[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 12 most recent journal entries recorded in
|Monday, January 10th, 2005|
Still around, still a heinous lardbeast.
Put on some over XXXmas. Am winding down the cals now, step by step. My plan is to be back on 900 a day by Feb.
Get well soon, everyone who has the strength to do so. You're lovelier when you're thriving than when you're only surviving.
|Monday, December 20th, 2004|
Well, here I am again, belly full of food, head full of intrusive thoughts, heart full of self-loathing. I want to stop. I don't want to stop.
(potential SH trigger follows)( Read more...Collapse )
I remember being happy, back when I was...oh, fourteen or so. I worked hard at my studies. (I was homeschooled and by that age my parents were almost totally uninterested in teaching me, which suited me fine. I've always been independant and I love to be in control.) I was very focused, very motivated. Till it all went to hell.
Now I'm just a mess. I spend every spare minute looking for jobs, applying for jobs, enquiring after the jobs I didn't get. Nobody will employ me--I guess because I'm so old and fat. At 31 years old and 74 kilos, I am not an attractive proposition--I probably wouldn't even fit through the door. I need something to bring me back into focus, get me back into the kind of working mentality I had as a 14 year old. Since nobody will give me a job I plan to start selling stuff (arts and crafts) on Ebay.
Trouble is, I've been "planning to sell stuff on Ebay" for about two years now and I never actually do it. There's always some excuse. I never even try. I'm a fucking loser. All I do is drain my partener of his cash and his energy, like a big fat worm stuck on his bankbook. At least I manage to keep this part of my life from hurting him--he doesn't know I'm back on the ED, he just thinks I'm going to lose a bit of weight and then stop.
I look at my life and I look at myself and I look at the whole ghastly mess, and then I look at those tiny white scars... and they look good. The only thing left of me that's any good is scar tissue.
|Sunday, November 28th, 2004|
Yesterday was rough. I got up late (like always) and had an attack of self loathing while I was getting dressed. I hate myself. Really and truly. I wish I could slip into a coma and wake up as a different person. Quite apart from the fat thing, I'm unemployed and living off my partener. I have no accomplishments and I'm revoltingly juvenile. I managed to beath the feelings down long enough to go and do something constructive (a long walk followed by grocery shopping) but today they're back with reinforcements.
I have a thing in a place this afternoon and my partener has another thing in another place, so if I can fend off the food monster till I go I may be able to avoid eating today. I don't deserve food.
|Friday, November 26th, 2004|
The weight is still coming off, but dear God it's so slow. I'm down to 75 kilos now, so I'm no longer "obese," I'm just overweight. Ha bloody ha.
Had a friend staying for about a week. It was great to see her and everything but of course I used her presence as an excuse to stuff my face. I went from 900 cals a day (500 the day before she arrived) to at least 1500 and sometimes more than 2000 calories a day. Pathetic. Somehow I still lost half a kilo that week, possibly because I was doing a lot of walking.
Feel very lonely now she's gone. I'm in a country where I don't speak the language very well. I have no frineds here. I have nobody to talk to. I don't have any real problems--I know where my rent's coming from and I have a kind, loving partener--but I feel so alone sometimes. Isolated. I feel like everyone's looking at me and dismissiong me because I'm so fat and stupid-looking. I feel like I'm the only person who can't cope.
I'll be 31 in less than 2 weeks. Whoopity do.
Why am I stuck in this stupid obsession? Why can't I just stop freaking out about my weight, eat normal healthy meals or just get used to being a fatass? Why do I spend all this fucking energy on this pathetic, vain crap when there are people in this world who are starving, dying, being tortured, being killed, being locked up or shot up or blown up? Why can't I muster any tiny shred of maturity?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
|Monday, October 25th, 2004|
Oh, man. I've just weighed myself for the fist time in about a year. The good news is that I'm not as big as I thought; I was estimating my weight at about 195lbs and it turns out I'm just under 177lbs (in clothes and shoes). The bad news is... 177! Oh, God. How did I allow this to happen to myself? How could I be so stupid, so gluttonous, so lazy? What the hell is wrong with me? Ugh. I hate myself. And I completely pigged out yesterday--I not only had a huge tuna salad (from a cafe, so God knows how mugh oil they put on it) but mushrooms and a pint of beer. I am such a stupid pig.
I have GOT to get down to 150 before Christmas.
|Saturday, October 16th, 2004|
|Still on track (just about).
Managing to eat less than 900 calories most days. Some days I allow 1200 calories, just to keep my body on its toes. Almost bought a set of bathroom scales the other day but I chickened out, so I still don't know how much I weigh. I've lost a little, I think. Some of my not-so-old old clothes fit me now that didn't a month or two ago. Still miles to go, though. I reckon I must have lost about 5lbs, based on my previous estimate of my weight, I am about 195.
