Monday, 29 June 2009

Maybe it's the sunshine

Well, I have reached my lowest weight for about six months! I am officially back to my pre-Christmas weight! Not entirely a cause for celebration as I was still unhappy before Christmas...but at least I am well and truly on the road of progression!
The only slight problem is that I have gone from being a laxative virgin to being slightly addicted...can’t go a day without having at least one BUT my tummy is so gloriously flat! I know that the second I stop taking the little cream-coloured pills I’ll start inflating again and to be honest I’m quite enjoying fitting into all my pretty little dresses in this lovely warm weather!
Once I lose another 10 pounds or so, I’ll be able to come off the laxatives without fear of food inside me causing too much of an extra bulge.
The current object of my affections, 'C', who I talked about in my last post is not in today, so I’m able to wear a plain red dress and not stress too much about my face – which is just as well because I don’t look particularly awesome today. Yuck. So far today I’ve had half an apple and some low-fat yogurt. Might have a banana this evening, but no more than that, then I’ll take some more laxatives to clean out anything that might be left inside me so that I can wear a stunning dress and knock him dead tomorrow, haha.
I made a massive effort the last few days, and honestly haven’t felt that happy about the way I look since September/October time...so much so that I treated myself to some ice-cream – guilt free! – what is happening to me! It must be the sunshine.
Yay I love it! I’m making myself look better and better every day. Even if nothing comes of it with this guy, I couldn’t care less, (although it would be fucking wild!) essentially it’s just a fun and exciting way to get myself thin again! Praise the lord for fit guys!

I’ve only thrown up twice in the last week as well – which is an amazing statistic for me - and I’m really hoping to be able to get rid of the bulimia once and for all soon. I’ve had a couple of scares in the last month or so with chest pains and reading stories of people dying etc, and I’m just suddenly very aware of all the damage that I’ve been doing. It’s just so easy being bulimic, and it’s so addictive. I finish my lunch, put down my knife and fork and the second that that full feeling registers in my stomach, I think... I can get rid of this...why keep it in...it’s so easy to get relief, feel free again... It’s been incredibly hard this last week to force myself to keep my food down, and let me tell you, it has been such a mental challenge to banish the urge to throw up. The first time that I cracked, it was after binging on a chocolate muffin at work. (I have to admit a large part of the reason that the vomiting has been reduced is because I can’t really do it at work because there’s little privacy and I’m such a messy vomiter that all my makeup runs or rubs off!) But when you’ve just eaten a great, big, fat-arse, double chocolate muffin, there’s not much you can do about it. To add insult to injury, as I ran into the cubicle I flung my staff pass off my neck, dropping it straight down the toilet...and had to fish it out soaked. Oops.
The second purge happened yesterday. I went for a long run in the blistering midday heat and had to stop a few times en route from nausea – sign of a good workout! I was surprised that you could still get work-out induced nausea on an empty stomach. After my lunch I just had to purge as my Mum had cooked white rice and I really couldn’t bear it. The rice came back up with loads of black flakey bits...so I got scared again that I was puking up blood...and then I thought maybe it was just the acid from my run... well in any case, it really wasn’t nice, and I fully intend to go this whole week without purging at all – which means no binging at all – which means serious restricting! Yay! It’s cool, I’m happy, I want this and I’m loving this and it’s making me feel fantastic.
Maybe I won’t have that banana later :)

Wednesday, 24 June 2009

Falling

I have to begin by saying thank you for all the positive comments.
I was really moved. Things are still on a general low, and there have been lots more tears and screaming with my mum, but I'm staying strong through it all :)
And the maintenance has finally broken!!!!! Oh so happy, oh so worth it.

I feel very empty and numb at the moment, which is very unsual for me. I'm usually either bouncing off the walls or pumped with emotion, caught up in my own great big desructive tornado.
I think it's my current job.
7am to 10pm at a desk...doing nothing...braindead...souldead.
Go home to sleep and then do it all again.
just over two weeks to go and then its over, thank God.
Why haven't I blogged for a week? A head full of beauty numbed with boredom.
At least when I'm chaotic I know I'm alive.

