sweet 2000 and 13

ophelia dreams
but only in water
of the crowns she has yet to wear
*
For the purposes of this blog:
2012 WAS UNSUCCESSFUL
For the purposes of this blog:
2013'S BITCH ASS BETTAH BE SUCCESSFUL.
*
goals for the year ahead
ONEweigh 50 kilograms
TWOlong hair, no snippy snippy
THREEdress adventurously and well
*
They are slim, slender, superficial goals
and, yes, of course there is more to life
but they're are my goals for here
so slinky they shall remain;
the ones with which we will concern ourselves
*
no go do something
say something
be something
go out there and loose some motherfucking kilograms
because you're worth it
(((faux saucy wink... a necessary addition)))

day seven (bad)

I apologise
for having such boring intake-only posts
but I'm once again holed up in the campus library
on a Sunday
writing an essay about which of criminal procedure model/s we conform to
but what can you do 
-
breakfast
black coffee
lots of chocolate peanut butter sandwiched between two rice-cakes
more coffee (of the moderatley more fattening coffee shop variety)
-
lunch
giant punnet of strawberries
yogurt covered cashews and almonds
-
I would really like to be done for the day
although caffeine will be necessary
I also hope to go more heavy next week;
going away on an 'intellectual spring break' next weekend
aka uni' organised camp
-
yoh
I hate weighing over 60
it. sucks. balls.

day six (bad)

I'd be lying - by omission - if I didn't tell you:
binged & purged
last night
ah.
-
today
-
breakfast
cup of juice
cauliflower, butternut, courgette, feta cheese 'salad'
coffee coffee coffee
-
lunch
cashew yoghurt bar
-
supper
roasted veg and pesto wrap
cranberry & apple juice box
diet coke
-
schmeh

day four (good) & day five (bad)

work work so much work
wrong answers all over the place
all over my face
trying to be chilled about TBB but THEY won't let me
"feelings"
what feelings?
feeling like shit
so I'd rather act like I don't care
(((because I know I'm not good enough. I know. I know. I know.)))
-
thursday
3 or 4 coffees
small whole-wheat tuna mayo roll
2 samoosas (stupid)
tequila, vodka, diet coke, tequila, vodka, diet coke
-
friday
americano
giant savoury muffin
yoghurt covered almonds and cashews
coffees
prawn curry roti
wasabi peanuts
BAD
-
sort out your fucking shit woman(((because you care. you care. you care.)))
and you're a liar-liar-liar

third day (good)

today
3 or 4 cups of coffee (with milk, obvi)
diet coke
some sips regular coke
a spinach and feta samoosa
a pea and potato samoosa
really one woulda been fine
a little bag of yoghurt covered cashews and almonds
(maybe 15 or 20 nuts?)
-
not bad not bad
god; going to be a horrific work weekend
essay essay essay

second day (good)

long day
campus all day
-
3 or 4 x coffee with milk
1 mixed veg' samoosa
roti with soy chicken curry
-
sleepytime soonsoon thankgod

first day (bad)

MK of MKA
(yes, I always know which one it is)
-
orange
black coffee
green teas
-
campus
coffee with milk
cous cous salad with roast vegetables and yoghurt dressing
2 pea and potato samoosa's
-
diet coke
-
home
massive binge
choc' peanut butter toast X 2
egg mayo toast X 2
chocolate
milo
-
purge
-
feeling depressed
a strange boy being strange
friends absent
flirty friend also
TBB non-existant and makes me angry
wasted time and went to the pub makes me angry
people using my work makes me angry
LACK OF SELF-CONTROL TEARS ME APART
-
fix yourself
before you hate yourself
thithinthin
thin thin thin
HONESTY: HERE
thin

at last, a good day

Beauties.
-
So lil' one-day fast safely completed.
Green tea, gum and water.
-
Not sure but think I'm gonna see how it goes tomo;
meaning i'll see whether i can keep fasting but no pressure.
Hmmm.
-
What to eat?
(tomorrow. of course)
I hear there are strawberries in the fridge.
Mmmmm.
-
Sleep sweetly lovely persons of all persuasions.
xXx

Ashamed

Lagerfeld & MKA
-
It was a bad day.
Like most bad days it started out like a good one.
Strawberries for breakfast.
Shopped: P'butte. Rice-cakes. Gum.
Then she
/skinny friend so skinny your skinniness hurts me
and you just have no appetite
why how do you just have no appetite
goddamnsounfair
and she drinks all the time
fun all the time
sex all the time
chilled all the time
thinthinthin
it hurts/
And I got a latte
and I ate like the whole bag of rice-cakes
and like the whole jar of P'b
and had beer
and downward; a downward spiral
of guilt and jealousy
and sadness and loneliness
and self-disgust
began
and I binged
and purged
and I failed
failed on the first day
how could I
?
-
TOMORROW
a tea and water fast
DO IT.
-
"It's up to you to make everyday as perfect as possible.
It's a question of will and discipline."
-
“I never touch sugar, cheese, bread… 
I only like what I’m allowed to like.
I’m beyond temptation.
There is no weakness.
When I see tons of food in the studio,
for us and for everybody,
for me it’s as if this stuff was made out of plastic.
The idea doesn’t even enter my mind
that a human being could put that into their mouth.
 I’m like the animals in the forest.
They don’t touch what they cannot eat.” 
-
Karl Lagerfeld

In my secret life...

MKA
skinny
love
burn
baby
-
We all have a secret life
or multiple secret lives
running through our minds
unravelling or creating themselves
all day every day
Some of our secrets can be shared;
desire,
fantasy,
lust,
want,
hope.
Some we can't;
taboo/warning/no/shame
(desire)(fantasy)(lust)(want)(hope)
-
Of course Edie is a 'shhhhhhh' thing.
A (((secret))) thing.
-
Shhhhhh.
(((Don't tell on me.)))
-
So my weight is high once again.
It's stressed me out beyond belief once again.
So, despite wanting to recover,
somewhatsortofnotreally,
I've come back to you to keep on recording.
My same old bullshit.
I'm sorry.
But I did kinda miss you guys.
My dear invisible friends.
: )
-
Today:
An apple.
Black Coffee
BrownieChocolatemilkToastAvocadoCaramelcupcakeBrownieSoyprotein.
purge
ANXIETY
Black coffee.
Oreo McFlurry.
[seriously. they're almost 600 calories. o'm'gawd.]
-
I need to be thin.
for me
for him
for them
for us
-
I LOVE YOU
YOU ARE HUMAN
BE GOOD TO YOURSELF
BE FAIR TO YOURSELF
but don't bother being kind to yourself
it don't work

good girl

Should it still bother me
when my parents fight?
You would think it wouldn't get to me anymore.
I'm a grown-up now.
But still;
I don't like it.
It makes me feel panicked and angry.
I remember when I was afraid to leave the house,
to move,
to make a noise,
for fear that my father would hurt my mother.
I become the quietest mouse:
Trying not to upset the delicate balance
of nothing and nothing
trying to prevent something bad
although I wasn't sure what that thing could or would be
but I was terrified
for years and years and years.
All it takes is one time.
One time ruins everything.
-
Today:
apple with cinnamon
2 x black coffee
1/2 cup oats with soy milk
8 fizzers (400 cal)
1/4 cup strawberry yoghurt (?)
peppermint cake, too much (?)
pizza, shitloads (?)
muesli and strawberry yoghurt, too much (?)
purge.
-
Bad diet day.

