Sunday, November 29, 2009

Watch me melt away.

I'll update when I feel like less of a failure.

Two weeks of commitment.

And I'm not in a place right now to read over my counsellor's notes on getting better.

I want to bury my head in the sand.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Absolutely Cuckoo.

Don't fall in love with me yet
We only recently met
True I'm in love with you but
you might decide I'm a nut
Give me a week or two to
go absolutely cuckoo
then, when you see your error,
then, you can flee in terror
like everybody else does
I only tell you this cause
I'm easy to get rid of
but not if you fall in love
Know now that I'm on the make
and if you make a mistake
my heart will certainly break
I'll have to jump in a lake
and all my friends will blame you
There's no telling what they'll do

It's only fair to tell you
I'm absolutely cuckoo

Friday, November 27, 2009

So thanksgiving eh?

We don't celebrate thanksgiving here... May as well have done though considering my intake.

So I lied, I said I wouldn't post until I was back to 93. I'm currently teetering around 95. Drank last night, and even though I could only handle the pub for like an hour I still came home and wrecked myself with horrible, stodgy pasta and chocolate and bread. Disgusting. DISGUSTING. And it's stupid because last night I looked good. Skinny me and I loved it. And then I wrecked it. Dammit I just wanted to get wasted, but I felt like I couldn't do that when I was out with housemates so I left. And went home and chose the completely unfavourable route to self destruct...

Completely and totally.

Moving on. This week was successful as far as restricting. So let's forget the past twelve hours right. Moving on. My head hurts. I'm going to go for a five km walk and then some. This week is uber restrict mode. I'm not letting last night stop me now. Nope. Not going to dwell on it. Fuck I would never keep that stuff in my house, it's not food I want, I hate that when I'm weak it's there waiting for me. If t wasn't I would work through and derive some sort of pride from abstaining. I am weak in this house and it hurts because everything else about living with my friends is great. But christ, there needs to be boundaries. Pasta. Ugh.

See even as I type I know I'll start to dwell on what I've wrecked last night. And no, I'll be damned if I binge twice in one week. So moving on. No weighing until Monday. Guess I'll still be 95 because of this. But at least it won't be anymore.

A strange thing came oer me this week. I have limited time. I have to go to hospital in two weeks. So I need to push harder against it because God knows what they'll try and make me put on, and fuck knows how my mind will be warped into accepting. Ok I know they're not some sort of evil organisation! And I'm putting myself in the situation but I'm not ready to let go yet so I will work harder.

I am working harder. This is mine. And it feels damn good right now. Let me just enjoy that before I crash again.

I've been reading your thanksgiving stories, and I'm truly sorry that you've been having such tough times with it. I think it's so fucked that the spirit of family around these holidays is twisted through this massive preoccupation with how much food people can stuff inside their bodies. Really it's fucked, it's too much pressure and that shouldn't be the focus. Please please please don't let one day bring you down. It's one day that you can push through. Allow yourself to just be for that one day, and move on.


Nothing 'til Monday. Weigh in. And so it will continue.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I will not post again...

Until I am back at 93. Otherwise everything I type here feels like a lie.

I love living with my friends but they make everything so much harder with their dirty dirty food.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Mmm.. Monday.

Four day fast starts today. It'll pretty much mean that I'll just lose what I gained over the weekend. I'm sure it's pounds, multiple. I've just had a hearty breakfast, and might I say really large, breakfast, of porridge and raisins and three slices of brown bread toast. My stomach has expanded A LOT.

But I'm back in the game. Haven't slept all night. Not since Saturday night. It's now six thirty. At seven thirty I'm gonna get ready and walk to college. Then I'll walk into town to go to some galleries. Then walk back home. And back to college to do some writing. Yes I will write. All this food has fuelled me and I'm ready to get back to writing reviews, hopefully get something submitted and published. It's been too damn long. And I don't care what's in my stomach, or rather I'm ignoring that horrible, horrible weight I can feel resting there if it means I can succeed in getting things done today. I do care. But it's temporary.