My job, however, has taught me that I have another obsession which equals my obsession with food.
To regular readers, this may come as no surprise. I need male attention. I need someone to flirt with. I need a target; someone to dress up for, look good for.
At university it was easy, loads of choice.
Here...well, less so... a lot less so.
I'm just this thing at a desk. And I need attention. Verification. Approval... Oh I don't even fucking know what it is. I need a guy to target.
When it comes to guys my age, I'd say I could find about 30% of them attractive. When it comes to men over 25, I'd say say that this falls to less than 1%. Sigh, no young meat here that meets my requirements.
With one exception...age 28 perhaps? I'm too paranoid to name him because this is work, not uni where boys and reputations don't matter or don't exist. Let's call him 'C'.
It's been a stupidly long time since my heart has gone wild, pumping ferociously out of my chest, shaking as I reach for the phone... "Shall I call 'him' to come up then?" Yes.
"Hi...it's Ophelia..."
I dreamt last night I left a small white rose tucked into the handle of his bag.
I dreamt our eyes met over our computer screens and we smiled.

A part of me thinks that this is just me looking for someone to fancy, decieving myself that I have feelings for 'C' just to keep some sort of sensation in my body. Because I can't justify it any other way. I mean he's good looking, but there's nothing SPECIAL. Except that my senses start exploding like fireworks when he's around.

Today, I'm ok, sitting here with glasses, shit makeup, looking half dead. But when he was in the room with me the last two days, I was rushing to the toilet every half an hour, redoing my hair, redoing my makeup, prodding every inch of my fat, sucking my cheeks in, standing to face him at my best angle, being, basically compeletly manic obsessive over every detail of my appearance and unable to de-focus from the fact that he was watching me.
He wasn't watching me.

I've known this extreme link between men and my BDD for a long while, but if it's true that I only like this guy because I want something to do/feel then my whole obsessiveness with my looks and weight is entirely stupid and pathetic.
When I don't put this ridiculous pressure on myself to look perfect and impress people, I can sit here stress free. And yet I NEED this pressure and I NEED to look perfect to impress people so I NEED to bully and torment myself to reach an acceptable standard.

I panic every time I talk to him, heart in my throat, calling on my perfect-girl-persona. For all I know, he has a girlfriend. I can't imagine that he's single let alone imagining that he likes me.
OH FUCK I'M AN IDIOT.
My thoughts are so empty that he's all I can think about.

Where has all my courage gone? Where is my outrageous flirting. There is no place for me in this real, adult world. I am too ugly and fat to stand up with pride. When I catch his eye I look away again as if I didn't see him. If I could feel good about myself I would flaunt it - in his fucking face.
Want me.
Want me.
Want me.
Look how luscious my body is.
I want a body to parade.
A body with power.

No, I've worked it out.
Why I'm doing this to myself, why I need a man to obsess over and torment myself about. To keep me focused on my body. I keep me on track, in progress.
Keep me falling in love, falling, falling, weight keep falling.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Yes, I'm the great maintainer

So, a few days ago I declared that I was off to buy some laxatives to clear out my podgy belly. Took one. Nothing.
Took two. Standard.
Took three. And spent all day at work cramped over in severe pain and running to the loo every half hour.
Oh my god did I curse myself. 8am to 5pm sat in an office, feeling like something inside me had collapsed. What I would give to go back to uni already and spend my days curled up under my duvet!

I am sick of maintaining my weight.
I'm working so hard on restricting my calorie intake and nothing is happening.

Although I haven't exercised for like two weeks or something - maybe three. That's disgusting. I need to sort it out.
I was a member of my gym at uni, and loved it. Now that I'm back home I can't get a gym membership anymore because my Mum believes in saving money over being healthy. She controls everything I spend and everything I do when I'm living with her. Working in an office with these long hours leaves me no time to go out running because when I get home I'm always so tired. From next week, my working hours will increase to 7am to 10pm.