6 months

It - the world and I - just passed the 6 month mark of A's death. I didn't notice the day. I've been missing because my computer was broken. I still weigh a dull 61 kilograms. I will focus on not-weighing and not-purging. I must devise a diet I can stick to. Something boring. That gives me no room for thought, creativity or deviation... or binging... or guilt... or... the avalanche of negative emotions being fat and failing to diet have on me.

What about (?).
Breakfast: apple (120) + black coffee (20) = 140
Lunch: 1 tomato (40) + 1 cup cucumber (20) + 10 almonds (100) = 160
Supper: 1/2 cup oats (200) cooked with 250 ml soy milk (100) = 300
Drink: 1500 mls of water.

That's a total of 600. That's water (all of those foods must have some water content), fibre (apple, tomato, cucumber, almonds, oats), protein (almonds, soy milk), sadly rather minimal nutrients (everything), carbs (oats). I take iron, B complex and an omega 3 supplement everyday (or try to). Do you have any thoughts? Golly.

I don't know whether I can manage that. But I can try.

sexy isn't...

I love this.

gaze

It may say something about what we do here;
all this staring at other women's bodies, other (nameless) girls,
pictures in which faces are cut, blurred or turn from the camera.
Her head; cropped.
No head.
No brain.
The perfect body.
The perfect soul?
What soul?
Does she even exist?
Does it matter?
-
"You hate that you bought the lie and they sold you one"Drake
-
I have sold my soul to the idea that my body means more than my brain.
It means and matters more than anything.
So much more.
See.
I admit at the outset: You have one.
No challenge. No foul.
-
Sometimes I get tired of what academics, media theory people,
anthropologists, and the like, refer to as 'the gaze'.
The male gaze.
What tires me is the knowledge of the gaze, all day, every day, the knowledge that 'they' are right.
The white, male, heterosexual, patriarchal, euro-centric gaze.
The gaze that sees my body and casts me aside:
Neither made remarkable by any exceptional flaw nor
ascending to the esteemed ranks of the hourglass or the razor.
-
I'm tired of being seen in and out of the beauty-sex-mould-straitjacket-casket,
of seeing myself there, of seeing my own face and body in the mirror:
I gaze at me and you - the gaze - tell me what I see:
Failing. Average. Unremarkable. Or thick, wounded, frail.
Failure. Lazy. Fat.
Unexceptional. Unacceptable.
I'm so tired of it.
-
I hate make-up.
Zeroing in on every flaw. Blotting out the bad.
Exaggerating lips and lashes.
Painting myself up.
Today! A trophy! Tomorrow! A bulls-eye!
I can pretend you want me.
(Play paperdoll, play, play, play, it's all you'll ever do, play-pretend-pathetic-pretty-pitiful.)
While I'm still young.
While I'm still 'product'.
Take a sample?
Hell, it's free, it's always free.
You can look.
You can touch.
Take it for a test-drive.
If you don't like it you can put me back on the shelf
with the others.
Unexceptional.
You break it? You don't have to buy it.
They won't even clean me up.
They'll leave me lying split and spilled on the floor.
Please, tread on me nonchalantly as you browse.
As you pick out another.
-
I'm so tired.
So tired of my moulded bras and mascara and skinny jeans and volumnising conditioner.
-
Sometimes I feel like screaming:
Please, please just tell me that you want to fuck me! I only put on this fucking shit,
this fucking shit that I can't afford, so that you'd imagine what I look like naked!
...You fucking cunt...
...You don't even know that I have a face...
Or! Just tell me what I've suspected all along:
THAT I'M UGLY AND I'LL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH
AND YOU WILL NEVER LOVE ME
AND YOU WILL LET YOUR SLICK EYES SLIDE RIGHT OVER ME.
YOU'RE SO FUCKING BORED BY THE SIGHT OF ME, AREN'T YOU?!
TELL ME I'M WASTING MY TIME:
PRETENDING THAT I SPEAK THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE,
THAT FEELINGS MATTER,
THAT YOU WANT TO MAKE ME CUM,
THAT YOU DIDN'T JUST WATCH MY MOUTH MOVE
WHILE YOU STARED AT MY TITS.
-
You exhaust me.
Leave me alone.
Get out of my head.
Get out.
Get out.
Get out.
I hate you.
I hate your voice in my head.
IT'S YOUR VOICE!
NOT MY VOICE!
But it's the only way I can speak myself now, speak to myself now, at myself now,
barking orders, criticisms and commands, prescribing;
giggle,
cut a blunt fringe,
paint your toenails,
bend over slowly,
play with your hair,
tone your thighs,
fuck him, fuck him, fuck him,
and be grateful.
Be grateful they looked
because, God forbid, you didn't-can't-won't see me.
God forbid; I go by in my own world and on my own way.
God forbid; I do not care.
Yes.
Only that is forbidden.
-
What does it matter?
I'll never scream it.
Never say it.
Only pray it, cry it, whisper it.
Because - baby - I think about you all the time.
I cannot get you out of my head.
-
I cannot get out.
I cannot get out.
-
"Taught from infancy that beauty is a woman's sceptre,
the mind shapes itself to the body,
and roaming round its gilt cage,
only seeks to adorn its prison."
Mary Wollstonecroft.

schwig'

