Wake-up!

Weigh-in.

Are you thin yet?

How many outfits did you have to try on?

How many of them made you look fat?

One of these days you’re going to wake up, your baggy sweats clinging only to your protruding

hipbones, your loose t-shirt hanging from your boney shoulders,

you’ll get on that scale and it’ll show you exactly what you want to see,

and you’ll throw on whatever the hell you want because you know it’ll look good on you.

When I look at my wrist, I see who I was a year ago. I was the girl who faked a smile day to day the girl who cut and took pills the girl who puked up her lunch in the bathroom. But then I look in the mirror and see a girl who's smiles are true and is happy. A girl who got through it all. Be strong.

I will get back here. To when I was truly happy. I love you, Ana.

Missing In Action

I know I've been gone and much needed update is long overdue (if anyone really does consistently read my blog). SO, here it goes.

I've been still struggling with losing those disgusting extra pounds, but which one of us hasn't. It's become a day-to-day thing, an internal struggle of whether or not I should eat that salad, that sandwich, that soup. But I can promise you, I'm getting there. And by New Year's for sure, I will be closer to that ultimate goal weight.

B and I are never going to be, though we never were. He officially has a girlfriend and we've lost touch. But randomly, out of the blue, he texted me tonight asking to go to coffee. I went, not knowing what to expect and it was...weird to say the least. I asked him how he's been, what's new with his life; not one mention of his girlfriend. Odd. Not quite sure of what to think of that.

Two weeks ago, I got into an argument with H. It was over something petty and I didn't really even care about the whole thing. I guess he thought he hurt my feelings because he went around to our friends saying how he "dropped bombs" and to make everyone aware that I'd be whining about how he "hurt my feelings", which wasn't the case at all. Time passes, some shit happens to him, people start walking out of his life and he realizes how much of a shitty person he's been. So much so, that he sent me an apology text saying that he hates himself everyday for everything. He even came out to visit at 3am to apologize in person. Apologizing is a lot for this guy, let me tell you. He doesn't say sorry to anyone, for anything. He said he wants to make a change in his life and me talking to him again, I can see that. He's starting to be a normal human being. He's actually growing up. I told him that if he ever needed anything, he could always call me or just come up to visit for a few hours. No strings attached, no pressure. Everyone is all concerned about him having ulterior motives of wanting to get back together or me falling for him, but I don't think I could do that. At least not now when he's so vulnerable. I just want to be his friend. I can't believe how much this has come full circle.

I've failed two of my four classes, but I think everyone has THAT semester in college where it's complete shit. I own up to it, I'm okay with that, and I'm moving on. I can't fix it now, so I have no reason to dwell on it. Mistakes happen, we're only human.

One last thing, if anyone is interested in what my daily life is like, I made a youtube channel. It's basically just me taping my roommates and friends and putting a pretty song over it with some dialog here and there, but I hold them very dear to my heart. If you want to check it out, the link is here.

I love you all, thanks for listening, on keep on with all of your strength. We WILL be skinny this holiday season.

More Inspiration:

Guys, do you realize there are only 20 DAYS until CHRISTMAS?

The “I’ll start tomorrow’s” need to start NOW. Have you binged already today? That’s shitty, but DON’T GIVE UP. Don’t say “Whatever, I’ll eat better tomorrow” and cram some more chips in your mouth, don’t promise yourself you’ll fast tomorrow and keep eating. Tomorrow comes sooner than you think, and there is NO MORE TIME to be putting this off until tomorrow.

Before you know it, you’ll be waking up at 6am, running to that tree to open those presents- how wonderful will it be to be five pounds lighter that morning than you are right now? How wonderful will it be to be given clothes, only to try them on and realize they’re TOO BIG?

It’s worth it. Being thin will last a hell of a lot longer than that 372 calorie slice of cheesecake or that 424 calorie Grande Eggnog Latte. Thin is better than that- YOU are better than that. Most people gain weight over the holiday season- guess what? We are not “most people”. We are the strong ones. We WANT this. And we will achieve it. Being thin starts now. Right this fucking second. Twenty five days, ladies. Good luck.

Let's DO this.

It's Only a Matter of Time

Before I tell someone. I need to tell someone. Anyone. But I don't want their damn help unless it's to help me be skinny again. Otherwise, I don't want your stinkin' help. At ALL.

Leave me alone. Just leave me to rot.

Inspiration

Just imagine what it would be like to wake up in the morning

perfectly empty, resting your hands on your stomach, which is caving in, tracing the outline of your hipbones, your ribs, your collarbones. The soft autumn light shining through the window, you stand up, and you feel a bit lightheaded - but that’s ok. You make yourself some fresh coffee, black, no milk, no sugar. You curl up with the news, a good book, or the laptop, and sip your hot coffee, slowly waking up. You take a hot shower, and you are not disgusted by what you see. You style your hair, moisturise, the whole lot, put on cute underwear, do your make up, grab cute, tiny clothing and don’t worry about “looking bad” because you will look fantastic, even if you wear a shapeless jumper. Just imagine how fantastic that would be, how liberating. There is only one thing you need to do: don’t eat that.

A Letter of Confession

Dear...Anyone.

I've been wanting to tell you something for a while now. We've come so close during our "life talks"; so close to me spilling my guts in front of you. All of it for you to see. I have been hiding something from you, from everyone actually, for at least five years now.

I have trouble with food. I have trouble thinking of food, eating food, throwing up food, counting the caloric content of food. Every time I eat anything, anything at all, I feel guilty afterwards. I always ask myself, "why in the hell did I just eat that?" because I wasn't even hungry in the first place. I'm never hungry. And as soon as I realize what I've done, I head to the bathroom to throw it all up. Yeah, I said it. I put my fingers down my throat and make myself throw up. That only started last year though, so I can assure you, I haven't been hiding that for too long. I feel so triumphant after, like I overpowered the food from weighing me down, another pound heavier.