Perhaps I need to get up super early and go for a run. But it'll be so humiliating and I'd be sweaty and red and look horrible at work all day. Do you think it's worth it? If I got up at 5am to go running and do toning exercises I'd be on 5/6 hours sleep a night, possibly less, so I'd go into work looking disgusting and tired and wouldn't have time to wash my hair or anything... But, worth it in the long term to look shit in the office? I guess I only have this job for another 4 weeks... but then my also mum works here and I don't want everyone to see how ugly her daughter is...

I used to be incredibly fit and regularly torture myself in the gym while I was at university, but I suppose I had all the time in the world to workout. I could spend the whole day in the gym and work my day around my swimming and running. I would walk all over town, never driving, never getting public transport. No one in London walks. Everyone is always in too much of a rush. Never enough time. Health comes last.

With my office job I've become so caught up in this world of 'not enough time'. So, even though I'm eating small amounts with ABC, I'm still just sitting here like a blob, food festering inside me, rolling on my thighs because I haven't had the time to go running or workout. Gross. Office workers don't have a chance.

My Mum hates me. My Mum wishes I were perfect. She hates me because I'm not as pretty as the other girls, not as naturally beautiful as the other girls, not as thin, not as nice, not as pleasant, not as happy, not as smiley, not as confident...Not Perfect.
My Mum hates me and my flaws. And she tells me so. At the weekend because the weather was really hot and sunny she forced me to sit outside in a tiny t-shirt and shorts. I couldn't stop crying. Torture. The view in the mirror made me want to smash my body in.
She screamed at me.
"MAD!" "SICK" "YOU ARE FAT" "U_G_L_Y!!!!"
Yes, my Mum has tantrums like a little child, but its because she hates me. I'd give anything for her to love me and be proud of me. To stand as thin and beautiful as her without makeup so she could have no reason to scream and hate me. She deserves a perfect daughter. I wish I could make her happy.


Sunday, 14 June 2009

Down to Drown

I started this blog in January - just over six months ago - as a tool to vent my emotions, explore my motivations, reveal my weaknesses... to find a place in a community where I could let my social mask of normality fall and be truthful, above all else.
But my weight in this six months has pretty much maintained. Fasts being replaced by binges. Vomiting being followed by more eating. In the grip of bulimia, flirting with starvation, getting drunk until I fuck up.
I am not classed as 'overweight''.
I never have been.
Is it purely Body Dysmorphic Disorder that made me hate my body? What made my face, my arms, my legs, my torso, my tummy, my bottom, my whole entire white, fleshy, exterior shell become my nemesis?
As far as I can recall, I was 'normal' until the age of nine. That's when I decided I was fat. I wasn't. I can tell you that now, looking back at photos, I was absolutely tiny. But facts don't matter - I hated my body because I was fat. And that was that.
The depression and anxiety kicked in when I was about twelve. I don't even want to talk about that period of my life.
I didn't become anorexic until I was fifteen. It never even crossed my mind that I had an eating disorder. I was just fat and I was sorting it out by starving.
I got small.
I started eating again. I got heavier.
Plateau.
Bulimia. Restrict. Bulimia. Fast. Bulimia.
And here I am.

I will be twenty-two years old in a few months. I start law school in a few months. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life with my head down a toilet. Eventually I want a husband and two point four children. I want to hold down a successful job. I want to be able to walk outside without a panic attack. I want a decent quality of life and a life worth living. I can't do any of these things with an eating disorder.
Since I got caught up with anorexia at the age of fifteen I have never managed to find a way out of this web of disordered eating. That's six years of unadulterated misery at the hands of food, not to mention all the previous years of self-hatred fed by mirrors.

