Goal reached.

Goal one was reached. I lost 5 pounds on a three day fast.
I celebrated by eating an apple this morning with my daily coffee, and by accepting a cookie from a skinny pothead friend who's always trying to offer me food.
I ended this celebratory school day by smiling a big, wide smile, at a joke someone had told me, and then preceded to laugh, and grin, until the skin on my cracked, chapped lips tore and bled.
I stumble home in a daze. I eat a strawberry poptart covered in peanut butter, for energy. I wash it down with green tea/koolaid and bring it back up. I weigh myself.
Before the food, I was a much sought after 125 lbs. After, I'm a hideous 128.
Ah well. I suppose we all have our days where we allow ourselves to eat.
...I haven't even started this anorexia thing again (yet) and already people are asking me if I'm ok. They say, "You're really pale" or some shit.
I don't really feel like writing. I don't feel like talking either. But it's funny how just as soon as you feel like shit, EVERYONE suddenly wants to talk to you, text you, and whatnot.
A rather sad example of this is my girlfriend. She wants to hang out with me soon. I feel like shit. I don't want to see her.
This outburst of cynical thoughts has made me question our relationship. I barely know her. She doesn't seem to really have an interest in me.
Cynical me says "BREAK UP"
Nice me says "DON'T YOU'LL HURT HER"
Blah. I have no idea what to do. I'm fucking sick and tired. Of everything. Drugs, anorexia, and bipolar disorder. I'm done. I'm going to go take a bottle of ambien, pass out for a few days...