Listen-I'm not telling you this because I want a sympathy vote or an intervention. I just want someone to fix me. Or at least try, just like I do for everyone else. I'm only telling you this because I needed to get it off my chest. I needed someone to tell me they know how I feel. Do you know how I feel? Do you know what it's like to be the skinniest girl in the room with the prettiest dress hanging off her lovely, fragile bones and yet, feel so comfortable and beautiful? I did. For one day. For one special party when everyone was gawking at how tiny I was. But it wasn't enough. It never is. It never, ever is.

Trust me, I know how crazy I must sound. To make all these claims and not want a single helping hand. I'll slap your hand away before reaching out for it. Trust me, I know I'm a little crazy. You can't help but admire how I've kept myself so composed with such grace. I bet you had no idea. I'm a skillful liar, weaving deception through every polite smile that says "no thank you". I know you admire that, in some sick twisted way. But let me assure you, you can't tell me that I have a problem. Right now this is the most important journey in my life, striving for perfection. Being that frail, little Che that you loved and adored so much. So cute and petite. You've put me on a pedestal, so now I'm telling you why. You loved me because I was a tiny little creature that fit so perfectly into that niche, into the space in your arms.

I will be beautiful for you again. I will be small and breakable in your hands. This is a promise I'm making to you and to myself. I will be that girl you loved.

Love,

Me.

Forever and always.

The Awful Truth

I do not deserve to eat ever, EVER again. EVER.

Let the Self-Loathing Continue...

Preface: Today I am such a fail, but I am also surprised at when I can do to myself.

I hate living with roommates, no less my friends. They always want to eat, want to go out to eat, desserts everywhere, carbs everywhere...it's a bad environment for when I'm trying to LOSE weight. Tonight, Bman said she was hungry. When she says she is hungry, I for some reason think it's okay to indulge. We just got take out from Chili's and each got our own dessert. I finished it all. Is weird that I was looking forward to this? I was looking forward to stretching my stomach to it's biggest capacity and then throwing it all up. So as soon as I was finished, I went for a shower and rid myself of all that I could. My starting weight, after the delicious food had been ingested, was 126.8 lbs. When I was done, the final weight was 123.0 lbs. It's inconceivable to me that I ate three pounds of food. THREE POUNDS. But it's gone, all gone, and I know this because it got to bile. Goodbye delicious cake, ice cream, french fries and chicken tenders. I will not miss you, but oh, how I enjoyed you.

C'mon skinny love.

Rock Bottom

I think I may be in a bit of trouble. For some reason, I haven't taken anything in the semester thus far seriously. I've opted to miss all my lecture classes because they don't take attendance. I missed my 3-D design critique on Monday. I think I've dug myself in a hole that I won't be able to climb out of. I am royally screwed. Why did I do this? I have no motivation at all, whatsoever. I am every essence of the word failure right now, and I don't know how to fix it. This may be one problem I can't talk my way out of.

Wonderment

Sometimes, I like to wonder what it's like to be hooked up to all the different tubes in the hospital. Laying there in a hospital gown, lifeless, seeing everyone cry. Who knows why I'm there. Maybe I've finally achieved my goal to being as thin as can be. Maybe I've been in a horrific accident that wasn't my fault. Maybe I have cancer. Maybe kidney failure. With all these things I wonder, I also wonder if you would be there. I know in my heart that you wouldn't. You wouldn't miss me...at all, I'm sure. But if you were there, laying in that hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and ventricles of sorts, I would be there, crying for you to come back. You really fucked everything up.

I know I talk about H all the time, like I'm not over him. I am though. I'll always love him, I just don't miss him anymore. Maybe this is why I'm so sad. Or maybe it's because I know I'm such a fat cow that I no longer feel in top shape. It's pathetic really. All of it. All of it's pathetic and I'm pathetic right now, but I don't feel bad about it. I'm allowed to feel this way. I'm allowed to feel like I'm such a fat little piggy. Because I am. I WILL change that. I have the will power deep down inside of me and the lack of hunger is only a reminder that I shouldn't be eating. And when I'm successful for fasting, I'll welcome that low growl from within because Ana has been reawakened. And I'm welcoming her with open arms.

I'm changing to spite you.

Halloween, Cupcakes, and Shame

Can I just tell you that I am not hungry. Stop bringing cupcakes especially made for me on the holidays. No more pizza, no more pretzels, no more food. NO MORE. Please. I have goals here, that I'm trying to implement. Just...no more. I hate myself.

Since it was/is Halloween, I went to Robert's for the night. Had a good laugh with a few new people, met a boy named Nathan who hopefully calls. We'll see. H wasn't there, regretfully. I was planning a full-frontal attack on him; batting my eyelashes, impressing him with witty and clever conversations, only to yank it all away from him. He wasn't there though; instead he decided to go visit a friend up north at college for the weekend out of the blue...they don't even talk anymore. So for the sake of me being a good person, I hope he's okay. But I do hope it has something to do with me. Regret, perhaps? Cross your fingers.

I'm starting a fast today, in hopes of shedding all the shame and regret of the weekend, and then some. Friday I was 100% successful in not eating a thing because I simply was not hungry. I need more of those days. Something to hope for. Once I'm at 116, I'll allow myself to go shopping for some new clothes. I'm itching for something new.

You have only let me down, but my door is always open.

Here's the Deal

I, once again, do not want to talk about how much of a failure I've been. I'm also, obviously, not doing the ABC diet. I think my body isn't ready for that much of a crash, so I'll let it down slowly. For today, I'll attempt at fasting with giant bottles of water, in hopes of making my body think that there's something in my stomach, when there's really not. I've already did my purge this morning, I couldn't resist the eggs and cheese. That's all gone now though, so let the fasting commence! I'm starting off at 119.4. Let's see how much damage control I can do.

You really are a deadbeat, like everyone told me.

--Edit--

Workout accomplished. 35m on the elliptical, 420 cals burned. I'm pretty sure I'm on the right track to fitting in my skinny jeans. TAKE. THAT.

The Last Few Days...

I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

That said, today is my 400 day, and I'm starting out with a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast (100). I have work for five hours today, that will get me through lunch, so long as I leave my wallet in the car and don't go get it to buy horrid mall food with. And I need to start going to the gym or riding my bike to school, one of the two. I need to get serious about this. I feel like I'm in such a bad place. I feel like I'm where I was exactly a year ago, just 10 lbs lighter. But it sure as hell doesn't feel like it.

