She needed to leave the nest, have a roommate, find classes that rekindled her mind. Getting out in the world would be so much better than staying home, torturing herself—she’d see that right away. We didn’t know how bad she’d gotten. We didn’t want to look. lisa: An entry from my journal, dated May 4, 2004:I’m trying to sleep but a swarm of confusion comes in my mind. I lie in the dark, scared of what will come the next day. Every day is a battle with myself to see if I can make it. Every day I fail. The hands that hold me are so strong, and the more I try to break free the tighter their grip becomes. Just let go of me! I’m so young yet I can already feel great desperation, questioning if my life is even worth it. It can be hard to wake up to the mess that surrounds me. I hate feeling like I am not worth it, like I am not allowed to enjoy my last bite, or my drink on a Friday night. I always have to somehow ruin it by self-mutilation—no cutting, just severe and repetitive bingeing and purging.