This isn't me
but this is pretty much the look I'm doing lately:
Ratty librarianesque up-do,
odd jersey that's baggy and comph-omphy,
and a schwiggarette..
But I'm not that thin.
Bother.
-
I miss my friend RS.
She's studying in the UK at the mo'
She always just say
(in a moment of doubt)
"So... how's about a lil schwwwwwiiggarrettte, eh?"
A shared cigarette break is one of life's small but great pleasures!
-
Today was not a good day food wise.
Guess that means today was food stupid.
-
I think I have to start taking protein.
I get none; as am pesci' but never actually eat any fishes
and I really don't want to loose muscle.
Not that I have much to start with.
Sigh.
I fully support fitspo people.
If gyming floats your boat that is so good.
But exercise...
Well. I do enjoy a good walk is all I can say for myself.
-
Oh! Such a bad day!
And only 6 days until school.
This is a nightmare.
He's going to see me.
And I'm going to be fat.
No.
No. No.
Most not even entertain this possibility.
Just eat apples and slowly waste away.
-
I love you A
I miss you
<3
-
... and thank you lovely-people for your comments : )

post more, eat less

DISCLAIMER 1
If I were to put up all my MKA thinspo
y'all would be here for forty years
love MK love just love
<3
can't! even! fully! describe! gah.
-
DISCLAIMER 2
I realise that I am posting beyond excessively at the moment
I really need it though
My posts may be short or silly or sarcastic
but they really help me:
Sometimes you don't know what you think until you write it down.
But I apologise if it's irritating you at all!

Ate (post b/p): lots of chocolate, soy cocoa, two oranges, a fizzer and a piece of cheese so small a mouse couldn't see it. Lame; but do not weigh yourself tomorrow(!) and eat under 700 cal. FFS. God. If I lived alone I would not have these problems! I would never buy chocolate!!! Sigh.

Okay. Dealing with sugar cravings; my lust for simple carbohydrates must be tamed. I googled for help and all I can find is advice for normal people ala 'give in a little' or 'choose better carbs'. When has a bulimic ever given in 'a little'... *rolls on floor laughing hysterically*. The notion; better... carbs! HAH! Oxymoron.

Things that have worked for me:
1. Skip breakfast. Just have black coffee and water. I never used to be hungry in the morning. Now I am. Very. I often reallllllly want a grapefruit or an orange. I think this is mostly because they are actually very 'juicy' and I am dehydrated buuuuuuut what I feel is a massive desire for sweetness. I also tend to tell myself that a fruit is 'okay' because I've just started my day on 0 calories (so I tend to be overly optimistic and then screw myself for the rest of the day) and fruit is a 'healthy option'. However, if I have that stupid citrus my hunger is invigorated rather than squashed! Nooooooo.
2. Make sure you have enough black coffee, water, gum and cigarettes in general. Obviously. These things satiate all my needs in lieu of actual sustenance. But, importantly, I have huge trouble discerning a 'need'. So I'll think sugarsugarsugar when actually I am dehydrated/nicotine-deprived/or need some anxiety relief ala chewing. (Do not binge/purge! I know you want to. But you must not.)
3.'Break' the cravings by avoiding all sweets, sugar etc for at least 2 days. Try to eliminate gum and any artificial sweeteners as well. You may ask; she eats sweets? WTF?! I know. But a fizzer is only 50cal. Only 50 cal? OMG. Who am I?!
4. When in doubt: have an apple. They're sweet but boring, filling and low-cal. So boring. Why, Eve, whyyyyyyyy? Why you no reach for chocolate milkshake of knowledge!?!!
5. In the alternative: Do not eat chocolate ever. If you thought you were over sugar cravings this mix of fat, caffeine and sugar will surprise you with it's evil ability to stir up that problem all over again. Every time. Instantaneously. We know no such thing as moderation. Puh-lease.

To conclude I'm going to shamelessly paraphrase something I just read: It's fucked up. As babies we are sustained by milk sugar. As we grow up parents pacify and reward us with sweets and chocolates. Throughout the taste of sugar becomes intertwined with memories of celebration, love and comfort. As adults: "I'll just have this 50 cal fizzer, huuuuuuhhhhh?" No. Idiot. What you've essentially just said is; "Let me feed my life-long dependency on a mood-altering, addictive and harmful substance." Sugar. Is. Crack.

alcohol, yuck

Ogh. Beautiful.
-
So: I ate more than reported yesterday.
I didn't lie in the post.
I would never.
But I intended to be strong and then I wasn't.
Fizzers. Fish. Chocolate. Pita and hummus.
Long Island Ice Tea...
Brownies and toasted cheese = purge.
-
And then, having had alcohol, I don't feel so good today.
But mustn't make excuses
(for my two binges and purges)
But mustn't get despondent either.
There's no point.
Still 60.
Must just stay strong.
7 days to loose 2 kgs.
If I stick to the plan I can do it.
I can do it.
I can do it.
I can do it.
Just remember: being thinner makes you happier!!!

placebo

I'm too lazy to add a picture. Gosh.

Ate:
2 provita (100)
cocoa soymilk (100)
15 almonds (150)
the best green apple ever (60)
coffee (20)
some wasabi peanuts (100)
1 tomato and a big chunk cucumber (150)
total = 680. now i have to stop for the day even though it's only 2pm. sigh

I just want my appetite to die please. I should probably stop looking at pictures of vegan food porn. When I read Unbearable Lightness I thought PDR was talking nonsense about wanting to go vegan after she got healthy. I was like "Puhlease honey, that's your disorder re-manifesting itself right'thur". How rude of me. And also inaccurate as, irony of ironies, that's how I feel now. When I think about eating animal products I can feel this slimy sensation on my tongue. Having been veggie for a while I can tell the difs; the other day I had dinner at friends. They made a delicious veggie pasta (mushroom and cream sauce, mmmm) and a chickenish one for the meat-eaters. I got a bit tipsy and snuck a strand of their leftover pasta to chomp a while later. Omg. The sliminess; congealed chickenish gunk all over the pasta! Cold, gunky lardness. Which just tastes like... kindof salty... and... well... fatty. Apparently it's an evolutionary thing that our tastebuds recognise high fat foods (so you chomp them and don't die in an ice age or something)?You know that shit you have to soak, scrub, rinse, soak, scrub of a pan after you cook meat? That grey, globular mush that makes you think "Mmmmm, I should get my cholesterol checked," ... well, now, after 2 and half years, stuff cooked with meat tastes like that gunk looks: Gross. This is not a claim of any kind of superiority on my part. I went pescitarian as an experiment (and found that it's actually pretty easy, but I was no great meat-lover) and I'm just as shocked as anybody to find that, yeessssssssss, veggies just make me happier and eating meat seems weird, and a tad yucky, now!