Damage Control

After the shenanigans of yesterday, I was scared to even step foot on the scale this morning. BUT, it's actually not so bad; a grand total of 120.2. I mean, I'm still a fat cow, but with the past few days of feeling exponentially fatter, I thought I was doomed. That being said, I'm not going to re-do yesterday, I'll just carry on as planned. Today I have work from 3pm-9pm, which will take up most of my day. I just need to keep my 500 limit in mind so I don't wander down into the food court and get something utterly repulsive for nourishment.

500 TODAY:

Morning:

-1cup of Chai tea with Soy Milk = est. 170 cals

Afternoon:

-1 English Muffin = 170 cals

-Spinach salad with tomato, onion, balsamic vinegrette = est. 200 cals

A New Season Means CHANGE

I'm not too sure exactly when I spiraled into an eating frenzy. I've been reading around, checking out everyone's blogs and I realized that I'm not happy the way I am. Where did I get that mentality? When did it become okay to eat later that 6pm and devour and entire pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream? Or all the fried food, the carbs, the disgusting-ness.

So, because my jeans certainly don't fit anymore the way they should, I decided I'm going to do the ABC thing again. Or attempt, at least. And I'm starting today. This shit can't wait until the start of a new week, hell-to-the-no. This is just NOT OKAY.

500 TODAY:

This morning:

-1Cup of chai tea with almond milk = est. 165cals

---EDIT---

Fuuuuuuuck my life. I forgot my mother was coming to visit and that we were going to lunch. At a pasta joint. With bread. And sauce. And more carbs. Dear god, why is this my life. Needless to say, today is busted. I probably ate about 900-1000 cals while at lunch. Fuuuuuuuck my life. I guess I start tomorrow?

Closing the Door

I picked out a '70s band tee-shirt and a black mini skirt to show off my curves. The leather pumps made my legs look skinnier than ever. I looked hot, and I knew it. I was going to flounce around right in front of you and be perfectly fine. And I was. I AM. At the end of the night when everyone was going home, I lingered near you. I needed to say something, needed to clear the air. You were smoking a Marlboro Red, the same ones you got me hooked on. I turned to you, making eye contact with you for the first time the whole night. "So...can we be good?" I shrugged my shoulders and you nodded in agreement. I put my hand out towards you, offering up a truce, forgetting everything that happened between us. You took my hand and shook it, shaking our past into oblivion where it belonged, like nothing ever happened. It was over. "Good," I said. "I'll see you at the next party." I smiled fondly at you, as a friend should and you looked relieved.

It was all finally over.

Infinite Maybes

There's a party Friday. You will be there. The anxiety from the thought of me seeing you is killing my appetite. I will be skinny for you by Friday. Maybe I can win you back. If I can look good enough to show you what you're missing out on, maybe you'll come back. Maybe we can work things out. Maybe we could be great together, like we used to be. I can't pretend that I didn't know you, that you don't exist; that you don't know every quirk about me, and that I don't know you the same way.

I still love you, you know.

Still feeling rather fat since I gained back what I lost. I'm such a fat failure. Today I didn't eat anything but a muffin and danish (I know that's still horrid). It was midday though, so there was plenty of time to burn it off. And instead of going out with the girls for gelato after work like I had planned, I ate a stalk of celery. It even tastes like negative calories, which tastes like success. So there. I'm going to bed with a grumbling tummy and smelling of cigarettes. I will not eat like a fat pig anymore. There's no room in my jeans for that type of behavior.

I will not think of you, I will not think of you, I will not think of you.

The roommates and I finally went grocery shopping after a week and a half of pasta entrees and ramen ran out. Because I'm openly "eating healthier" - aka restricting and eating next to nothing in veggies - they've decided they want to be healthy too. So our fridge is stocked with a bunch of awesome, negative-calorie foods, like celery and spinach and blueberries. I'm finally back on track and the scale shows it! Monday I weighed in at 120.0, Tuesday the same (~dread), Wednesday 118.3 and today I'm 116.4. Slowly but surely making progress. I just need to keep it up.

B came over last night, despite my better judgement and immense feeling of being fat/bloated. But he said it would only be 15 minutes, he just wanted to have Bman -the best friend and roommate - and I to listen to his band's newly recorded songs. What was supposed to be a brief visit, turned into a four hour ordeal. I love having him over, but there's just something that's missing, like there's something off. It's nothing serious though, we're not dating, just kissing each other. It's no big deal. And I need someone else to kiss.

I just want your kiss boy.

It's true when they say you're not the same after your first love. Its true that they take something from you. Your innocence, your naivete, everything you once were. I realized that this morning. After this, I'm never mentioning you again. Why in the hell am I still thinking about you when I know you're not thinking of me? And if you are, I know it's about how stupid I am, something condescending like that. So, I'm done. No more. This is it. This is an emotional purge.

I went to the store today and bought a bunch of small *ish* calorie things, though I'd prefer no calories at all. I think Ana is back. Thank the porcelain gods. So far I've eaten:

Healthy Choice Clam Chowder: 220

few Saltine crackers: 70

Kashi TLC Pumpkin Spice Flax bar: 170

Miniwheats and soy: est. 250

Total: 610

I'm capping it off for the day.

A Letter I'll Never Send

H-

Not that it matters, but I still think of you, I still dream of you. Not that it matters, but I contemplate on a daily basis what it would have been like to still be with you, right now, this very second. Would I be happy? Or would I still be sad and full of resentment? You left me long before I left you, I can assure you that. I didn't want to marry you, like you thought for some god-awful reason. I just wanted your time. That's all. Just you.

I hate that every mutual friend we have I feel alienated around. I hate that I can't talk to you anymore. I hate that I don't have someone to sit around with and shoot the shit with anymore. I hate that you're not around to make me laugh and goof around with. I hate that. I HATE missing you. And when we broke up, I did something foolish. I decided to announce on fucking facebook that I was fine without you, but really I wasn't. It was a sorry attempt to get a rise out of you. I soon came to the realization that I only pushed you further away. I crushed all future hopes of reconciliation. Either way, if I hadn't lashed out the way I did, it's not like I'd hear from you anyway. Like I said, you were gone before it was even over.