My goals: My ultimate goal is to weigh about 98 lbs. However, previous experience tells me that it'll take a while to work out a calorie intake that will maintain me at that level, so I plan to get to 93 lbs which will give me some leeway to play about with while I get things sorted.
In the short term: Hard to set a weight goal when I don't know how much I weigh, so I'm going by dress size. I have a beautiful but not very forgiving pair of trousers in a UK size 10 (US 8), and my goal is to get into them by Christmas.
I may never achieve these goals. I may wake up one morning and find that the switch in my brain has flipped and I am back to compulsive overeating again. But I am going to fight for them, as hard as I can.
Meanwhile, I try to understand this compulsion, this need. Why do I need to be thin? I don't need other people to be thin. Reverse triggers don't work on me because I can see the beauty in a big body as well as in a little one. But I can't live in a big body. I need to be a creature of bone, and I cannot for the life of me fathom why.
|Saturday, October 9th, 2004|
|Getting better, one milimeter at a time...
Managing to control my eating a bit better now. Most days I keep it under 1000 cals a day, which is not great but it's better than the 2500-3000 I reckon I was eating a month or so ago. I'm working on getting down to 900 a day, but I've learned from bitter experience that I can't just drop from 3000 cals to 900 without ending up on a massive binge after a week or two.
It's not really that hard right now. At the moment, I'm not tempted by the bad foods that I used to binge on. I'm not even hungry most of the time. I think I may be able to face the scales soon. My clothes are looser and more comfortable, but I don't like that, it scares me. I don't want to start getting delusions of thinness, and the tight uncomfortable feeling of my clothes was a great reminder of how far I had to go. I'm tying a cord round my waist, really tightly, to get the same feeling. I also pinch myself a lot, grabbing handfuls of flab and squeezing them as hard as my weak little hands can squeeze, raising bruises on belly and hip. Reminders of what must be stripped away.
I'm terrified that this is a flash in the pan, that after a couple more weeks I'll be back on the pizza, greasy lips sucking down the fat fat fat until I'm back where I started, worse even.
I can't fall. I can't let myself fall. I have to do this. My pure self cavorts through my dreams, slender, strong, icily exciting. Please God, someone, anyone, give me the strength I need to carry this through.
|Friday, September 24th, 2004|
Wannabe fat'n'fit'n'happy/wannabe anoretic/wannabe normal/wannabe weird/wannabe a Reubens babe/wannabe a scar(e)crow/wanna be invisible/wanna scream look what you've done to me.
Wanna disappear into recovered bliss/Wanna lose it all to the bones.
Give me. Give me it all.
I wish I could be a healthy, happy person, who somehow magically was able to float around at 90lbs without her hair falling out or her bones thinning or her friends freaking out or her partner crying, begging her to get well. I can handle the pain, but I hate when it seeps out of me and poisons other people.
Funny thing: I suffer just as much at this size--more. Emotionally, I hurt every time I look in the mirror, but I'm talking about real physical problems. My knee hurts all the time; I have an old injury which is exacerbated by excess weight. My asthma gets worse.
I'm sick of being for other people all the time. I'd like to be for myself sometimes.
|Thursday, September 23rd, 2004|
|My flesh is a nightmare I can't wake up from.
I have a target, my step-one, absolute begginer target: "restrict" to 2000 calories a day. Not because it's going to lose me any weight, but because it will slow my progress into the Abyss of Fat.
And I can't fucking do it. Can't even bring the day's overindulgence in under 2000 cals. I am a fat, weak loser. When I was 17 I would live for weeks at a time on a daily diet of 3 cups of milky tea, one stick of Orbit, and a small meal at home (say a slice of toast with baked beans) so my folks wouldn't go apeshit. I was on about 600-700 cals a day and I was tiny. Now I can't even "restrict" to 2000!
I was doing okay yesterday, but my friend is staying with us and he was adamant that he has to take me and my partener out for a meal. Now, I could have had something light, I could have drunk water instead of beer and wine, but I didn't. I'm estimating that the meal was about 1000 calories, beer and wine making a further 600. I'm not sure of the exact values, so I may be over- or under-estimating.
See, this is another thing. I can't stop drinking beer. Every time I go out to the bar, I think "Okay, this time I'll just have a vodka and diet mixer" and every time I break down and have a pint of lager. Jesus. It's a lighter brand, 200 calories a pint instead of 250 or 300 but... jesus. Why can't I just stop? Why does a fluid, a simple liquid, have this hold over me?
Today I'll be alone in the house all day and all evening. I need to take this opportunity to restrict. There's fat-free vegetable broth in the kitchen; if I must have anything I'll have that. But what I really need is to get used to having nothing, just not putting anything in my mouth but water. I have a little broth, and pretty soon I have half a slice of bread with the broth--it all adds up. I need to make my "safe" foods (hah, there's an oxymoron if I ever heard one!) into treats instead of staples. Water, especially ice water, should be my staple, diet drinks a treat, beer unthinkable.