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I luv ya tomorrroooooow

Jeepers.
You could park your scooter between her thighs.
Amazing.
I would love to look like that in jeans.
-
I was wearing my size 8's today.
They are depressingly snug all over.
So I'm really a 10 right now.
Gross.
-
You know; I used to think that if jeans crept down it meant they were to small.
Lies.
It's the opposite.
If they are too big that sit up (in your lady-business) and pay attention.
Yes.
Denim knows no logic.
-
Sad news.
I binged and purged again tonight.
I have to stop that.
Stop. That.
-
JUST REMEMBER: 700 a day. Every day. Tomorrow. Yes.
Weight: 60.
And to think I pussssshhhed myself to get to 60 last year,
and was happy when I got there,
and now all I see is fat.
-
Really though,
'people' may think that's something 'we' (disordered/dismorphic people) 'just say'.
No.
When I look in the mirror I might as well be 80 kgs again.
Regardless: Unacceptable.
Must loose 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 kilograms.
-
Then maybe another 3 but I don't like to speculate.
Also I presume that after 50, after 55 even, loosing is going to be much harder.
Oh god. I am already gripped by the fear of potential regain.
I mean how many times did I tell myself "never over 60 ever again"
and I've been bouncing around that weight for... omg... 9 months.
Might as well have had a fuckin' baby so long.
Okay. Let's not joke about pregnancy.
That shit is not funny. Eep.
-
I'm expected to drink tomorrow.
It's a friend's boyfriend's 35th b'day.
Alcohol... I don't know so much.
We will see.
Drinking actually scares me these days.
Due to my dangerously-drunken-sluttery of last semester.
-
Yes. K's bf is a tad older than 'us'.
I really like him and feel like I could use an 'older' man in my life.
Or woman. But I've tried that and she was waaaaay more insecure than me. It was terrible.
Whereas older guys seem to be ridiculously chilled in their own skins.
(I'm embarrassed by my own sexist stereotyping, but...)
That makes them so attractive.
-
I remember I once hooked up with this older guy in a club,
solely because I was bangin' an older guy ( he was 32, I was 22) at the time
and my thoughts were; 'this is in keeping with the theme'.
Hah!
What ridiculous reasoning.
And I remember I was standing there messaging the bangee
and the kissee was, it appears, reading over my shoulder.
(How ruuuuude!)
He chortled, and asked;
"is that your boyfriend?"
The audacity!
To think I have a boyfriend?!
When I just sucked your face!
Gross.
I mean obviously people cheat.
But for that to be the initial assumption?
Yuck.
-
However, thinking of K and her boyfriend (the birthday boy):
She says that he's been soooo single and independent for so long
that he just doesn't know how to be a boyfriend.
Ya'know; be emotionally supportive etc.
Well?
I don't want a 'boyfriend' or a 'girlfriend' per se.
I don't really like what that's meant for me in the past:
It was always too much too soon.
(I was just trying to make them happy!)
I prefer the idea that they're kinda your friend, but you fuck
...and hang out slightly more.
Rather than;
they suddenly expect you to meet alllllllll their friends (on principle),
but complain about having to go out with your friends 'all the time',
and you have to (it seems) cure their every insecurity,
and fill every hole in their soul.
I mean that's an awful lot to ask of one person
just because I'm suddenly your quote-unquote girlfriend.
-
Sorry, this is not to say these are the demands K is making.
I'm not bitching about her.
Just my exes!
-
Sigh.
I just want it too easy.
Shame on me.
Filthy idealist.

God knows why...

God knows why
but I feel oddly positive.
Slightly manic, or buzzing, even.
-
I binged and purged for breakfast.
I don't even remember what I ate.
Crap. Obviously.
Then I ate: an apple, a salad and 9 provita and cocoa soymilk.
I don't intend to eat again today.
-
All I know is what the internet tells me.
It tells me, most sweetly, that in order to lose 1kg a week
I need to reduce my daily caloric intake by 1000 kcals.
-
That is rather a lot
considering that I am a sedentary creature
(who therefore should not be eating all that much every day anyway).
-
But I think that if I eat 700 cals a day
(every day for as long as is conceivable; infinity, I suppose)
I should lose said 1 kg per week.
-
If I do so:
It should take me about 3 months to reach my goal.
That's not all that long.
-
But then it is also a dreadfully long time
when one factors in the facts that I am;
dealing with my depression,
dealing with my bulimia,
dealing with my insomnia,
dealing with my infatuation with that asshole boy,
and dealing with my imminent failure at law school and life in general.
-
But it would also mean that I would, or could, reach my goal by December.
That's my 24th birthday,
and Gaga,
and exams,
Still:
Wouldn't that be amazing.
Fantastic.
Wonderful.
It would be: Amazing, fantastic and wonderful!
-
To be beautiful at long, long last.
It is what I what I want most in the world.
-
As a somewhat aside:
If you're wondering why I'm so frothingly mad with that stupid STUPID boy.
I will tell you.
Although, naturally, I'm just talking to myself here :)
-
Well,
we have had conversations, he and I, of course,
pre all that sex nonsense.
Conversations in which we spoke about his move to this city to attend university,
about making friends far from home because his classmates were in another part of the country.
Conversations all pre-supposed on his attending highschool half-way across the country.
"Where did you go to highschool?"
Response: "XYZ in XYZ"
LIES.
He lied.
He didn't, technically and conveniently, lie point-blank and outright.
But he lied over and over again by omission and circumvention of the truth.
Elaborately so.
He did not graduate from XYZ. Who knows how long, or if (the horror) he did attend XYZ.
In fact he graduated not more than two suburbs away from where I live,
in this city,
from the same school he attended with... yip... you guessed it; his ex-girlfriend of four years.
A girl he made it seem as though he met at university.
-
One does not lie about stupid things,
things which lead to deeper conversations,
to one's friends or people one is interested in being friends with.
One does not fail to correct false assumptions when they lead to deeper conversations
which then turn one's life history into a historical fiction!
You say; "No, well, actually..."
One does not, in general, lie about where you attend school.
It is a stupid thing to lie about.
I mean: Why?!
-
And to think I tried to maintain my dignity
by claiming that we were ever, or could ever, be friends
and that this 'friendship' somehow surpassed
and, I wish, erased
our brief sexual encounter.
-
There is, it would seem, something wrong with that boy.
-
What is true?
What is a lie?
Who knows?
-
But I am angry.
Not by the content of the lie, it's so silly, but by the lying
and by what the lying means about what he thinks of me.
-
And, as my friend explained to me, there is nothing I can do with my feelings.
He wouldn't be sorry that he lied about trivial shit and then let me assume it was true.
He would be sorry he got caught.
-
How can I win in this situation?
How?
I'm petty (and wounded and twisted and bitter) like that.

fuck you

*
Hey Honey,
FUCK YOU.
Regards,
Miss M.
*

I would be lying if...