Then it's just going to be sheer momentum for the week. Here's hoping all that walking will work breakfast off. This will be the week. Galleries today. Writing and research tomorrow. Meeting with ex on Wed. Two exhibition openings on Thurs followed by a gig. After my counsellor appointment. Then Friday I crash. Because I'm sure it's a possibility. Sat is the film screening. Sun is home so I can go to my dentist appointment on Mon and inspect exactly how my starvation has ravaged my body. Well at least I ate for a few days so that might slow things down. No wait, two days. But fuck, it was so so much it may as well as been a week binge. Haven't purged all weekend though.

I've never felt the need to write up details of my personal life on here before. And I don't expect I will much. But this morning I'm buzzing. Must not weigh until Thursday. Otherwise I'll just see my gain and be crushed. No No No.

I will go upstairs and get dressed. And I will NOT buckle to the desire to wear baggy clothes to cover my bloated stomach. What's the worst eh? I'm back to seven stone? Seven stone is my barrier weight. It allows for little mishaps like this weekend. Over that and I'd absolutely die. Back down to 93 on Thurs and I'd be the happiest girl alive.

And I don't care about the torrential rain and wind, I'll walk, and walk. I like it that way. Anyone for Mondays?

Saturday, November 21, 2009

And so begins the cycle back down to 93.

Maybe I'll just aim for 90.
Then I'll put on my new killer heels and drink it all away.

Ha. I'm not ill.

One week of not eating and restricting.
Starvation sets in.
Body takes over mind.
Get this - Right now I just ate the 'RDA' worth of food. That's an believable amount of food, of really bad food. In an hour. Anything I could find. Anything bad. All the junk food. Whatever is in the house. More than I have eaten in the past seven days. I saw myself do it, I didn't care.
Can't possibly fit another thing into my overly swollen stomach. And I feel delerious. Bye bye 93. You'll be a long, long way away now. I'll stay alive until my hospital appointment this way. Baggy clothes for the next week. I feel FULL. I won't purge. Whatever. Fuck that. I'll just hide away for the week.
See, fucking call me anorexic now, go on.



I didn't think so.

Making myself blog.

If this is such a push, then why in the world can't I push myself to do everything else?

It's six on a saturday and I'm in college, in the library. Because I needed to leave that house. No energy to exercise but I can justify the walk because it has a purpose. Which is bloody ironic considering I've withdrawn from this semester and therefore have no need to be here until after christmas.

I'm really trying with this whole positive, motivated week. But christ it's hard.

I can't eat and forget about it. I can't. I'm not binging, I'm being controlled, but it's still all too much. Too fucking much. Keep telling myself I should. But the fucking guilt. Takes all not to make myself purge. So it's back to the laxatives. But I haven't binged and I use them when I've over done it. But two hundred calories is too much. It's not about the calories though. It's just too much. Not enough. I'm cracking.

I think my muscles are wasting. Still can't fix myself. This is a joke. Need to cop the fuck on. My mood swings are are taking over. Like now, I am not good. E. stayed at mine last night. I felt like I let her down by not being more cheerful. I even felt annoyed that she didn't ask why. And why the hell should it matter. Why would I want others to ask. Fuck. I think because it seems to be the topic of the month that it escapes that it shouldn't be apparent to other people. God does this self absorption ever end. I didn't want to tell my story. It's hackneyed and tedious. So why dwell on whether other people ;pick up on it or not.

For half of the day I m fine. I am functional. But bouts of this come about and I am confused. Always when I get some space to myself. I need the eleventh sooner. I'm not sure how the meantime will pan out. I can now see where my body is slipping away. But I can't stop.

What the hell happened? I need to get back to reading, and to writing, and to something productive. I have succeeded in making myself an extremely undesirable object. I do nothing, I fail my potential and those lines that define my whole body are delicious to nobody but me.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Kate Moss...

.Fucking.Irresponsible.Press.Whore.Attention.Seeking.Twat.

Thinspiring much?

Sorry, I've just feeling lousy this evening. Need to perk up. Just keep telling myself it's all in my mind. Things could be worse.

It's just right now I feel that this 'illness' or 'disorder' or whatever the hell you want to call it is the most vain, pathetic, self indulgent, self absorbed role to deal with. I don't feel proud. I feel guilty for being like this.