So why has this blog not been the key to getting my numbers down once and for all?
I suppose because I never posted my weight.
Shame, more than anything.
So, here it goes. For the first time, here are my numbers:
HW: 149
CW: 147
LW: 122
GW1: 110

I'm aiming to reach my goal weight by the end of September when I turn 22/start law school. Realistically, it probably won't be until October/November... but I'm gonna work like hell to get there as fast as I can. I see law school as my second chance. I screwed up uni because I was so ill and fucked up. This is really my last chance. If I'm not getting near to my goal weight by the end of Septemtber I'll know that bulimia and weight maintenance will rule my life forever and I'll never get married, never have kids, never be able to hold down a job, never be able to walk confidently out of my own front door.

These are not just words. There are not just hopes.
This is IT. Do it or die. This is my last chance at life.
Do not underestimate how serious I am.

I'm absolutely overwhelmed to have reached 100 followers this week. When I first started blogging I didn't imagine even one person would read my blog. I am always so touched and encouraged by your support, and I simply can't relate how much you all mean to me. Now, I need you more than ever. I'm entering the dark zone again - it's been 6 years since I was a starving machine - I craved no binges for ecstasy, no purging for relief - it was unconscious joy.

147 and sinking downwards.
It's time for Ophelia to drown again; and this time, I'm re-writing the tragic ending. It's time for Ophelia to sink; further than ever before. I'm cleansing my impure body, and slowly, like a chalk cliff face, I will be eroded and eaten away by the waves. Baptism of water, set me ablaze; only when I finally hit the rock-bottom sea-bed drowned and dead can I rise like a phoenix into a new life.
It's time for Ophelia to drown again. Except this time I will not be coming back up.
There is only one way out, and it's down....to drown.


Saturday, 13 June 2009

He got to laugh

My mum wants me to go into town with her to sort out my bank account.
I go only to avoid an argument.
I wear my shittest fattest clothes.
Glasses.
Foundation.
I look like a piece of shit, humiliated by my reflection, but its ok...it'll be two minutes in public then home to hide my ugly reflection away. I would never, ever go out looking like this on any normal occasion.

I walk right into my ex-boyfriend.
Not seen him since we broke up 3 years ago.
Panic attack. Sweating. Shaking. Retching.
Fists clenched like a murderer.
Knife, blood, help me cope.
Walked in the door and screamed.

I want to smash things up. I want to bleed into ecstasy.

He got to laugh at how ugly I am.

Friday, 12 June 2009

Under-Weighted Goal

This is going to be a quick post.
Laxatives. Never used them before. Am off to buy some tomorrow.
Needless to say, my digestive system shuts down when I successfully fast/restrict and my belly sticks out a mile with all the backlog of food that won't move!
I tried the natural way with 'Aloe Vera Colon Cleanse' from Holland & Barrett. Recommeded dose: 1 pill before bed. After a few weeks my desperate dose: 6 pills before bed. And no bowel movements.
My period? Absent without leave.
Last time I had it my stomach swelled up like a balloon, face broke out in spots and I felt like a massive piece of shit.
I'd say I was fitting all those symptoms right now.
I want to retch when I look in the mirror.
Bad skin... seriously... that is up there with the weight issues when it comes to my paranoia and BDD.
And no, no, I don't have acne, I know, just like I'm not overweight, I know, I know. But if it's not a clear, flawless complexion it's disguisting to me. Just like if I'm not underweight it's hideous to me.
Oh my God to be underweight. Jesus, I could be so beautiful.
Cheekbones... oh my God... cheekbones.
I would die so happy on a hospital bed with tubes stuck into my stomach for cheekbones.
The 'average' person would read that and think I was sick in the head.
Whatever, it's a head full of beauty.