Three relationships.
Eight sexual partners.
Five women and three men.
But I've never been in love.
I've wished they loved me.
Or I've wished that I loved them.
Or I've felt nothing.
But I've never been in love.
I know I am loved.
I know I am, I have been and I will be liked.
Like is fairly easy
It comes in so many degrees
Not like love
Which seems so finite
But I've never been in love.

I would be lying if I said I didn't phone her just to hear her talk about him. That he was there. I wish I could have seen him. Without having to be there. Or interact. Or anything. I just wanted to see him... and hear his laugh. He has the best laugh. I'm so sad. Aren't I? Sad and hopeless and obsessed with Lana del Rey's 'National Anthem'. But what can you do on any account? Other than know that it will eventually pass. Sooner rather than later, and then it will all seem silly and meaningless. Eventually I will stop thinking about you. Even though you don't know I think about you - anyways - you might be relieved to hear that. Then you can stop feeling guilty for all those things you didn't do wrong, all that dumbass shit you said that wasn't hurtful, and everything else you don't know, and wouldn't care to know, that I hold against you. Stupid boy. Stupid TBB. It shouldn't have been so easy for you not to want me. But I can't expect you to care because if I did the fact that you don't would only hurt me more.

I love the lyrics to LDR's 'Video Games'. Hells. I should just start sending the woman snippets of my hair in the post and a pillow with a print of my fasshhhe on it. Hah.

It's you, it's you, it's all for you

Everything I do

I tell you all the time

Heaven is a place on earth with you

Tell me all the things you wanna do

I heard that you like the bad girls 

Honey, is that true?

It's better than I ever even knew

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

Baby now you do.

I ate today: A whooooolllleeee grapefruit, some veryveryvery black coffee, a chunk cucumber, one and half tomatoes, a tin of butter beans with some feta and soy sauce. I made some oats. With water, and vanilla, and honey. They taste like shit; too nothing-but-it's-still-a-sickly-sweet-nothing. So said oats are stilling sitting beneath the microwave. I should leave it there for the day. Although maybe I'll have some cocoa later. Who can say really? Who can say.

Good luck to you all. Where-ever you are and whatever you are doing... but particularly if you are trying and failing to forget about some attractive asshole that you should never have even let look at you funny! Big-ups to you boys and girls. Go facebook-stalk someone from your highschool who got fat. The warmth of smugness shall tide you over! xxx

chubby chaser

Going gaga for Gaga in December! Yah!
I know I've posted this pic' before
but I would love to wear this outfit to the show;
a pink pvc high-waisted skirt with a black bra
and glitter smeared everywhere
wow
I would have to weigh 50 though
bmi 19.5
I mean I should look suitably ribby at 19.5 riiiiiiight?
sigh

Today: I collected my awesome new glasses! Prada, black rimmed, with a slight cat's-eye effect to them. LOVE them. (And I can't believe I get to own something Prada, omg, shameless fashion nerdism and bashfulness all at once!)


I ate: A grapefruit, 4-ish almonds, two rice cakes with three slices of tomato, 60mls oats with vanilla essence and strawberry jam and soy milk, soy milk with for-reals cocoa (250mls). Not bad. But I socialised yesterday (heavens) and my friend made amazing falafel with amazing hummus, tzatziki, aubergine etc toppings and pita breads! And there was amazing chocolate and condensed milk squares, and the best brownies ever and the best cinnamon cupcakes with yoghurt icing ever. I ate so much. But I simply must be tiny for Gaga; fabulousness demands it.

R is going to a pub tonight, he (hiss) will be there, any guesses as to why I'm not going? Well him (boooo) and my general feelings of crapness. Sigh. I think eating better would probably make me feel less crap. But... fat... no... can't. Must loose this chub before school. Gawd. WHY DO I CARE WHAT HE THINKS OF ME!? He's seen me naked FFS. Wonky boobs and stretchmarks and all. Maybe he's a chubby chaser? :)- Hehehehehe :)-

scale lies (and not on the floor)

Really love the make-up.
Kind of a noir-babydoll-geisha mash-up.
-
When my insomnia was really bad
(it still is but I'm all pilled up, which I need to wean myself off, but that's another story)
I used to get outta bed at 2:00/3:00 am - every single day - and look in the mirror
I had no energy
I couldn't work or read or even think
(no, going to bed early didn't work, I'd just wake up at 12pm)
and in the mirror I would see this tired, tired version of myself
eyes bloodshot
skin managing to be sallow, and deathly pale, and ashen, and crawling with spider veins,
and deep, dark,  knock-her-lights-out-shade-of-bruised pits gouged beneath my eyes
so, distressed by my own ugliness, I'd start to apply make-up
tweaking and dabbing and blotting on and off for four hours(!)
until it was time to 'get ready' (pssshhht) for class
it was the only thing I could manage
and I was trying to make myself look... like I wasn't exhausted...
like I could cope...
like I was a pretty girl, and
like I had had more than 3 hours of sleep every night for the previous 3 months
-
now make-up reminds me of those days
I still like it, sort of, I don't know
It just makes me feel like I've got my mask on
ready to fake my way through another day
and that's not a very nice feeling

Well, all that aside, I think I'm giving up on this scale business. It's lying to me. That little fuck with its dial and its could touch to the soles of my feet. To my soul too: a clammy, numerical stroking and stoking of my anxieties. It says 60kgs. But I feel huge (because I am, but duh). And my clothes don't fit. Lying lil' fuck. I see what you're doing; juggling your numbers around all hocus-pocus-ey!

I think I'd rather focus on getting this goddamn diet right. Consistency. Consistency is the key to success.

Took half a sleeping pill last night: Fail. Woke up at 2am. Ate some oats (too many) at around 3am. Stupidly ate a piece of shortbread at about 10:30am and then, somewhat unsurprisingly, launched myself into a calculated and methodical binge. Thank goodness my actual desire to binge seems to be dwindling (thank the pope, no really, I mean, wow, this is a gift!). On top of that it was the worst purge I've ever, uh, made (hmmm grammar?). Yes, tmi, so sorry. Like I'm talking wretching, choking, food not coming out properly. It's so hard to get it right; the liquid to solid ratio when binging. Oh, our disgusting problems!