I need to be free of food for a while. Just free of it, altogether. Maybe I can pull a sickie tomorrow, claim I've got a stomach bug.
I wonder: how did I get like this? I mean, there's stuff that's happened to me which has reinforced my eating problems, but I can't remember ever having a healthy realtionship with food. I look back at myself as I was, as a kid, and I'm always either pigging out or starving. I can remember periods when I was more or less okay, but I've never been a normal eater.
I know in my heart that the ideal I cling to, the goal I'm aiming for, is not a healthy one. I wiegh about 200 pounds now, by my estimation (I daren't go near a set of scales), and my aim is to weigh nintey--less than half that. I know what it's going to do to me. I know that it's a diseased way of thinking. I'm not stupid. But I just can't live like this. I've tried and tried and I just plain can't. I NEED to be small and little and unthreatening. I need to be light. I can't live in this body anymore, so I'm going to try and build one I can live with. Simple as that.
|Tuesday, September 21st, 2004|
|I can't do this. I can't be this person anymore.
Stupid worthless bitch, you had to do it, didn't you? You had to get drunk. Swilling down thousands of calories, making yourself hungover and lethargic the next day--like you need to be any lazier!
I'm trying not to eat during the day so I can have a "normal" meal with my boyfriend in the evening. Today I totally screwed up. Binged on sandwiches. 3 slices of bread altogether, plus full-fat cream cheese. Didn't even measure out the cream cheese, just slathered it on. I think I must have guzzled down about 300 calories altogether. Stupid fat cow. No excercise either. Just sitting in front of the computer, playing games and looking at p*r*o-a*n*a sites as if they can teach me how to be in control.
|Thursday, September 16th, 2004|
And it wouldn't be so bad if I'd fallen alone. No, I had to drag my poor bloody boyfriend along with me, didn't I. All the time I've been gaining, he's been gaining too. Because it was me who took care of us. Me who made sure there was fruit'n'veg in the fridge to snack on and not too much oil in the pan. Me who counted and calculated and checked. So when I fell, he fell too.
I dropped him.
I dropped him and now I have to catch him, and I don't know how.
|Dead end. Nowhere else to go.
You know the funny thing? The joke that is forty foot wide and a hundred stories high? I don't even think fat is that ugly. I can look at my pretty fat frineds and say "wow, s/he's hot! What a babe!" Fat, you see, is only ugly when it's on me.
It's been about 3 years. 3 years since I climbed out of one pit and fell into another. 3 years of trying not to look in the mirror, trying not to see the ginormous manatee slobbing before the glass. Sort of rolled with it, knowing at the back of my mind what was going on, knowing that I was still falling--slowly, but still falling--accepting it because it was better than falling the other way.
Oh, sure, there were stumbles. A month where I ate green-beans and tuna. A week where I ate rice-cakes, frozen yoghurt, and ice. But mostly it's been that other fall. I reckon I must weigh about 200lbs now. Don't own a scale. Can't go near one. Scared. Crimson stretchmarks creeping up my thighs. Onto my belly, where they'd never been before.
So: I'm fat. I'm also ugly. Not one of those chicks with a really pretty face and a few extra pounds, just a fat ugly nobody. I get called Sir a lot, and not in a good way. No makeup, because who puts lipstick on a rhino? My clothes are falling apart because I'm broke and I refuse to buy new ones because I'll just split those as I swell up. Ugly, ugly, ugly. And it was still better than the other fall, because that is the fall that swallows your mind, fills it up with numbers and arithmetic and can I eat this and I shouldn't have eaten that and blah blah blah and your best mate's been talking to you about something for twenty minutes and you've been nodding like a dashboard ornament because you're too fucking self-obsessed to hear.
But things have taken a turn for the worse in the real world; money stuff, home stuff, job stuff; and I've fallen the other way. Simple as that. I need a fix(ation). This'll do.
But I can't do it alone and off my own bat anymore. I've fallen too far. So what I'm doing its, I'm reading pro-ana sites, journals of girls five years younger ten years younger half my age, reading what they eat, what they don't eat, staring hungrily at their passion and their strength. Wanting to swoop in and scoop them out of the burning building that is their obsession; wanting to join them in the flames. Sorry, darlings, I used all my strength up elsewhere. May I steal yours? May I piggyback on your misery, may I watch you rot and weep and suffer? It makes my life so much easier, you see. Please don't mind the flaccid leech at your back.
I will never be young and beautiful and slim. When I was young and skinny (no periods for 7 months! Count 'em!), I was ugly; then I was fat, then thin, then fat again, and all the time I was ugly, ugly, ugly. Now I'm old and fat and ugly, jowls slidig down my face like melting wax, stretch-marks creasing thigh, bum, hips, belly, underarms. I'll never be rid of them. I don't deserve to be rid of them. I don't deserve the unmarked flesh of the young, the strong.
What do I deserve? I deserve... this.