Right, so let me explain my ultimate goal now...
I've left uni, none of that matters now, none of the boys there matter, none of the 'relationships' there matter, none of the rejections, none of nothing of anything about that place or the people I knew there matters. (She says continually thinking about messaging James lying to herself that it's just to be nice and not at all because she wants to fuck him.)
Ok, so forget all that. I'm spending a week or two over the summer with a few of the uni gang, boys and girls... including two on my last night... forgot to mention that didn't I... Andrew and Emma... although it was really just him. Yeah, great for the self-esteem, with a guy flitting between you and your mate in bed and finishing up with her.
But anyway, they are irrelevant now. I was fat, nothing I can do to change those memories.
So now, yes, that ultimate goal: Law School
I got accepted back in March/April? Law school, London. That's where I'm heading at the end of September... so just over 3 months. That's what matters.

Hear this. I will be underweight in 3 months. And still alive.

Comic Relief

For your own amusement, this article in the Daily Mail (UK) today is guarenteed to make you laugh:

Why the guys just can't resist my squishy bits
By ANNE SHOOTER


Proud of her body: Anne Shooter fits the figure of Miss Average
Women who are curvy all know about a very special cream. It keeps them looking young, feeling happy, and makes them irresistible to the opposite sex. Not only that, but it costs just a few pounds for a huge tub. It's name? Ice cream.
You see, the truth is that men like women who eat and have the curves to show it - and we curvy women know that men prefer us like that.
I am just about spot-on the vital statistics of the Miss Average who was identified in a new survey as being the dream woman for most men: 5ft 4in tall, a size 14 with a waist that hovers around 30in, rounded hips and a 36DD bust.
And you know what? I've never had any complaints from men about my looks. Far from it.
In fact, men have only ever commented positively about my eyes, smile, skin and breasts (obviously - they're only men, after all). But no man has ever called me fat.
In fact, when I have ever lamented my rather generous proportions, they have only ever given my bottom a good squeeze and told me not to be ridiculous.
The thing is, men can't help loving well-rounded women - those curves are a sign of fertility and they are genetically drawn to them because they signal that we will successfully conceive, carry and then nurture their offspring.
And quite frankly, who can blame them? I wouldn't want a load of elbows and ribs to cuddle in bed either. The squishy bits are way more fun.
The only people ever to have made unpleasant comments about my size are other women.
I've been told clothes are unflattering, asked whether I have considered trying the latest diet, and was recently asked if I have given up running while being looked up and down disparagingly.
And that's the nub of the matter. Thin women are skinny for other women - not for men.
They are skinny not to be sexy, but to be fashionable. They want to show other women they are controlled, cool, better in some way than the fatter, normal women around them.
I remember being in an Italian restaurant with a group of spectacularly skinny women once, and ordering a martini with olives to kick off proceedings.
As I went to pop the olives into my mouth, one of the skinny women said: 'Oh, are you not eating dinner?'
I was flabbergasted - but of course I ate the olives, and then went on to enjoy a delicious bowl of pasta while she picked miserably at a piece of grilled fish with steamed spinach.

Ditch the diet: Women who aren't hung up about what they eat are more attractive, says Anne
By the end of the evening, her boyfriend was feeding me mouthfuls of his tiramisu.
Simply put, a man does not want to be with a woman who puts her hand over her wine glass when offered a top-up because she's had her calorie allowance for the day.
He wants to be with someone fun, someone he can have a great night out with - and then take home for some more fun.
The very last thing he wants is someone too controlled and self-obsessed. He wants her to lose control - and be obsessed with him, not herself.
I am not talking about totally letting it go and becoming overweight and unhealthy - just about being an attractively rounded woman.
We 'average' women really do have better skin, too (of all the people I have ever met, Dawn French has the most incredibly, smooth, line-free skin) and men often comment on my lack of wrinkles when they hear I am 38 (and no, I haven't had - and will never have - Botox).
When women are skinny they lose their natural, voluptuous lustre, and their skin and hair suffer for it.
My curves are proof that my body is healthy - they are the result of producing two gorgeous children.
And it's not as if I'm totally out of shape. Actually, my body is fairly firm from the odd gym session and jog round the block and - without meaning to sound arrogant - I am rather proud of it.
I think of my curves as a sign that I am a good cook and take care of my family. (There's nothing maternal or nurturing about a skinny woman.)
My figure shows I'm lucky enough to enjoy a wonderful life, that I'm unpretentious, easy going and, ultimately, happy with my lot.
And, if I ever do have a slightly paranoid moment about my wobbly tummy, I remind myself what one gorgeous man told me a long time ago: 'Darling, no man ever cares about the size of a woman's belly, as long as her breasts are bigger.'