But I don't want to stop.

So really I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I'm sorry if you're following this blog and looking for some sort of motivation but this is just where I am at the moment. It's not all that pretty.

I'm just at a low point. And again, I'm sorry if my posts seem tedious and repetitive to read but the once familiar highs of this, this thing, aren't what they used to be.

But I'll keep pushing. Maybe tomorrow will feel better. Maybe I just shouldn't think anymore.

Really and truly I wish I didn't sound so whining. I know it's unbecoming, and I really hate dramatics. I guess that's why I vent here; so I don't blow up in the 'real world.' I'd never want to be seen as that sort of girl.

Must perk up. Must. Must. Must. My housemate will be home soon and much as I want to scream out every single sordid detail, she's been working all day and who wants to come home to that? Besides I can't put that pressure on someone I live with, it's unfair. So happy me. But I'm drained; I've been happy me for the past 48 hours to my family. I've been chatty me over coffee with friends today. I have to be outgoing me when I go out tomorrow night.

I feel weak. But I can't bring myself to swallow much these days. I can't. Part of me feels like I should. But I hate it.

Maybe I'll just get a good night's sleep.

Down to 93.

I just wanted to feel like I could melt away and instead I'm crumbling.


No dramatics, no romance, no glamour, when you hit the low points there's nothing attractive or redeeming about this.. At least that's how I view it. It feels pathetic and well, shit basically.

Maybe I'm just stuck in a mood swing.

Maybe tomorrow... Must stay optimistic. Yeah, tomorrow I'll be productive and strong.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Deliberating.

What can I eat tomorrow?

I know I have to. But what?

I'm trying to work it out.

I need to eat. I don't feel all there. Something bad will happen to me if I don't.

So one slice of brown bread, maybe with cheese?

But that'll be too many calories. I need to drink coffee so I have to allow for those calories.

I don't want to eat. But I know I'll have to.

But I know I'll feel awful afterwards.

But if I have it in the morning I can work it off throughout the day. If I don't I think something bad will happen to me. I need to function. So I need it. I should have it now but I can't possibly lie in bed with that in my stomach. I need to function, things to do tomorrow. Tonight was good, met friends, talked, just a small get together, totally laid back, but I was beginning to find it hard to keep it together.

Maybe just the bread. But I should probably have the cheese, for the dairy, for my teeth. Fuck, my teeth. Two weeks until I can get an appointment to sort it out. Please let them be ok until then. 'Til then really strong antibiotics. Which I've been explicitly told have to be taken three times a day with food. They're strong. They'll make you really ill otherwise. Apparently. I just looked at the dentist, scared because I can't possibly eat three meals a day right now. I've taken one so far on my empty stomach and I'm ok. One more before bed. So shit, I really should put something in my stomach in the morning.

But I feel so uncomfortable about doing it.

I need to eat. I can see that. I'm not doing so good. I'm confused. I can't seem to reconcile these two trains of thought. I know I need to eat something but I can't.

It's ok, one thing in the morning. I have to. I just need to work out what. It'll be ok...

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

I know this is so very very long but I'm starting to feel scared.

Confused. That's how I've felt this week.

To say it's draining would probably come close.

I really do feel like I'm accelerating into some sort of culmination... Of something. I'm just not sure what. See I've been very confused.

I'll try not to ramble.

I failed these past few months. No, I'm not dragging on about eating. I mean I've properly failed. And I can be a reasonable person; I understand that this has been hurried along by my disorder.

(I still feel strange referring to it as a thing, a disorder.)

I'm taking the semester off college. There's no other way. I could see myself falling; work, studies, socialising, goals and aspirations and normal fucking life. I did try to combat it. I really did. I availed of the health service in college. I didn't especially want to talk about it, I've always hated sharing because I never feel like I can adequately share it to myself let alone anybody else.