I'm sure I haven't crossed your mind at all. I know this because I know how you treat people. But I want you to know that I think of you every day, for the time being anyway. Soon that will stop. I just wish I meant more to you than you let on in the end. I mean, shit, I wasn't asking for much. The only thing I can tell myself anymore is that you lied the whole time. That's the only reason, the only explanation for how things ended the way they did. This will be my last apology: I'm sorry I wasted eight months of your life and set your career path so off base. I'm sorry I took up so much of your precious time when you could have been doing other, more productive things. Though I don't feel any sense of responsibility for the aforementioned things, I think you do. I'm sorry that you feel you wasted your time. I don't regret anything, if at all being with you. I loved you. Loved you. But it's time to move on, not that it matters to you.

Goodbye,

Che

I forgot what it felt like to purge. It's been too long that I've been keeping the food in my fat tummy and not getting rid of it. It's not really helping my weight loss any though, so I guess I won't eat for the next four days. And I'm still having dreams about H.

This is the sad part, isn't it?

The nightmare ensues.

I was driving along on a desert highway, with a random unknown female companion. She was younger than me, but only by a year or so. I don't know where we were going, but we were running from something, or rather someone. Finally we reach this deserted beach, where I knew I'd find him. Emily was already there with Pam. They were there because H was back on heroin. He needed to be saved, only this time he didn't want to be. He was in the company of his old, toxic friends in an old wooden house that had been abandoned. He refused to look at me. There was a lot of yelling between H and Emily, him not wanting her help, and her screaming that she cared about him too much.

The two of them took off towards the boardwalk, and I wanted to follow but I couldn't. I'd been left behind and forgotten about. Everyone was telling me what I already knew: they belonged together. They loved each other. And there I was, left standing on a deserted boardwalk, in a beautiful dress that was meant for my father's wedding, watching them run off into the sunset holding hands. My best friend and my first love.

Was it just a dream?

Am I not allowed to miss you? Am I not allowed to regret everything I said, everything I did? Because I do. I miss you. I don't want anyone else but you. I'm a heroin addict that quit for the better, but I still have cravings. You're my heroin and I need you. You're the worst possible thing I could have in my life, by need you back to survive. I'm giving up my sober chips.

It was a 50/50 chance he'd be there. I wasn't sure what my standing was with our mutual circle of friends, wasn't sure if they still favored me. James assured me, reassured me. "Who cares? So what if he shows up? He doesn't mean anything to you any more." He had me convinced that I'd be fine should I have a run-in with H, but I made sure to dress extra cute just in case. I wore a pair of boots he particularly liked, a pair of pants with a giant hole in the knee that he'd always play with, and the shirt that had been time and time again taken off before we had sex. Every item of clothing was strategically placed, eyelashes curled, hair styled the way he liked it. Something he could no longer have. I was primped and ready to go.

After a 45-minute drive across town, James texted me letting me know H wasn't there and that I could count on him not being there. I was greeted with welcome arms by Sean, Robert, and Mick. All had the same thing to say, "Good for you for dumping him. You're too good for him, you knew that." I'll admit, I was a little disappointed that he wasn't there, disappointed I couldn't flaunt myself right in front of him. I was completely fine without him. An hour later, Matt finally shows up and says how H asked if there was a party. "And? What did you tell him?" Matt just gave some jumbled response, but it sounded like he told H not to come.

Everyone is here. I'm fine. Completely utterly fine, mingling with the new comers just like I used to before this eight-month fuck up. I was back to my normal self. All of the sudden, the back patio door flies open and Robert says, "H is here."

"WHAT."

"You heard me."

Immediately, my stomach drops. My hands are shaking. I can't breathe. They told him he couldn't come because I was going to be here. WHY THE FUCK IS HE HERE. Before I knew it, H was out on the back porch with the rest of the party. In his favorite green t-shirt and a new haircut. The initial shock passed and I realized I was fine. We didn't acknowledge each other, neither of us made eye contact. I was fine. He was fine. We moved on.

So fine in fact, that I sat across from him to listen to the party philosopher, telling us about our 'vibrations', while he was clearly already drunk. I think his name was Mike. Mike looks over at me through the cloud of smoke I exhaled. "So, what are you drawn to, what's your motivation in life?"

"Art!" I say with enthusiasm.

"Oh? What kind?"

"Photography. I'm a photo major." Mike pauses for a second to process this. Clearly he's spoken to H about his art as well. "No way," he says. "This guy," he says pointing his thumb over at H, "He's a photographer too. You guys have a lot of photographers in the group!"

"...Not really," I say, already uncomfortable with where this is heading. I glance over at Myia, she's just watching this all unfold. "Do you guys know each other?" Mike asks me.

"Yes," I say softly. We did know each other.

"Did you guys go to the same school?" I wish Mike would just shut up by now.

"Yes," I answer again.

"You know, I knew it. I could feel your vibrations towards each other, creating a strong bond." I'm not sure what Mike said after that, I got up and left. I went to smoke another cigarette, hoping the nicotine would relieve this terrible feeling Mike had just given me. A feeling of remembrance, regret, sadness. It was also then that I decided I needed a drink. Myia followed me inside. "Well, that was awkward," she says as I poured the Malibu.

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"You could tell he was uncomfortable," she says.

"What do you mean?" And before I know it, we're talking about how I'm kidding myself to think I've moved on, that H has to care because he's so angry. He can't be angry about nothing. That if he didn't really care about me, he wouldn't have started to get all fidgety and tighten up when Mike was saying all that shit. That I'm silly to think that he didn't love me the whole time or genuinely give a shit, like I've been trying to convince myself because it's easier to move on when H turned out to be the biggest self-serving asshole rather than a guy who is hurt, too, about the relationship ending. Needless to say, I'm back at square one. My mind is reeling.

Alas, my haitis is over. I've decided to come down from this stupid dream cloud where I think I can eat whatever I want and not gain a pound. Because, surprise, I gained weight. It may have something to do with filling an empty void or some stupid (excuse) shit like that. So, today is the LAST DAY (September 12) that I will eat like a normal human being. Bring back the trash bags full of rejected food, the extra long showers for purges, the euphoric sensation from starving. I want it all back.

