And why did I need Cedric so much? He was so hateful to me. When we speak these days and because I was so cowed then, I usually accept a part of the blame, but the truth is, there is no way I deserved the way he treated me, regardless of how much me being sick hurt him. I couldn't control that at that point, we all know that. How dare I let him do what he did? There's a lot I remember over the course of rereading that I had since forgotten, and while I realize such times need not truly be brought up again, I should still recognize if for what it is. I am outraged and it's way too late to do anything about it. I was dying. I weighed less than eighty-five pounds and could wear a little girl's size ten swimsuit, though small children's bodies are shaped and their swimsuits cut differently so it wasn't really flattering- nothing else would stay up. I don't swim anymore. But I was dying. I couldn't really climb stairs, I couldn't open doors, I couldn't sit through class without the bones in my ass hurting too much. I'm sure my heart was about to go into cardiac arrest, especially if we hadn't gone to that first doctor who at least alerted my parents of the serious internal dangers beyond being too bony. I know that if things had been horrible bad they could have gotten a court order to put me in the hospital, but I think they realized at that point it'd probably make a bad thing worse if I was so opposed to it, but I knew I needed help by then- I'd have been angry but accepting.

I wouldn't have been so violently opposed to the idea and could have gotten healthier so much damn sooner and probably more completely instead of dragging it out over the next year if Cedric hadn't told me,
"if you go into the hospital, I'll leave you and never look back. I'll never forgive you and we will never be friends (not that, according to him, we ever were)."

And when I started counseling and told not to keep weighing myself every morning, he got angry about that, despite the fact that not having a number to fixate on was one of the best things for me and made me go weigh myself at his house, blamed me for that, made me report my weight to him every day and what I'd eaten (or what I lied and claimed each day, I lied EVERY day to him, three times a day and I hated him and myself for it) or he'd leave me and I was so desperate and horrible that I'd do it. And he'd never do anything for me, he'd never just hold me or love me or anything without strings. When we got into sketchier activities, he would make me do whatever it was to him regardless of mood, feeling, desire, or ability or he'd get angry and jealous and hateful and hurtful. He told me he'd hit me if I deserved it.

Writing this, I could not be unhappier. It was so wrong.

Right now, I hate him for that. A hellish time in my life was extended for who knows how much longer because he was insecure and thought that love was proportional to how possessive one was. He would call and make fun of me for being with my family, with my great grandmother, my homework, my running, Amanda, anything and everything that was not him. My GOD, two hours on a Sunday morning for family is not excessive. I waited HOURS, DAYS, and an ENTIRE SUMMER for him.

Really sweet of him to schedule our "break" from each other on a time where he's out of town with other debate girls for a few days and then back home with all the other people. Even sweeter for him to make it a time where I'll spend three weeks in a foreign country where I don't speak the language or even want to be. We'll really see how we relate to other people without a relationship that way. It was simply a chance for him to slut around and clearly and blatantly establish his control over our relationship. He hinted (though it seemed like actuality) in an email, that we were going to break up because he had a dream in which I came back and wouldn't tell him how much I weighed and that I couldn't fulfill HIS needs. Good God Damn, his needs? My needs were being screamed out and bruised upon me, wept out for hours, run and pounded into the ground for miles and marathons, swallowed for meals instead of food, thrown back up again when I did. I just wanted him to tell me it was okay; that while maybe he didn't understand why I was so miserable and yearning and keening, he'd help me if I ever needed him. When I came back and I broke up with him, I'm sure that was a slap in the face. But then I was too weak and lost to maintain it and we ended up "going to lunch" together for a few months until I went out of town for a weekend and he fucked a drunk girl.

And finally, finally, we stopped completely. But I was still willing to forgive him and had and forgotten and put it all past me until now, because all the warped views I have of a boy who "cares" about me are fucking up my self with gm. I think he is amazing, I trust him, like him so much, want him, whatever, but with something like that as the main defining relationship in my life until now, I cannot just get over being scared of someone, regardless of how unjustified that is. He told me that perhaps such a relationship should not be used to define the same, but I've never told him just to what extreme Cedric fucked around with me. Although I can overpower it and carry forth anyway, I just CAN'T not have some part of me say, "wait! this is dangerous! he'll secretly hate you and spend every day trying to wreak revenge! all he wants is you to sleep with him! (for the record, I could not be happier that Cedric never got to fuck me. And yes, Fuck. It would have been that, no love involved.)" Serious effort is sometimes involved, especially if I think it's something that might not always be positive.

And I hate him for messing me up. I don't want to think about those times, and usually I don't, but when it comes to GM asking me a question, I can't make myself completely forget that Cedric would have just blamed me for my answer and made sure I paid.

And I KNOW he's not that way, he's the best person I've known, he never puts me in that position (while I recognize clearly that he's not perfect), but I can't help but be defensive and scared when he feels things for him that he can't explain.

"head shy." There you have it.

Except now I'm angry. So angry. I don't know what I want.