Anyway: I think my body image has just become more realistic (or more distorted, I'll never know) in that I see myself not as thinner-than-I-was but painfully-normal-and-thus-unacceptable. I mean 60kg on my height is atrociously boring and not aesthetically pleasing. I want my hips to be the widest part of my lower body. Duh, you may be thinking, aren't they anyway? No; their is gunge around/on my hips; they do not point outward into the sweet nowhere. I also have upper thigh gunge. Ugh, there's also the lower back, back-ass gunge, holy cow... lets not start. Ahah! Epiphany: boob weight. That's what I've last. Baaaaaaallllllls.

Goodness but there is a lot of bad language in this post. I do apologise.

flippant (you were warned)

Kaya.
Or 'Effy' as she may forever be known.
Amazing arms. Collar bones. Neck.
Generally amazing.

It shocks me. The lack of understanding people display toward depression; it really blows my broken mind. I suffer from depression (and with it). My best friend died and it triggered a major depressive episode. Yes. It's illogical to see someone die, to see them loose their opportunities to see their dreams realised, and to grow so despondent about oneself and one's own opportunities that you would willingly give them up. But the thing is; when you feel this low your choices become so narrowed that they are no real choice at all. Trying to think and act positively are an impossibility. The plane of feeling-okay is so far out of reach it becomes unplottable and it's easier to plumb the depths of despair because they are your neighbourhood, your home, your wallpaper, and any door you open leads to a landscape painted in melancholic colours.

My doctor said to me 'you need to get over this,' he said I'm wasting the best years of my life, that I have a choice. A choice to? What? I have the choice to not be sad? No, I don't. I'm depressed. On my scale of options, boxes to tick and routes to follow I have the choice of:

A: I feel dead. 
I feel nothing. Preferable.
B: I wish I were dead. 
I have the ability to want something and show an interest in future possibility. Well done.
C: I wish I had the strength, energy or ingenuity to contemplate actually killing myself. 
I am contemplating actually being involved in taking steps to direct my existence. Positive.
D: I feel like I can get out of bed and possibly take a shower in anticipation of, yet again, being reminded that the appearance of being prepared does not necessitate a desire to do anything.
I feel like I have a duty to function. This is burdensome.
C: I got out of bed. 
I attempted to live. I will probably realise that this should entail some feeling of want for the now and motivation for the future. I do not feel these things. Thus I feel like a failure. I also feel guilty for having the time and money to enjoy something so indulgent as a mental illness.
E: I leave the house. 
I will undoubtedly encounter some people. They remind me that I am not like them. I am alone in some kind of weird sociological maelstrom in which it is expected that I engage with others' identities, conversation and actions. The noise of talking, squawking which terrifies and confuses me, reminds me how tired I am, that I can't engage because... well, why bother when I am actually dead. Can't they see? I should be at home feeling dead because that would at least be soothingly consistent.
... return to A.
Repeat in a cyclical fashion potentially adorned with angry, sad, or for-no-apparent-reason tears or almost seizure-inducing feelings of rage.

So those are my choices. So many choices. Would you like to have some of my choices Mr-Doctor-Man? I mean, they are so pretty; all laid out alphabetically. Alluring, no? A platter of treats. Which one would you like? You can have more than one in one day. It's okay! They don't make you fat (many as you like!)

Today I ate: Three apples and 250ml of grapefruit juice.

Would you like to have an eating disorder too? They're really fun. It's so easy to do. You just don't eat. But if you do (that's cheating and it's really, really naughty) you should beat yourself up about for absolute hours and should probably throw-up. I mean really I only care about being thin because Cosmopolitan convinced me I need to look like a pre-pubescent girl so that I can find myself a man! But anyhow! ROFL. I should get some hobbies and probably read up on this thing called phlegminism.

Seriously. Smart people can be so dumb. I know. I'm one of them. (And ya'know what we'll take away from this; 'ohmygawd, she called herself smart!')

sixty two feels pretty sh'ite

Weigh 55.
Get LLB.
Soon.

Today was not a great day. I binged. I purged.
I've just taken a melatonin and a somnil. Hopefully I will sleep well.
Tomorrow:
Up early.
Go to library. Work on contract opinion.
Do not have breakfast.
Coffee allowed. Two apples for lunch. Two apples for dinner.
Drink water. Cigarettes.
You have 14 days to loose as much weight as you can. Go.

You know when you know

Sexy.
A blunt fringe and antlers. Who knew?
Sometimes I think my mind is sprouting horns.

You know?

Or do I? I keep on waiting for a turning point in my pattern of self-abuse. I want - desperately - to be back in a uber-restrictive space. But now that I think about it; I fucking hated myself then. I was 'in love' (infatuated) with somebody who made me feel, through no fault of his own (other than run-of-the-mill assholism), totally worthless. He is very talented, very opinionated, intelligent, and has possibly the best style on any boy I've ever seen outside of a magazine or some subtly-lit tumblr post. What other people see; malapropisms, self-consciousness, immaturity and jeans that are too tight. What I saw: Jesus his damn self. Minted in gold and covered in chocolate.

Was there a part of me, a part tainted by the mouldy rot of ednos, that liked the constant self-flagellation of 'loving' somebody whose presence in my life fed the rot on a daily basis. A constant supply of putrid self-loathing, based on the fact that he 'didn't want me' (he later kissed me, told me he had been 'completely infatuated' and 'in love' with me, then rejected me in favour of a fat-racist-opera-singer, all in one evening, no jokes). So he did want me! Oh (says I) but not enough! (What did I really expect from him?) It just proves: I'm a worthless piece of shit. Doesn't it?

Of course, snooze-fest, it's the same old shit with what's-his-face. Except he slept with me. Which is unfortunate.

Now in a parrallel but also bisecting universe: These feelings of false love are part of my abuse, my ed, but they are also like my love for the ed itself. I aspire... I fail... I feel unworthy... and WHAM we are back where we started: Eating. Hating. Purging. Hating. Hate feeds the ednos. Ednos is refueled. WHAM. Down 58. Breathe. Wham; blink thrice and I'm almost 63. Hate. Rinse. Repeat.

Someone (who I will not credit or link because her article was written in a much more positive context that I would not like to associate with this blog) had this to say of her past abusive relationship: "What I remember was that there was some sort of valor in being dedicated to someone really troubled. There was something very powerful about the feeling of being needed. I confused that feeling with love." 


I think I've confused my hate with love. I don't need to lovelovelove (oprah style) myself but I just want to feel okay; to feel like I can be happy when life offers me happiness! My self-absorption-fat-obsession is not a show of love, of 'I'll help-you-hold-you-guide-you to your goal weight'. My disorder does not love me. My disorder is not thin me, or motivated me, or goal-orientated me. It is a bitch. It is a the raging mess of parenting fails, hard times, genetic stuff-ups, bullying, media, rejection, hurts and failures that suffocates the part of me that just wants to live and be okay. I thought that telling myself how crap I am would help me loose weight. It won't.