Yet two months later and here we are. I'm running out of patience. How long until I can function again. I just feel useless and lazy. I've seen the doctors, I've got the meds, I've changed the meds, I've got the higher dosages, I'm seeing the counsellor, I'm also seeing the psychiatrist, I've spoken to the student advisors, I've taken their advice, I'm taking time off on 'extenuating circumstances' so my grades won't be affected, I had the referral to the hospital, I've waited through the long waiting lists, and now it looms.

And herein lies the confusion. I truly know that the path I have found myself on is unhealthy. I don't know if that's because of my treatment changing my mindset but this past week it's been an abrasive mix of feeling success for any losses and regaining control, with unexpected flashes of what I'm doing to myself in the eyes of others.

I am back on track, I'm back under seven stone, circling around 95, I feel in control. I've actually felt elated, ready to get back to my writing, be productive, see people. I can fucking do this. I can make it work. I can even be so productive that I won't have time to spend every waking minute considering something weight related, I'll just busy myself and achieve again.

Yes.

No?

I'm not sure, I'm still feeling in control but it's being tested. Ninety five isn't my lowest so I wasn't expecting health worries. And it wasn't so easy to ignore. My teeth began to ache two days ago. I panicked. I panicked so bad. I felt like I may lose my teeth. This is not something I expected. It actually feels like I'm losing my teeth. I know I'm unhealthy but all the signs are usually easy to ignore, to blind yourself to. Not when it's your teeth. And this followed a more open meeting with my counsellor so I guess I was was veering on the vulnerable side. It shook me. Later I was showering and when I bent over I caught my the reflection of my profile in the mirror and I noticed just how much my spine stuck out, I hadn't seen it that prominent ever. This shook me more.

But see I can't stop because I'm back on track. The last few days I've done really well. Maybe not sleeping wasn't a highlight but food lost that temporary grip it had it on me. Today I had to come home to my family and my mam straight away made a throwaway comment on how thin I am. She didn't push it but obviously she notices something. I love coming home to see her but at the same time I'm afraid to my core of hurting her. She'd made dinner. Now see I've perfected the art of talking about food, different recipes and various things that 'taste delicious' with everyone as some sort of a defence mechanism, I hear myself all the time getting into conversations about it and wondering if they seriously believe that I could honestly feel that way and be so casual on the subject.

But she'd made dinner. And I'm ruining myself. And it's one meal. And she'll see me eat. She won't have cause to worry. One meal. No sides. Just shepherds pie. But there's meat. And I don't know what to do. This time it's not a case of telling myself I shouldn't want it and more of telling myself that maybe I should. I wasn't battling with fears of binging, it was different, it was weird. A part of me thinks well you may not want to but you will have to exist with some sort of health, who will want to see you naked? You love your bones but what man will? So I eat it. It tasted great. It felt awful. I needed it out of me. I can't rationalize that it's just one meal and christ maybe I really need it. No it's ruining everything. I need it gone, I need to have never been inside me. Impossible. I need the feeling inside me to leave, I want that hollow feeling to come back. I purged it. I don't want to have to purge. If I could just be left to my own rules. Eat if I feel like I need to without the pressure of what others will think if I'm not seen eating. Then I'd be fine. Just great. But I purged because I had no other option, and even then it's always too late. You can never fully rid yourself of the crap you put in your body. I'm scared because I know I need to slow down, but I don't want to. I'm scared no matter what I do. And I'm scared of my hospital referral because nobody has told me what actually will happen or how I'll be treated and suddenly I just don't feel at all ready.

Fuck, I don't want to let anything go. I just want to find a better way of coping, a balance so I can succeed in my life. Shit, I'm scared because I don't think I'll ever be able to gain and ever, ever be ok with that. But maybe, and here's the unexpected thought.. Maybe I need to stop losing?

And now I'm at home, and I haven't told my mam yet about college because I feel like I'm letting her down. And of course she'll worry and stress because she'll start to think that things are a lot more serious than just some depression that I'd be getting help with. And I cannot not not tell her about eating issues. That is too much. I don't want to be watched at home. I want to enjoy my time here when I visit. And she's really does not need the added stress. Besides I can hardly say 'hey, thanks for that lovely dinner you just watched me eat, by the way I'm anorexic.' It would seem a little strange and not make much sense. But how exactly do I convey that it was crucial for me to take time off without explaining why it was crucial for me. I do my best to be cheerful and together whenever I'm home so I don't want to break that for her.