Other motivation for me to lose this damn icky pudge is a boy. B is a musician, and a good one at that. He's adorable and sweet, and everything that H lacked. He's just what I need in my life. Happiness. Pure and simple, no-pressure happiness. Not to mention, B is normal. He is a normal boy, with normal emotions, normal hobbies, normal friends. Need I go on? B is real. I could see myself really liking B for B. Not like it was with H, when I was in love with his potential.

Tra la laaaaaa...

My grandmother died today. She died by choosing to do so. I'm surprised she lasted so long, suffering daily the way she did. While I was trying to mend my already broken heart, her passing away brought me back to point A. I love you and miss you already.

A bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck, Grandma.

Wouldn't you know, break-ups are a great weight loss plan. Coffee and cigarettes. Nicotine and caffeine. It doesn't change the fact that I'm dying inside though.

I regret every single thing I said, I said those things too softly.

I broke up with him. And he acted like it was nothing. However, he had the nerve to say (more like yell) "you act like we're supposed to grow old together and get married! Well I'm not getting old and I'm sure as hell not getting married." Spoken like a true fucking winner. Go fuck yourself. I'm so much better without you.

I wish I could be as insensitive as you, be as big of an asshole. But, in that same thought, I realize you probably like me because I'm sweet. A ray of big fucking sunshine. Well, fuck you. You've made me this way, changed me into something I never wanted to be. Fuck. You.

In other news, I'm a big fat oaf. Remind me to never eat again, for the rest of my miserable little life.*

*Maybe this is why you don't love me anymore.

I feel like crying again. I swear, you'd think I was PMSing, but alas, my depression isn't being driven by raging female hormones, it's a boy named H. Our date was a bust. Other plans came about, so we did that instead (other plans = Dungeons and Dragons. Don't laugh, there isn't shit to do in this town). On the drive over, I was happy that I was going to see him. Ecstatic, even. Things were going to be back to normal. Obviously my perception of how things were going to be were badly misconstrued. When I was in one room, he was in the other. He would go outside, I'd come in. I found myself feeling a strong sense of resentment towards him, annoyance. It's because he just left. He's left me metaphorically, physically, emotionally. He left me without any regard, without a care. We're alone, together. Miles apart while we're in the same room.

"You said, 'so go'. With such disdain, you know?"

Alright, real talk. On this coming Wednesday, big 'ol Hump Day, I will be moving into my new apartment. The following day is the first day of my second year. By then, I WILL be at 110lbs. I am currently between 113 and 115 (on a bad day, but who am I kidding, every day is a bad day). Therefore, I will have some, keyword *some*, wiggle room for error, but regardless. I WILL BE ONE HUNDRED AND TEN POUNDS BY THURSDAY THE LATEST. Fasting tomorrow. Fasting Monday. Possibly a smidgen of a cracker on Tuesday so I have energy for the heavy lifting the following day. Yus. Just a smidgen.

On another note, I confronted H about our awful tension here. Constantly grasping opportunities to lash out on one another, or completely ignore the other's existence (mostly H). Long story short, we came to a happy solution of letting stupid bygones be bygones. We had planned to have a date night tomorrow. We were going to go to our favorite cheap sushi place that is conveniently located a hop, skip and a jump away from the movie theatre. Unfortunately, some other plans overcame this one, though we're still going to be together. Finally. I hate to love that boy, every single damned day, but love to love him even more, every hour on the hour. Christ.

Ready Set Binge!

Judge all you want. I've had a shitty fucking week.

I feel like I'm in a deep hole that I can't get out of. I feel like my chest is caving in. I feel like I can't breathe. I still owe my school $1,600.00 with no refund check. I only get one paycheck this week, versus two. Not to mention, this ed thing. Granted, it gives me a sense of control, something that I have a handle on, but in reality, I'm really fucked up. And who is there to talk to? Damnit, I feel so alone. Fuck. I can't breathe and my teeny tiny heart is jumping out of my chest. I want to cry, I want to scream, but I'm afraid people will hear me. Will they hear me? I don't want anyone's help, I'm in the mess I am because I put myself there. Everything is heavy. Everything is so god damn heavy. Just make it go away.

Please. I'm begging you.

I'd rather not talk about yesterday's intake. Although I did go to the gym for a bit. However, today has been a grand success, aside from H being an asshole like usual. I'd also rather not talk about that either.

Alright, so I like to do this torturous thing from time to time. Last year, H hooked up with this girl that I was kinda-sorta friends with (only in social situations, really). He used to bring her around to all the parties and what not. She even drove out to see him when he was still in California for school. So, because I love to suffer, I constantly look at her stupid photos on stupid facebook and wonder if he's seen them, if he wishes that things didn't end badly with her...yada yada yada. I don't think she would bother me if he didn't bring her into conversations every once and a while. Like he's still spiteful or something. Other than that though, she wouldn't bother me. I mean, c'mon, I'm totally prettier than her.*

*Ha, yeah right. Funny.

Alright, so day 1 was both a success, but may be considered a fail. Depends on who you ask. I started off this morning by eating one toasted poptart (200, don't judge, I've been craving it), as well as a frozen cappuccino from the local handy mart (approx. 300). Totals 500 cal, give or take. Didn't eat alllllll day, some how managed to make that miracle come true. But then I got home and had pita chips with hummus and two giant slices of cheese pizza, accompanied with ranch. YUM fat. Of course, I purged all of that right away, and I'm pretty sure I was able to get rid of it all. Huzzah.

On another note, I'm having crazy thoughts about H. I don't understand why I feel so insecure about our relationship. I just feel so disposable to him. I was once even referred to as his "weekend girlfriend" because that's the only time I saw him, when I drove across town to see him. I thought I was over all that unsureness and anxiety, but the "incident" has made me feel like he could care less, like he could live without me. I don't want to be with anyone else; he's all I think about, day in and day out. I think I'd die if we ever broke up, that's how much I love him. I love that fucking asshole.*

*Spoken like a true naiveté. Get over yourself.

