A little yellow

I know I went on and one yesterday about how I wanted help and how much I wished I could get it...I wasn't lying but like I said, I'm too much of a coward.  Asking for help means acknowledging that there's actually a problem.  So here I am sitting at the kitchen table, refusing to go to bed, having binged and purged four separate times in the past five or six hours, and literally watching blood dripping down my arm onto the kitchen table.  Yep.  I have no problems at all...no fucking problems...

Right now my focus is kind of on the fact that I ate so much shit and the guilt is weighing heavily on me.  I'm jut hoping and praying that if I do well today and tomorrow then Friday will be like last night never happened.  I think it takes two good days to make up for one day of a bad binge, but we'll see, I suppose.  At least since I didn't sleep, when I get home from work in sixteen hours, I can go straight to bed and pass out.  No late night bingeing to make up for being alone and bored out of my fucking mind.  I apologize for my ridiculous language in this post, but I'm pissed off at myself, if that isn't obvious.  I was doing so well, and you know when you fail one day and feel as tough all your hard work has been ruined?  It doesn't matter that my clothes will probably only be slightly tighter tomorrow or that my stomach might just be bloated, I still feel as though I've gained fifty pounds and like everyone will notice.  So to make up for my binge(s), I will just continue to wreak havoc on my arm because I deserve it.  I did just get fresh blades yesterday so I might as well make use of them.  And I'm not gonna lie, the red color is rather pretty...as sick as that sounds.  Weird that it comes from my own body.  This is another ones of those moments that I just feel a little disconnected from myself.  I'm not violent and my apparent fascination with my own blood only extends to my own being, but...slightly disturbing, I guess.

Thanks for all your support by the way.  I wish it could actually spur me to do something, but I worry that maybe I'm really just normal and making things seem like a concern when they're not.  This is probably why I need an outside opinion  someone to tell me that I need to seek help because this isn't right.  Otherwise, I'm going to remain in my dark, little world until I can't take it anymore.  It's just a question of what happens first.