Things have not been going well. I have once again found solace with my old friends food and throwing up. No calorie-counting, just eating to excess and vomiting (not enough). I am walking that fine line right at the edge of a nervous breakdown. My class-absences have now reached something like 7 weeks straight of no-attendance (I'm starting to lose count). New York tore out the last strength and will that I had. And April is a bad month for me. Too many memories, too much pain. It marks the 2-year anniversary of this mess that has now become my reality. My thoughts are spinning and flying wildly, my "ping-pong balls" as I call them, random things coming to the front of my mind and running wild until others take their place. There is no quiet, there is no comfort. It is just a go-go-go of racing in my head and in my life. Nothing is controlled, nothing is as it should be. It is just a messy sketch, crazy lines drawn with a shaky hand trying to trace what this was meant to be. Half-assed attempts to squeeze 3 weeks-worth of unattended class into my brain in one weekend. Because there is yet another exam that awaits on Wednesday. There is no respite; spring breaks do not exist in med and the year doesn't end for another 11 weeks. Must keep going, must stay afloat. Treading water for 10 months is more than challenging, and I am starting to choke. Had to take my Nonno to the hospital on Monday; call work, switch shifts, sure, I'll take a 7-hour one on Friday to compensate, yes, I'm terribly sorry. Tuesday, a clinic visit for me; either bronchitis or pneumonia, go for a chest X-ray on Wednesday. Patient simulation. Boyfriend needs to see me. Work work work. Cancel shrink appointment, have to work. Cancel soccer game, can't play if I'm coughing and wheezing. No running in this state. When was my last run again? Go go go. Can't sleep with this cough, nap instead of going to class, then off to work. Whirlwind of thoughts and actions, but no real thinking. Just go. Keep pushing. Can't concentrate? You're a stupid fat lazy bitch. PMS-binges? God, you disgust me. You were better off when you were throwing up. That's it, it's so easy, you remember how. Bow before the porcelain thrown. Of course you feel sick, you fat bitch, look at all the shit you ate. That's right, look at it. Ah, the comfort in throwing up. So safe. Calls from Nonna, from Aunty. Smile, fake a cheery voice, of course school is great, I love it so much, lots of work but so worth it, of course I'm eating, of course I'm sleeping, of course I'm happy and successful and perfect. Lie lie lie. Texts from old friends that I've pushed away, yeah, doing great, oh of course I can solve your problems. Plaster a smile on at work. You love my ethic, my timeliness, my hard work? Blush, smile, thanks. Of course, you stupid bitch, you would be perfect at a job that demands an IQ of 2. Congratulations, retard. No more, please, no more. Just let me fall asleep and never wake up. Just let me slip away. I won't make a sound, I won't be a bother, just let me go. Please.