Seven short days

One measly week is all I have left standing between me and a rehab center. Seven days!!! That isn't much time at all. I need more time. Hell, I need eternity. I don't want to go. Ana is screaming in my ear that I don't need to go. I'm not in a relationship with her anymore. I am in perfect health. I am fine. Fine fine fine fine fine... I am always fine. Fucking fine. Never anything wrong here. I am the picture of perfection. FINE FINE FINE!!!
I don't need to go to an eating disorder clinic. I don't have an eating disorder. I HAD an eating disorder. I was underweight. I WAS sickly. Not now. Now anymore. Last time I did blood work the doctors seemed impressed with how healthy I was. HEALTHY! I am fucking healthy!!! I'm not sick I'm not sick I'm not sick I'm not sick!!! I will be 3x the size of some of those girls. Who the fuck is going to come visit me?!?! Not MY family. Maybe me ex's family. MAYBE. I'm too far away. Visiting hours are too late. Will anyone actually call to talk to me other than my new mom? Will anyone write me? About a million people have said they will, but will they? I doubt it. People forget what is not in front of their face. I will be gone a month. I fear being forgotten.

When I get home. All the shit will still be there for me to sort through. Nothing will be fixed. I will still need a car. Still need a place to live. Still need more money. I'm fucked