I can relate to the feelings of that quotable person above easily. But mine are not feelings for a person. They are for my ed. I have never externalised or personified my ed to the extent that some others seem to have: I do not identify the negative thoughts about food, body, and self worth as belonging to 'Ana' or anything like that. But in a way this is what makes my relationship with this part of myself really tricky. It's indistinguishable from the rest of me. I can't just shut-it up or ignore it because I can't always recognise it; it has no distinctive sound or flavour or colour or taste. It's only when I'm in the pit of self-loathing, the seventh rung of ed hell, that I can look back and see how far from balanced I am. I also can't erase what I've told myself or believed about myself. The hurt of 'you're a disgusting fat pig and everyone secretly laughs at you and hates you and you are a pathetic excuse for a human being' still cuts me up, compounded by my knowledge that those thoughts themselves are 'petty, indulgent, narcissistic, unoriginal' and whatever other venom I can chuck at myself.

I feel like I'm digging one hole, frenzedly chucking the muck over my shoulder, then being like 'ohhhmyfuuucccckinggaaaawwwwdd there's a god damn hole in my psyche!', spinning around, only to start digging a hole through the rubble, down, down, down, flinging the muck back into the prior hole.... then... 'ohmyfuck where did this hole come from!?!!?!' and spinning around and re-chucking all the old filth back in the other direction agaaaaiiin. Basically I spend my life excavating in the barren wasteland of my own averageness. Shifting filth around. So if you came and interrupted me; you would think it's the same hole! No. Same mental muck. Hole number 54 000 000. No wonder it's exhausting.

So: I thought that telling myself how crap I am will help me loose weight. It won't. Not this time. You know what will help? Hah? It's a shocking piece of advice: Go on a fucking diet.

Go on a diet like a normal person would. It doesn't have to be a normal diet (gawd forbid, you have a eating disorder, dahling). But don't let this self-hate stop you from achieving your goals. I deserve to feel better about myself. Some people can convince themselves to love themselves the way they are. I am not one of those people. I love fashion. I love collar bones and rib bones. I want to be a size 6. Why can't I? Why shouldn't I? I'm not stupid: I can do it as strictly as I possibly can whilst still trying to get my fats, my omegas, my nut oils. That stuff. I can't be perfect. But I can try my best. I cannot accept myself the way I am. I don't want to be dedicated to my troubled parts because it gives me a sense of being loved and needed! I don't want to be in this abusive relationship with myself any longer. And since I am both parties in the relationship I don't see why we need to break up: I just need to calm down and let the muck settle where it may.

what'evs

I ate today:

200g mange tout = 70 kcal
2 soya sausages = 200
tomato and lentil soup = 250
2 provita = 80
75g wasabi rice crackers = 330
3 wasabi peanuts = 15?
3 almonds = 30
tea = 15?

total = 975
not great, but no purging, phew
ideally... hmmmmm... not sure I'd like to speculate

ffs

No seriously. For fuck sakes.

There's this girl: G. I know her because she dated my housemate C. He took her virginity. He also cheated on her and didn't care. Now I should be on her side, right? Bro's before Ho's? (He being the Ho.)

But she lost my respect, and the house's respect, because she lost herself to C, with seemingly no invitation or coercion on his part. In fact her clingy, simpering, whining, insecure, fawning, cutesy and totally dependent personality overhaul made his life miserable (she let her jealousies, insecurities and neediness show).

Now they've been apart for a year. And I recently bumped into her at another friend and ex-housemate's dinner. She wept (a lot). She said she broke up with him not because he cheated on her but because he doesn't 'know himself'... the him she knows being a wonderful person he has lost but which she maintains is the 'real him'.

So, her thesis: she knows him better than he knows himself and, it was implied, one day that 'real him' is going to raise a head, realise how right she was AND that he is hopelessly in love with her, and come back to her. As she wept she claimed that although she loves him deeply she is not in love with him anymore. What. Utter. Bullshit. Where does she get this cliched shit? Daytime radio psychology chat shows? The inside of gum wrappers?

Now whyyyyy am I being a bitch about this poor girl? Because - foul of all foul things - she reminds me of... me. So sad. Pathetic. Believing that I know whatshisface better than he knows himself. If he acts like he doesn't care: he doesn't care. Duh.

So, yeah, I'm still mad as hell with myself, had a baaaaaad food day. (Do not go food shopping you dumbass bitch! really!? you make your own life so hard!) purged twice although I didn't binge in the true sense of the word.

I'll try be good tomorrow. Promise. Weight: still 62. 16 days to loose 4 kilograms? Shit. Balls. M'fuck.

enraged

oh hawt dahm.
Miranda Kerr.
stunning.
-
Fuck.
I feel so angry.
Like I want to throw things and smash things
like a stroppy, thrashing, ludicrous child
It's TBB.
My parents.
everything
equals
RAGE.
-
How can he call me a friend,
and sleep with me,
when he knew that my best friend had just died,
and that I was depressed
and that I might have feelings for him
What a fucktard
Fucktarded
Seriously
What a! What the! Gah!
Why do I even still think about him?
I wish I could just 'eternal sunshine of the spotless mind' this shit
and erase any part of my memory that includes him.
-
Ate today:
grapefruit
coffee
gum
4 brownies
salad (feta, tomato, soy sauce, cucumber, pilchard).
Bleh.
Schmeh.
-
weight: 62
-
I hate my body.
I feel huge.
I look huge.
Like second trimester huge.
Fuck this.
FUCK IT ALL.
-
Haven't purged in two days.
That's one minor improvement.
-
I'm feeling seriously nuts;
clearly in a besotted-with-anger sort of a way.
-
CHRIST.
I just need to stop. fucking. eating.
keep blogging
keep owning-up to all my shit
stay accountable
don't purge
get work done
fuck balls
FUCK.

Onward

A grapefruit for breakfast
and some black coffee
don't know what my weight is though.
Sigh.
Anxiety.
I feel big.
I look huge standing reflected in our glass doors.
But what's the truth.
I don't know?
I think I have some kind of body dysmorphia.
eish.