Just when I'm feeling thin, that maybe I can take a break from this for awhile, I get a reality check. A big, FAT reality check. (Yeah, my skinny jeans were snug.)

And it's getting worse.

I have eaten a cup and a half of chocolate chips, countless pita chips, a granola bar, a sugar cookie, wheat thin crackers, a glass of chocolate soy milk, two toaster strudels...a small binge, but a binge nonetheless. I've guzzled down almost a liter of water in hopes of getting it all back up. No one is home. The porcelain god and I can finally have our alone time.

I want to cry right now, though I'm not too sure what for. Perhaps it's because my mother and I got into a fight, which ended up in her kicking me out. Perhaps it's because I think H really is falling out of love with me. Or perhaps, it's the never ending battle with my shitty self-esteem. I suppose I should explain the three topics:

1. A few weeks ago, I had developed a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI). Damn that bastard, H. Anyway, I took care of it accordingly, drank lots of water and cranberry juice, starting on a Friday. Saturday I was still flushing it out. Sunday, however, I was urinating blood. Obviously this is a serious symptom, so I made a mental note to go to the doctor the following business day, as the office is closed on weekends. (Sidenote to keep in mind: My family currently has outstanding medical bills from an accident my brother was in. He's fine, been fine - that kid is made of steel, I tell ya - but, I've been made aware that we are pinching pennies.) Monday comes along, no longer peeing blood, but I decide I still need to go to the doctor for meds after work. I tell this to my mother, as well as the seriousness of the matter, and she gets pissed, raging pissed, that I didn't tell her about it. Apparently she "had the right to know", as if she was the one dealing with it. On top of the UTI, I have also been aware of a suspicious lump on my labia (sorry if it's graphic). I told her that as well, and that pissed her off even more. Long story short, it got physical, she wouldn't let me leave the room, hit me, yelled at me, called me ungrateful and selfish, et cetera et cetera. All of which ended up in me being kicked out of the house due to the "my house, my rules" policy. Apparently, my body and personal health needs to be her business.

Since then, we have spoken, nothing important, mostly about school and what not. I did tell her that I cannot and will not come back unless we see a therapist. After all, she is one of the primary reasons for this damned disease. But I do miss her.

2. The past two nights, I stayed over at H's house because "when the parents are away..." That being said, and to keep things PG-13, he left. Right in the middle. Simply said, "I'll be right back", left the room for a few minutes, then climbed back into bed with his back turned to me. I want to break down and cry just thinking about it. And he doesn't tell me he loves me, only until after I tell him. Really, the only thing I can do right now is to prepare myself for the worst. Cue the depression.

3. I've hit the lowest of the low. Rather than puking into a toilet bowl, I've taken up empty beverage cups and grocery bags from inside my car...in the privacy of my car. I have to feel my own hot vomit in my lap, sitting uncomfortably with the empty 32oz cup between my legs, hunched over it, hoping I don't miss it and get it on my jeans or the seat instead. One word can describe this type of behavior; pathetic.

I am dead to the world for now. Hopefully the cause of death is starvation. Maybe then, at least I'll be pretty. At least I'll be worthy.

I hate this.

I don't want to eat anymore.

Holy fuck, I'm getting fat. I can't even bring myself to the scale anymore. I'm terrified of the numbers. I'm FAT.

Last night I gorged myself on a loaf of french bread. Yeah, I ate the whole damn thing, I was in the middle of a bp session. I was interrupted when our guests from the back house came in for dinner, so I decided to head to my room and do some thinspiration-seeking. Unfortunately, I passed out cold and was unable to rid myself of that horrible binge...an entire loaf...of french bread...and butter...dear god. So, because my sub-conscience wanted to punish my awful behavior, I had a nightmare.

It was Halloween, or around that time at least, and my two (fictitious) sisters and I were getting ready to go out. I was still with the lovely H, and we had all gone on vacation to his hometown so I could meet his high school chums. I had on an outfit that made me look my very best, as did my two sisters. We go out and H escapes away with some old friends, leaving me to deal with these two. They're getting hit on by every guy there, because they looked so gorgeous, and I was just left sitting all alone on my barstool. At some point, I end up asking them, "why is nobody hitting on me?" (Cue sad face.) They proceeded to tell me it was because I was unattractive. I didn't believe them because they were so snobby, and I decided to ask around. General consensus showed I was, indeed, a fugly monster. Yada yada yada, they try to give me a makeover, we ask H and he skips around the question, which only validates my ugliness...the end. The moral of the story is: do not plan a binge while you're exhausted and forget (or fall asleep) before you can purge. It really fucks with your self-esteem...as if mine could get any lower. Fuck.

One More For the Night.

My mother is an alcoholic. I have an eating disorder. She can't stop buying the booze, and I can't stop buying the food. I bet she acknowledges her vice, that it's hurting her, just like I do with mine. But when outsiders want to help, we're both in denial.

"I didn't have anything to drink," she slurs. You can smell the vodka on her breath.

"No, it doesn't smell like vomit in the bathroom," I say, breath stinking of bile and unwanted food.

We're one in the same; like mother, like daughter. The difference between us is that I know she has a problem and I want to help her, that I think she needs help, to see someone, go to AA. I'm fairly certain that she knows that I have a problem, but she chooses to turn a blind eye. She asks mild questions that I can lie my way out of, expresses her suspicious concerns, but not once has she sat me down and told me "I know what you're doing." And either I'm a damn good liar, or she's an awful mother. Either way, I'm thankful.

To add to my weight and size anxiety, it just occurred to me that H may be trying to discretely tell me that I'm a fatass. He does MMA classes, he's gotten into crazy amazing shape. Ever since, he's been trying to convince me to to take these jui-jitsu classes because "it's good for you. It'd be really good for you". I've expressed to him on several different occasions that I have no interest in wrestling around on the ground, unable to breathe, in a desperate attempt to exercise. That's what I have my gym membership for. "But you'll learn self-defense," he argues. Ugh. He gave up on it for a bit. But tonight, after getting back from the gym, he informs me that the owner is starting a women's kickboxing class, "if I'm interested". Looks like my suspicions were correct: my boyfriend thinks I'm a complete cow. Six am runs should fix that, right?

