I went back to therapy on the third. I worried about it all week, but once I got there I just automatically decided I needed to tell her everything that had happened the past two weeks and how my emotional state was deteriorating extremely fast. I trusted her enough to mention my life-long habit of binge eating, and I really was shocked by our discussion. I never realized that I was always giving food some sort of medicinal quality, thinking it would fix anything, until she suggested it. I also mentioned how intrusive and obsessive my thoughts were and, to my surprise, I fit ALL of the criteria for OCD and was diagnosed. This means I have to switch meds next week, but as long as it helps me think more clearly I'm fine with it. And I honestly feel like the Prozac isn't working anymore because I feel just as bad as I did a few months ago.
 
I was positive for...oh...an hour or so after the session but, as always, my negativity came rushing back and I feel as pessimistic as ever. I decided to just sort of give in. I'm going to take the meds and go to therapy and do what everyone says I should do with no expectation of recovery or of failure. I don't want to have hope because I don't want to be disappointed. I feel like I'm intentionally doing this to myself, because I'm somehow afraid of getting better.