which is beginning to happen.

 

So another rope on my bridge begins to fray.

 

Where do I go from here?

Why do all my coping mechanism have to be so self destructive.