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...