I feel like an incredibly selfish daughter. All I want is to go back to my house, go out, get drunk, get fucked until it all stops. I haven't been doing much of any of those lately. I need the release. People will start to think me strange. I used to always go out but I somehow have turned reclusive. It became easier.

Now I want it all back, I'm back, I want it all, and if I'm going to crash then fuck I'm going to do it properly. The need feels overwhelming, I just wish I didn't have this conscience that tells me that whatever I'm doing will affect those around me.

I wish I was on my own to do as I pleased. Not forever. Just for a break. Seriously, just a break. A break by me, with just me, to get away from me. Do whatever I please. I wish I could let go.

Yes, I'm an incredibly selfish girl.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Blah.



..Such was my progress pre binge, I'd guess this was when I was at 96.

Feels weird posting images of me.

..Any thoughts?



...love love love how heels transform your legs!

I want to self destruct.

I really do.

I wish I wasn't so self aware so I could just take that route. Just not give a fuck.

I tried and failed.

I went out last night. First time in a long time that I could stomach it. My preoccupations with eating and not eating completely let my social life slide. But fuck I wanted to drink. And forget. And be drunk.

Moral of the story?

Drinking shots of jager and tequila does not make for successful willpower which in turn makes for failed fasting.
FAIL.

I'm sick of failing. I want to be able to post some actual weight loss here.

Is it possible my tendancies are turning increasingly towards bulimia? This is fucked. They, whoever they are, maintain that over time bulimics put on weight.

Ha, I'm a fucking joke.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Really? Me?

I am so completely surprised that after only a few days I have followers and comments.

I started this out of a need to get everything out there without having to address someone close to me. That I could get it out of my head and not feel burdened by it, and not burden anyone else with it.

But now to see that someone has actually taken the time out to read helps so so much. So thank you! There are so many blogs out there that it's so easy to dismiss another one, so thanks for noticing.

I'm having conscience attacks every now and then, albeit mild ones. But they ask me what the hell am I doing to my body. What exactly am I sacrificing??

But then I finally weighed myself post last week's binge. Ninety fucking seven pounds. That's a whole five pounds more than this day last week. I'm determined to get it back. Now. I'm getting there, I'm sure it was probably more a couple of days ago. So I'm getting there. I feel victorious. Like I conquered those stupid little temptations that holed themselves up inside me for a few long days.

Tuesday. Tuesday I will be noticeably back. Unfortunately Tuesday I also have to go home to visit my family.

I'm not going to let that shake me. Staying strong.

So yeah, conscience clearly doesn't have a loud enough voice.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Why now? Why not sooner?

Purged.

But I know it makes little difference because I left it way too late. But there's nothing like purging to make you feel liberated from food. Certainly don't feel like I need it anymore. I won't need to purge because it's lost it's grip.

Damn it's taken me a week of damage to get here. Wish I just vomited on Monday when this all started. This so isn't me. I think I'm losing my mind. Fasting feels so much... much... I don't know, clean I guess. But somehow I managed a week off. A whole week of the worst damage. Still haven't weighed my gain. I'm afraid.

God I sound like a broken record.

Nothing feels as good as melting away. Nothing gives a better kick than seeing the definition of my bones. I feel like the space between my inner thighs is getting smaller from all that eating. Already.

I really am a broken record.

Need to get over this and move on.

I'm giving myself 'til tuesday to be back to something close to what I was last week.

I've just realised that being so consumed by my downfall I've had no interest in relationships. God I'm newly single, why aren't I being a promiscous slut. That's what I'd normally do. That's what I used to do. But I don't want anybody to see my body until I'm back on track. I have this incredible need to indulge in just giving myslef away. Just something.

There's always something right?

This time it was housemates birthday.

And you know what birthdays mean.

Cake.

Sharing cake.

Chocolate.

Two slices.

Completely chocolate.

Disgusting right?