The squishy bits are way more fun.
Yeah to laugh at.
And seriously Dawn French the 'average' woman?
I think I'll take the risk of wrinkles thanks.

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Please, Sink a blade into my thigh

Self harm is something that has always confused me.
Before I started doing it, I didn't comprehend why anyone could possibly have a need for it.
When I started doing, I couldn't rationalise my actions to others or to myself.
Now that I can't stop doing it, I can't work out why I can't stop or what I need to do.
It's a stupid, irrational addiction. I don't know why I started, or why I need it, or how to control it... I just know that I desperately want to stop.

I go through cycles of this addiction - or this craving rather. I need to self harm right now. I need to sink a blade into my thigh; and then everything will be alright.

I've been battling this craving for the last few days - since Friday to be precise - just hoping that it's suddenly going to fade... it's just because I'm stressed, just because I'm tired, just because...

I'm at a loss to be honest with you. I'm fighting so hard and I'm just not winning.
I'm at work at the moment so there are no sharp instruments that I can use, else I'd certainly have cracked and gone into a toilet cubicle to make a wound. How do I suppress this desire? How can I make it go away? Perhaps I just need a good long cry. But I can't even fucking do that in this place because my make up will run and everyone will notice. I hate this stupid happy act you have to keep up in offices. ARGH!

Despite the good salad routine that I'm enjoying, I'm still pretty much maintaining weight. I guess that at uni it was so easy for me to stay shut up in my room when I needed to; I could hide away when I felt fat or looked in the mirror and saw a disgusting reflection. But now, every morning it takes well over an hour to put on my make-up, do my hair, choose what to wear. And then I look in the mirror and I look fat and hideous. So I redo it...throw clothes over my room desperately looking for something that fits ok...and I need to harm... I need to cut, release blood, release tension, release pain... I don't know, I just need it!

I'm so horribly uncomfortable in my body at the moment. I hate it.
I hate being on display to people all day, every day.
I want to put on a baggy t-shirt and sink under my duvet away from prying eyes.
Jesus Christ, I'm such a freak. Ugly, ugly, freak.
Fuck, and yet I know I'm not, especially in this office. Ok, I'm not ugly, I'm not even FAT - to standard eyes. BUT I HATE IT, OK, TO MY EYES I AM UGLY AND FAT. And I can't accept the way I look. I'm embarrassed being seen like this, and I'm ashamed of my weight. So maybe the rest of the world accepts the way I look but I can't handle it and I won't accept it.

I'm on the edge, so filled with self-hatred, and I'm craving to cut... is there any other way to cope... to find relief?
I've only had an apple so far today. I'm on Day 2 of ABC, so 500 calories allowed in total. I've got absolutely no appetite - lunch will suffice with a few cucumbers and tomatoes I reckon... no need to reach the full 500.

Restricting is the easy part right now.

Calm Ophelia, calm, don't crack, don't cry, don't scream, DON'T CUT.

Tuesday, 9 June 2009

Salad...salad...salad

So, this whole eating lunch at work in the canteen thing is actually working out pretty well.

There are always two options: a served hot meal (usually consisting of some sort of meat, potatoes, veg) or a cold salad buffet. I always have the cold salad of course, except that 80% of the options are either carbs (potatoes/pasta/rice) or drenched in salad creams, eughhhh. The only foods I take are raw cucumber, tomato, fish, mushrooms, peppers. I did try to have an egg or a piece of chicken in the salad last week, but just ended up feeling really full and uncomfortable, so I'm just sticking to raw veggies and a small bit of seafood this week.

