Personal post...Need Advice.

I have an addiction….to productivity, to movement. I have to constantly be moving, doing something, anything, just to feel useful. I can’t relax, I feel overwhelmingly guilty, too guilty to be living. Just sitting and relaxing flames me with frustration; I want to thrash around, cry, throw a tantrum. It deteriorates me physically and mentally.
I was wondering when it would be that I would hit my lowest peak, and it’s now, in my most promising year, 2016, my year of graduation and finally, freedom from the chains of my past’s demons, that i’m most likely going to die from this addiction.
It started with family, constantly cursing and ridiculing me over every little flaw.
Is there a tiny crumb on the counter? Ugh, how clumsy I am.
Is there a dish in the sink? Oh my, but I just washed a load an hour ago. Sorry I’m so selfish, uncaring, that I don’t stalk your every call and beckon.
And god, oh god, you brought my addicted grandmother more of her demon poison, and now it’s up to me to spend hours of my time stalking hiding her stash, rather than study for school, to prevent another bone breakage or overdose. If I fail, it’s my fault. I can’t yell back, can’t hit back, can’t cry back, I must force myself to remain stoic. To watch it all with open eyes and plastered mouth.
Endure.
Persevere.
Pain makes you strong..

That mindset carries over to me now, 14 years later, I’m legally free at 18, but enslaved by my instilled behaviors. I have to clean everything, every little mess, NOW. Am I tired? Do I wish to take some time for my hobbies?
Ha.
That doesn’t matter. That makes me selfish, guilty, useless, undeserving, of life or happiness. Doing what I don’t want, suffering, the pain...it’s good. It gives me power, makes me worth it. I love it. It shows I’m strong, I can do this, I can survive.
Even if I know in 30 minutes, all my efforts will be trashed, at least I did it, I finished, I suffered and survived. I’m happy, I’ve worked to deserve this happiness, this courage, this power.

Next, i’ve combined it with my eating. Through emotional distress, in middle school I resorted to food to cope with my unhappiness. Food made me happy.
But, again, I’ve grown to learn the guilt of happiness: you can’t just get it, it can’t be easy. That’s undeserving, Life is dark, heavy, hard, and what gives me the right to take advantage of little pleasures? I’m not special, I’m pathetic.
In 8th grade, I turned to calorie counting. I loved it. Oh, god, the restriction...seeing how many calories I could deprive myself of: how low could I go? How large of a net could I have?
The sensation is seductive, amazing. I became so elated over every day’s progress. I started by cutting myself from 2200 to 1200. It was hard, but the challenge felt good. I had power, courage, reason.
Then, I wanted more progress; my goal was to lose weight after all, and I saw a commercial that said that 1000 is the bare minimum to survive...let’s test it out. I can take the hardest punches, I can redefine difficult boundaries, I can take on anything.
So I did it, 1000 calories every day...give or take within the range, but never up to 1100 or over, that’s weak.
After months, in 8th grade, 5’4, I weighed 97lbs. I did it. I went from 134 to 97, in a matter of 5 months. I took on the extremes and I survived. I felt so strong, so powerful, so triumphant. I had control over something. I couldn't have happiness at home, but I could have happiness with my body, by inflicting scarless harm...physically, maybe, aside from appearing emaciated, but emotionally, it was the beginning of a new rift.
I recovered, weighed between 115-120, but I felt weak. How could I let myself gain so much? How could I appear healthy? That’s weak, disgusting, revolting, guilty, useless. I wanted to die from the guilt...but instead, I saw it as a new challenge, a new reason to live.
I started a new challenge, less calories, down to 700, no 500, by now it’s more like 300. Less nourishment, less health, means more ,strength, more courage, more control. I’m powerful. I may feel exhausted, vigorless, but I have to push through the day, I don’t have a choice, and surviving through that makes me even stronger.
Sometimes I find myself too tired to move, just lying lethargic in bed, cold fingertips --hands and toes--, but I feel numb, I’ve exhausted myself as low as I can go...and it feels great, amazing, I don’t want it to stop.
That sensation carries on to counting exercise calories.
Let’s see how much I could burn. At first, 300 was a good goal. 30 minutes of exercise...feels great. Then, let’s set new boundaries...ah--let’s go for 500; mixing sports with cardio.
Not enough, 800...no, 1000 calories! I may be shivering from exhaustion, fighting mental tantrums, but I want more, more challenge, more pain; more power and control. I need it, it makes me feel alive.
By now, I find myself striving for burning 1500, 1600 on lucky days.
Burning is great, but what about consuming? I don’t deserve it. I love seeing how much I can restrict myself throughout the day. No breakfast, only 300 calories for lunch drained, like my vigor, and color of my face, down to a measely 150..then around 60 or 70. Yes, less is more. Then, it’s not enough to cut, but how late can I go? I used to eat at 11am, but let’s try 12. 1pm? THen I made a daily schedule for 2pm.
By 12th grade, I wouldn't let myself eat a single thing until swim practice at 3pm...but eating before swimming made my stomach ache...I can wait to have my first meal when I get home at 6pm.
I feel exhausted, tired, famished, but so strong. So courageous. God, I’m filled with so much jubilee that I could cry.
But I couldn't do that anymore...I couldn't stand, walk, think, remember...see; it began tarnishing my school work. So I began to eat lunch again...but I was still too scared to put anything into my body that was over 100 calories...then it scared me to consume over 70.
After starving myself, my body liked to eat big meals...so my main sustenance became vegetables: day after day salads and stir frys...100 different ways. I began getting scared of sauces, as they add calories exponentially, so my bland food was sufficed by salts, herbs, and seasonings. As my body grew tired of diurnal dullness, by the time it hits night and I’ve only consumed 70 calories, it attacks all that it can: every flavor, every sauce...every meat. I know it would save me pain, binging and purging, if I just let myself eat normally during the day, but during the day it’s so scary. The fear is asphyxiating.
Lot of times, because I keep myself starving, while I’m cooking my food, I end up “tasting” a little here and there. By the time the food’s ready (I cook stovetop, so it takes about an hour or so) I feel full, but I lack that calm satisfaction of sitting down and enjoying a meal...so I want to relax and eat normally, but I’m full, and scared of calories...so what do I do?
Throw it up.
I suffered immensely for this moment of satiation, contentment, and I will get it. So I waste time throwing it up, and by the time I return to the kitchen, the food’s gone cold. Reheating it sometimes overcooks it...as I like my veggies cruciferous, so I become frustrated, angry, unhappy.

It’s an und-ending cycle, it hurts so much.

Being happy makes me unhappy. Being unhappy makes me unhappy.

I want to go burn more calories.