It should be. Before last week I would've been horrified. But following what seemed like an uncontrollable few days of binging that I'd never believed I was truly capable of; eating two things and being able to stop seems like a sort of achievement. My head is in a better space. I am getting back to me.

For a moment there I thought food had taken over.

Yep, disgusting.

Obviously I want to be fasting now. But my head is just getting back to that mind frame. I'm happy that I could stop myself. I was so scared that I'd lost control. But fuck, chocolate, that's bad. That's so bad. Ok, maybe I don't feel as happy with it as I first thought I'd be. But still I'm getting there. Nothing else today. Just something to join in the celebrations right? I feel so full of disgusting, horrible, food. And it was so fattening. But I'm in the right direction.

Back to me. Fuck them all. This is what I was working towards. And just because I buckled with their words doesn't mean I can't change things. Although with chocolate cake it's going to be slow. Hopefully the five km walk might help somewhat.

Had my psychiatrist appointment today. I really felt like I needed it. So bad. I used to hate these things and never followed through with therapy but it's becoming so important to be have that outlet considering my recent state of mind.

Unfortunately it was a massive let down. God knows what I was expecting but it was significantly more than what I actually got. Ok so I'm not particularly fond of it, or him in general but I committed myself to sticking with it. But he just talked and talked and didn't really listen to what I felt I was trying to put out there. Didn't even acknowledge any issues. I've had a stressful week. I have to take time off college. My friends have confronted me about my weight, it triggered me into binging, I'm not sleeping right and ultimately I don't feel like I have an illness, I just feel broken and pathetic for being incapable of just shutting up and fixing it myself. But he didn't want to entertain these things. It really seemed like he knew I got my referral to hospital for my 'eating disorder' so he was just passing the time until I have my first appointment. I was an inconvenience. And he uses the most tedious analogies on everything I'm supposedly feeling. What the fuck? He doesn't even know because he hasn't bothered to scratch the surface. He's just humouring me until someone else can deal with me.

But here's the most frustrating part; it all comes down to my 'eating disorder'. I never sought help for that, whatever that is. I suffer from depression, have done for years. I think in the past I've dealt with it in different ways, whether it was drinking or sex or whatever. And honestly I feel that this is just another manifestation. Because I never planned it. I know it's an important issue because it's now taken over my life. But it's not everything. Which is why I didn't want help with it, it's mine and I want to learn to cope with it so it doesn't take over everything else in my life. Especially my studies. I want the two to co exist. I'm not prepared to give anything up. And he couldn't even answer me. He couldn't give me a straight answer either when I tried to challenge his diagnosis of anorexia. Because how the hell can I be anorexic after what I've put in my body the past week. And fuck I enjoyed that food. I remembered what it was like to taste it. That sinful taste. God I hate myslef for enjoying it.

So I guess I wait to see my counsellor and try and explain to her. So I repeat it again. Cheapen myself even more. Listen to their oh so easy logic. Listen to them say it's not my fault, I'm too hard on myself, listen to them sympathise, say it's ok, it's human. And all the time I know that my thoughts and actions are weak and self indulgent. Seriously I read over what I've written and I hate that I'm capable of such whiney, clich├ęd melodrama. Meeting with my ex today for coffee proved to be far more relieving than any fucking professional. I was always so private but it seems to come easier talking to him. Maybe because the attraction is gone. Still it's all surface detail. Which is all it's ever been. So I'm just more forthcoming with the obvious. So really, after all these years, I'm still getting nowhere.

And fuck I ate two slices of full chocolate cake today. Now I feel it. So much for a fresh start. Somebody tell me I'm doing well. I know I'm in the right direction. But I need the scales to read what they read last week. And I now I've made the whole process slower. Somebody tell me I haven't failed, I know I should've been stricter but I'm getting there. I can't lose grip now.

It's so wintery outside. You could say miserable. But walking in the rain felt right. Something really comfortable and seasonal about it. I'd do it again now if it wasn't so late. Well no, I'd do it again if I could get away with it but somehow I think my housemates might find it a little odd to walk miles in the cold, stormy darkness. Personally it makes me feel alive. I need need need to get away by myself. Even a week. Just a week for me, with my own boundaries, nobody else's routines diluting mine.