While visiting my ill-stricken grandmother today, I was speaking with one of her friends who was helping her around the house. The topic was sewing and making clothing. She was going into the use of patterns and what not for skirts and blouses and says, "For example, if you were to make a skirt for yourself, say (she pauses to estimate my size) a six, you would need to use an eight." She thinks I'm a fucking size SIX...I'm a size two.

My collarbones are slowly being covered by fat. My pelvic bones are no longer jutting out. My thighs touch ever so slightly. No wonder H (the boyfriend) is being weird. I bet he's turned off. I bet I repulse him. Tomorrow I shall fast. Fastfastfast.

Is anybody listening?

Food Monster

You know what I ate last night? Two big macs, an apple pie, two sweet rolls, three pieces of my brother's personal cheese pizza, and four triple chocolate chip cookies. I couldn't tell you what possessed me to do this, but on the drive home from work I really wanted that special sauce and those sesame seed buns. This being the morning after, I have not purged it. I feel awful in two ways: one being that I'm a god damn vegetarian and I ate two burgers. It's the sauce...it makes me crazy. Second reason for feeling awful is that I didn't purge those two nasty burgers (along with every other nasty wretched thing I ingested). I can just feel my thighs and my belly getting fatter. I have no self-control.

I've woken up feeling full. Again. I feel awful, and full of unwanted food from last night. I was only able to get rid of half of what I ate, how horrid. The pasta is like a huge stone weighing me down. Today I will not eat. I can't seem to rid myself of what I binge on anymore, so I have to quit with the b/p. I hate this, feeling six pounds heavier than a week ago. I hate this.

They're on to me.

The restroom is messy, the toilet bowl specifically. There's splashes over here, remnants over there, a suspicious smell that hangs in the air. I've been in there at least three times today alone, with the shower on, repeatedly "taking showers". In total, I have eaten two bowls of vanilla ice cream, one of which was topped with Chips Ahoy cookies. I've had two cheesy-scrambled-egg sandwiches on buttered wheat toast. I've had milk and cookies, you guessed it, twice. I had a chicken sandwich with loads of ketchup. Barbecue chips and corn chips. A banana, strawberries and blackberries. All of this accompanied with countless glasses of water.

After I've eaten so much I can't stand without a sharp pain shooting through my stomach, I make my way to my royal throne. The endless cups of water make it easier for it to all come up. I step on the scale, wipe the toilet bowl clean and flush.

Sometimes while driving, I wish that some maniac driver would crash into me, putting me in a hospital bed entangled in tubes and iv drips.

Sometimes while driving on the off-ramp of the freeway, I wish I could just drive off the steep edge, rolling violently down the hill.

Sometimes I wish death were that easy. Instead, here I sit, in an empty shell of a once beautiful, carefree and confident girl. But she already died a long time ago in the burning car, pronounced dead on impact.

"Dude, you are one lucky man," Matt was definitely crossfaded by now and was giving commentary on my relationship, only, he was directing all of this to him. "No really dude. You're so lucky. I mean look at her. I'm jealous you've seen her naked, no offense," directing that last part to me.

"Guys, stop. Please stop," I was drunkenly pleading with Matt as he continued on this strange rant. My boyfriend just sat there, not really responding to anything Matt was saying. I continued to beg and he continued to talk over me, waving his Heinekin beer bottle in my boyfriend's direction. Before I knew it, everyone was adding to the conversation. Mick piped in, "she settled dude. Like, she's totally out of your league. Your lucky man." I had no idea where any of this was coming from. I looked over at my boyfriend with a helpless expression. I felt so mortified that this was the topic of discussion.

Previous to this odd exchange, I was talking with Emily and Kelsey about my relationship with my boyfriend. "I think I love him guys," I professed to them. "I always find myself about to word vomit. All the time." That's when he came in, right as we were talking about him, talking about something serious. Then Matt followed and went off on that strange rant.

But I do find myself thinking that I love him. Apparently there's a difference between loving someone and being IN LOVE with them, which I don't see. And that could possibly mean that maybe I'm not ready to love someone, tell them that I do, or maybe that what I'm feeling is being confused with something else. I'm not sure. What I do know is that I could see myself spending a lot of time with him. I could see myself in the future with him, in another city, enjoying each other. I can see it. Then again, I do have a tendency to jinx things.

I hate this feeling, being alone. I'm sitting here in the dark, fully armed with potato chips and crackers, bagels and cookies, anything I can find. I'm sitting here with a big glass of water, gulping it down in between mouthfuls while watching stick figure actresses online. Every day has become a b/p day, but today is officially bad. I don't want to see my boyfriend. I'd rather sit here and make myself sick. How selfish is that. I feel terrible.

As I sat Mother's Day dinner, after the waitress brought out the bread, after I helped myself to a third slice, I realized I had a problem. Never-ending bread baskets, platefuls of pasta, sugary desserts. But I realized I had a problem controlling my urge to eat came to me as I buttered the bread.
"Don't fill up on the bread," my father said. My mouth was too full of butter and carbs to respond. I took a big gulp from my water glass, remembering the pattern: bite of food, drink water, bite of food, drink water. I laid my hands in my lap, fidgeting, contemplating another piece of bread. Conversations were flying back and forth across the table. Finally, I gave into Mia. 'One more won't hurt', she whispered softly into my hear. I knew I'd be taking care of it later.

Last night was a blur of junk food, trash bags, countless bottles of water and bile. I'd been sitting in the dark the entire day, the only source of light coming from my laptop. Online television shows played in the background in hopes of canceling out the noise.