Anyway, like I say, this enforced eating thing is actually working out well now that I've been able to find lots of safe foods to fill my plate with...well...half fill :) And absolutely no one has commented on it, so it seems like my years of experienced lying have paid off!

I have to say, the rigid routine is really doing wonders for me. I arrive at work at 8am, have lunch at 1pm, and by the time I get home at 7pm I have no excuse to eat because I know my day is over! Every time someone brings doughnuts round the office or offers me biscuits my snobby sense of pride kicks in an I look at them in disgust, "Oh God no!...thank you anyway...". I've always had an issue with eating around other people, just because whenever I see someone tucking into junk food I view them as weak and stupid, so I automatically think someone will think the same of me if they see me stuff my face - even with one tiny crumb.

...I'm not weak... I don't even think about food... it tastes of nothing....

Imagine if people knew the truth.

...Those dark evenings when I stuff myself with cereal and bread and biscuits galore and then get high off vomiting it all back up again.



Well, anyway, I don't want to think about that. This post is not about that. I'm settling into a happy, regular pattern of one salad a day and there are no thoughts in my mind of breaking this routine. It's working so well. I'm not hungry first thing in the morning because it's too early and my stupid pride won't let me eat more than a salad all day at work. The only danger time is in the evening when I get home. So far I've been able to just have a hot bath and go to bed with a book... but it has been hard... but I have to stay strong because I know that the second I allow myself even something tiny to eat, I won't stop. When I'm alone in my own kitchen with no one to see me, I know I'll stuff my face to kingdom come with as much sick junk that I can get my hands on.

But that's easy, just a few hours in my day in which I need to keep control, everything else is easy.
With this in mind, it's time to re-start the ABC... I'm on 300 calories from today, so, starting from today :) No margins for error, no excuses. No wild nights out, no alcohol, no stress, no uni work. This is all my time to concentrate on the plan and enjoy!

Thursday, 4 June 2009


I'm back in the suburbs of South London, sitting in a bright office, overlooking a sublime view of lime green grass bathed in glorious sunshine. A glorious English summer...and I'm in a long-sleeved shirt and knee length skirt...because nothing else fits me.
No. I admit, I'm being overly-harsh.
I refuse to wear anything else.
Because nothing else fits me well enough.
Nothing else hides me well enough.

I hate my body.
I want it to disappear.

I finished uni on Tuesday. By some miracle I got my final assessment finished on time and handed in.

I sat through lunch today at work in turmoil. My belly aches from eating. I had a salad with seafood. And a generous helping of calorific cous cous. And a yoghurt. Fat free, but still, a goddam yoghurt. Idiot, idiot, idiot. I could have just taken a place of green leaves and swished it around my plate. Why do I have to put on this stupid show of eating. The second I put down my knife and fork my head was screaming PURGE! I can't eat a proper meal without wanting to make myself sick. What.
But the worst thing was sitting there surrounded by people who eat meals.
I'd forgotten.
I guess I had convinced myself that it was a myth...that 3 meals a day thing...I mean...everyone sat there with one plate of food, one drink and one dessert. Like...a normal meal. I know it sounds mental...but...people really do it. One meal three times a day.

I can't remember the last time I sat down to do that. I restrict on tiny snacks of fruit/veg or I binge like a whale and throw up. Those are the two ways that I eat. After living and eating on my own at uni, I'd forgotten the way humans eat. I thought it was just a myth... 3 meals a day...on a plate...set like those pie charts my nurse had given me. Vegetables, meat, carbohydrates, dessert, fruit.

And these was I, sitting like an alien in another world admiring another culture, another way of life. Imagine if they knew how incredible I found it. It was the first time that I was able to look at myself and appreciate that, yeah, I have an eating disorder. If this is normal, if this is what everyone else does, then yeah... but honestly... I never imagined it were possible until I saw it with my own eyes.

I'm busting out of my shirt here, I'm so uncomfortable.