So right back to my shortcomings.

Fuck me, two slices of chocolate cake. Too late to purge. Laxatives again. Not that it matters much considering I've already digested it. Ok so steps, smaller than I'm happy with but soon I'll be back to me. God I want those 93 pounds to read on the scale again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Thursday, November 12, 2009

I am stronger than this.

I have a choice. I choose not to eat. I am not a slave to my impulses.

Putting a lid on it

So in the spirit of fresh starts, here's my shame

1x Mcvities chocolate bar
3x Bowls Special K
2x Egg sandwiches

God I remembered when that food disgusted me. I don't know what happened to my brain. It just got triggered and all week I couldn't stop. I just can't believe that it took one stupid stumbling block and I'm actually enjoying food. It's sick. And trust me today is good compared to what I binged on the other days. And no fucking exercise.

Yes it's shameful. What's happened to me? I feel so lame and weak. I don't even feel like I've tried. And it wouldn't surprise me if I've put on ten pounds. Fuck it'll take weeks to get back. I just need to reconnect my brain. Any damning words would be greatly appreciated.

Fuck knows what I've done to my BMI now...

Where to start?

I never know where to start.
It's all so tedious really, I tend to avoid the details.

I was doing so well, fasting, restricting, dropping pounds so quickly. Down to 93 last Saturday. Then it just got completely fucked. I was confronted about it by an old friend I hadn't seen in ages. And I guess I was trying to prove a point.

Guess my body missed the food. Everything, anything, any combination I could find and down the hatch. Poisoning my body. Overflowing. Kept thinking I'd wake up tomorrow and everything would be fine. I didn't want the food. Fuck I don't want it. It's not like I was going to shops and feasting on any crap I could find. But in my house there's so much around, and they're aware that something is up now, so I just kept eating. More and more. Pounds upon pounds. All the food I don't allow myself. I'm not thinking. I'm not caring. My hands are reaching but my brain isn't engaging. I feel disgusting. Really, it's so loathsome to be disgusting and at the same time be aware of how pathetic and middle class white girl your little 'struggles' are. I wish I'd never opened my mouth about any of this to anyone. It's just made everything ten times worse.

This is mine. Mine. I don't want to change it, I just want to learn to cope. I just want the scales to be back at 93.

But four days later and I know I've gained. A lot. So easy to undo everything. All that work for nothing. Funny, I never thought losing weight with have become a full time occupation. I never thought I was seriously trying. And yet now, here I am.

And he said I was anorexic. Do anorexics binge the way I just did? Can't purge, too loud, it never achieves much anyway. Don't think any amount of the boxes of laxatives I've taken can change the calories and fat I've ingested.

I never set out to achieve a disorder, but fuck I've failed at having an illness and I've become preoccupied by that. I wish I didn't tell anything, it's makes me feel so unbelievably cheap. One word to sum it up, cheap. I've sold myself so short. I'll never be able to articulate this to anyone so why did I try to explain so matter of factly, so detached, so vague. It's not a fair reflection. I just want to be left alone. I want to get away. Away from all the assumptions they may have. Get myself back on track. I'm so scared to see what I weigh. I honestly couldn't tell what I'd do if I was in triple figures. I can't think of anything else besides those stupid little numbers. Checking the lines of my bones as they disappear. Losing all definition. I want to go away, just for a while. Just to get a grip on this.

I'm losing the ability to think there's something mentally wrong me, I'm just fucked. And I don't see the glamour in it. It all seems completely sad to me. There's nothing redeeming here.

I'm scared to weigh myself tomorrow but I have to see the damage.

It changes now.

This is temporary. My weight is temporary. This all is temporary. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is a fresh day. Back to what is mine.

Psyche appointment tomorrow. Feel like a fraud getting the treatment because I've gained. Obviously I'm not what he thought. I'm not really ill. This doesn't seem like an illness to me, more a personality flaw.

Tomorrow, back in the game. Tomorrow. Once I learn to keep it in control, I can start getting my life back together. Not so long ago there were other things I wanted to succeed in and I can't let that go...