Around 10pm, my father calls. I'd just finished off my third trash bag and I could hardly breathe. "Hello?" I answered.
"What are you doing?" he questioned.
"I'm in my room studying." I lied. First off, I never study. And secondly, I was not about to confess that I'd been making myself sick. "You're brother just called me. I guess there's stuff going on over at the house." My mother and father had been divorced for a good ten years. Mom is dating someone new and every day is drama with it. She's mad at him one day and the next she's in love again. It's exhausting.
"Yeah, I know. He called me earlier and told me that she'd been mixing her pain meds with alcohol again. I told him to call me back and let me know what had happened."
"Your brother said that he was in his room and Mom kept coming in asking him if she needed to make dinner. He kept telling her no, that he was fine, and after about the fifth time he said no, she got pissed."
"What?"
"Yeah. So your mom was yelling at him and almost hit him, and he told her if she hit him, he'd leave." This was not the first time this has happened. My mother is an awful drunk, and I don't mean in the sense of violent (normally), but she gets obnoxious. Loud and dramatic. My brother has threatened to leave before, to go live with Dad.
"Again?? What happened?" I asked.
"Well then your brother called. He said he hadn't been doing anything, just stayed in his room, and she kept coming in asking about dinner. Lisa had to come over and try to calm her down."
"Did you talk to Lisa?"
"Yes, she said the same thing. She said your mom had been mean to her earlier and that she would try to separate them and calm things down. I told her I would come pick him up if I needed to."
"So...now what?" I asked. I was worried. My brother is just a kid. He doesn't need this kind of shit in his life. I mean, look how fucked up I am.
"I think he needs to come live with me. We need to get him out of there. And we need to get your mom help."
We talked a little more, about my brother and Mom's alcoholic tendencies. I thought this shit was over, stuck in the past. Stuck under my bed, shoved in my closet. My brother doesn't need to go through this either. And Mom timed it just right; I'm moving home for the summer in a week. I just hope I can help my brother.

Bulimia is expensive and is not for the poverty-stricken.

I'm sitting in my 2-d design class contemplating getting a veggie burger and onion rings. Beer battered and deep-fried onion rings. Smothered in fattening ranch dressing. And for dessert? An entire pint of Haagen-Dazs cookie dough ice cream. Estimated intake: 2,000 calories? Estimated outtake: ALL OF IT.

I sat and contemplated all of this. The binging, the purging. The act of moving my dainty flower ring from my right middle finger over to my left, so it's out of the way. I turn on the shower so my roommates don't hear me. I bring in my scale, a necessary item to the process. I remove my shirt, lift up the toilet seat, deep breath, and...begin.

E is sitting across from the table from me in the dining hall. Art history just got out and we decided to go get some (disgusting high-calorie) food. Being a vegetarian doesn't really help my cause to get my fatass skinny, but apparently I like to stuff my face lately.

E is going on about this asshole who she used to date. "He says he wants to still date, but he keeps blowing me off. I don't get it..." She continued on about him, but I started floating off into space, thinking about purging the grotesque little morsels I was putting into my mouth. Greasy french fries, cereal, steamed vegetables...I want it all gone.

We're going to the gym now. I'll purge it through exercise and again afterwards. I have a special date with the toilet and the treadmill.

I'm staring at the computer screen at work, glancing down to the bottom right corner every now and again to check the clock. All my neighbors are typing feverishly in their cubicles. I rummage mindlessly through my purse, hoping to find my chapstick. Instead I come across my birth control pack. 'Oh. I haven't taken this for a few days...' I finally find my chapstick. The peppermint oil starts to immediately soothe my lips and then I flashback.
---------------------------------------------
"What kind of gum is that?" I asked pointing to a tiny package on the dashboard of his car. We were on our way to dinner.
"Peppermint Trident, of course." He was smirking and looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"Ew," I say. "Stride is the way to go, specifically spearmint. It lasts forever!"
This time, he turned fully to look at me, one hand still on the steering wheel. He was silent for a few seconds, then said, "You're weird." I smiled widely. "But I'm pretty weird myself," he said.
"And that's why I like you. We make quite the pair." I was laughing to myself and simply enjoying that moment being with him. We got out of the car and just stood for a moment, looking at each other. He took my hand and kissed me slowly in the parking lot. He tasted like peppermint and cigarettes. I used to hate peppermint.

Where Is the Good?

**Prior this week**
I picked up the phone, dialed an old familiar number that I knew by heart. One ring, maybe he'll pick up. Second ring, maybe...Third, fourth. Okay, great. I know he won't. Fifth ring, voicemail. "You've reached Charles. I'm sorry I can't come to the phone right now, I'm either on another line or unavailable. Leave a message and I'll return your call." *Beep* I contemplate hanging up, but I realized it's recording by now.

"Oh. Hey...it's me, you know, your kid. So, I hadn't heard from you in a while and I was thinking about coming up and visiting, since Grandma has been bugging me. I was thinking sometime after I get out of school, when things aren't so hectic. But we can talk about that later, details. Uh, yeah...so...call me back. Bye." I've been leaving messages for him for a while now, hoping to hear back instead of a few stupid text messages. I just shoved my phone into my pocket, knowing that leaving a message was pointless. God, I was so stupid. He left. He didn't call nearly as much as he should have, didn't write any letters at all when he was overseas, and he sure as hell didn't fight as hard as he should have to get visitation rights. So where does this leave me now? Sad and alone, that's where.
**Fast forward to now**

It's 11pm on a Sunday night. I'm watching late night television wondering why I hadn't heard from you all day. I decide I've waited long enough and send a text: "Hi." Twenty minutes later, I get a response, "Hello." Not the usual greeting, but I'll take it.
"Sorry I haven't texted you at all. I've been in bed all day. Don't feel too good. How was your day?"
"Someone stole my debit card number."
"What?? No waaayyyyy. :("
"Yea."
"Oh no. I'm sorry. How did you find out...."
[Blah blah blah, insert pointless, emotionless conversation here, eventually until he begins to act like a dick. Typical.]
Even after telling myself not to, I reached out to him anyway. I wanted to see how he was doing, how his day went, maybe even talk about something that's bothering me for a change. But even through an electronic, toneless form of communication, I can tell he's angry. I stare at the screen for a few extra seconds hoping he will reply. The backlight goes off. I tap a few buttons to turn it back on, just to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything.

Now I'm here, feeling like shit, like I personally had a hand in ruining his day. I'm sitting here, thinking about how fucking shitty I feel because no one will talk to me, or feels the need to talk to me because I'm an important aspect in their life. And now I have a knot in my chest, I feel like I can't breathe; a knot of self-esteem issues with a complimentary side of daddy issues. How pathetic.