Translucent

Interesting pose.
Stunning body.
Treading the fine line between very thin and too thin.
A line I'd like to tread.
-
That's my skin colour.
As fortunate or unfortunate as that may or may not be.
Vampiric.
Absolutely incapable of getting a tan.
Even my freckles are so pale you can barely see them.
I've been told I look:
Translucent.
Ill.
Blue.
-
I had a moment of self-control.
Ate a salad of feta, soy sauce, tomato, cucumber, sardine.
Opened bag of crisps
but only ate two.
Opened brownie tin
but only ate a quarter of one.
Made myself soy-milk cocoa.
That shit's the best I tell you!
It's filling. Taste's like chocolate.
But isn't super sugary or caloricly dense like powdered hot choc/milkshake mix.
Phew.

one day I'll have a good day, hopefully soon

Why do I make choices that turn out not to be choices?
As in; I think I can control my eating, that I'll "just have X,Yand Z".
which turns into X,Y,Z... and X,Y,Z some-more... and A through W.

I suppose the decision to eat a little something seems so meaningless and controllable.But I can't control it. I can't control the eating because deep down in my sordid insides I long to purge.But why? It's so gross. It makes me ugly, and smelly and feel (literally) dirty and like a failure.Sigh.

Got up. Had cigarette, grapefruit, ten almonds, cigarette. Fiiiiiiinnnnneee. Not perfect; could've stopped at half a grapefruit and not had the almonds. But it was fine. Then "I'll just have a rice cake... with tomato... and cheese"

Ugh.

Had toooo much. Then had peanut butter. Then white bread (with margarine. gross.) Then milo and brownies. Naturally I purged. 

I feel a bit stronger than before, despite this failure. I hope that if I keep owning up here (all the frikkin time, as boring as that may be for you and I) I will learn to be more accountable (read 'ashamed') and I'll stop the stupid behavior.I'm so tired of it all. Tired and frustrated, and feel as though there must be a magic answer out there (although I can't begin to think what it might be).

imminent freak out

62 kilograms.

I'm realising that I need to (have to) weigh 52 by the time I go back to school.

If I work hard from now I can.

If I don't make it: I will absolutely freak (I can't handle seeing TBB at a high weight).

I'm starting to get more paranoid that my scale/s are broken (because I feel so, so, so huge).

I'm also realising that:

(a) I have to stop eating sugar (because I just crave it forever-after).

(b) That my bulimia is a serious (for-reals-legit) problem (it's going on 6 months) and I can't expect to just stop but, at the same time, I have to (essentially) JUST STOP.

I've put a ring on my right index finger (to try and remind myself not to take the food or purge the food).

and (c) I have to stop socialising (at least 'til the end of the holiday) because my eating was fine today until I went to a friends house and binged there.

Tomorrow is my last social occasion (I already committed).

Crap. Desperate times.

crush(ed)

Miranda and Orlando
*even there names are great together*

A crush is an imaginary lover: Someone who wants your honesty and wants you honestly. Someone who sees you; deeply, silently, sternly and without reservation. Someone who would challenge anyone who stands against you, who walks just ahead of you and turns back to hold out their hand before a climb or fall. You do not need to ask. They know. They are unafraid. Not afraid of your wounds, of how you might wound them, or of the world out there. They know everything about you yet still find you endlessly fascinating. They desire you and make feel infinitely desirable. You feel safe and thrilled.  You give everything, effortlessly, ensconced in the halo of their attention, desire and love. They want to be with you. With them you are on a pedestal, but down to earth, and completely relaxed, but feel as though you're going to explode. Such a person can never exist. A crush is a shell, an outline, drawn from real life, brilliantly illustrated, and liberally so, with fairy tales and fantasy. A crush is based on a real person but they, the inspiration for the dream, must be distinguished from the dream itself. Do not confuse the two. That person exists. Leave them alone. Glaring imperfection really shatters the dream. Particularly if you did not know that you were dreaming.

Purged twice today.
Feel fat. Depressed. Weepy. (Jealous bitch. Money. Fat. Scale paranoia [it must be broken])
Love and miss A.
I weigh 62 kilograms.
I hate myself.
I'll hate myself less if I weigh less. (It's only logical; less to hate.)

boomchickaboomwow

She sure is pretty.
Yes. I'm aware that there are a whole bunch of people on the net
who mock Felice endlessly.
You know...?
She seems like a pretty savvy lady to me.
She got skinny.
Capitalised on her naturally gorgeous self.
[Why not.]
She seems articulate.
And ain't a bitch.
So why waste time hating.
Thinspo schimnspo people.
I'll speak for myself.
I'm here by choice.
I choose to use her images as motivation to get really painfully thin.
She's hot.
Leave her alone!

So today's the 30th of June 2012. I'm kind-of tired of being kind to myself. Being kind to myself makes me look and feel like a Care Bear. Creepy and chubby. I tend to let myself become a bit furry in this state too. I'm tired of thinking about that child [aka sex object]; a disturbing juxtaposition of terms. 

Today. It's been 5 months and 5 days since she died. It's time to sort my shit out. The 30th of June. The last binge, last purge, the start of restricting. I weigh 62 kilograms. This seems like I've maintained. Trust me I haven't. I yo-yo-yo-yo-yo like mad. It's a fight to maintain this marginal gain. The crazy thing is that even if I loose a measly 3 kgs a month I can reach my goal weight by Nov 1. Sure, I suppose it must be harder now that I'm 'smaller'. Whatevs. I'm still painfully normal for my height. Today is Saturday. I have drinking and dinner plans tonight. But I'm gonna weigh in on Friday. And hope for the best. Restrictionrestrictionrestriction. Smoking. Water. Christ. [Jokes.]

striving

striving
to end the binging
to start restricting again
to get back to 58
as fast as I can
so that the real work can begin
to be horrifyingly thin
death-defyingly small
desperately thin
mortifyingly small
ridiculously
meaninglessly endlessly tiny
focus on
skin
body
water
sleep
being as vegan as possible
restricting
fighting hunger
but celebrating it too
ah
i feel gargantuan
it is so woeful
i like my breasts
that's all
but other than them
it shan't do
shan't
can't
won't
will not
refuse
the number must get smaller
never bigger
work work work
thin thin thin
hunger hunger hunger
water water water
love

the lotus eaters

we might not see tomorrow
so do it tonight
-
back from Zanzibar
changed and unchanged
-
here is where we begin again
confessing
seeking accountability
-
writing ourselves
down and up
-
if i'm to know
what i think at all
i must say it out loud
-
scream it
whisper it
-
this is not starting over
i never left
don't forget me
hold me in your heart
hold me
listen
i love you
all of you
all of the lotus eaters
*

My changing idea of beauty...

Lawd knows. I do love this picture.

Bey is right ch'all: This industry is no damn soup kitchen. And, pulling it all back to what this-here is about, I find it fascinating that she was recently named 'the most beautiful woman in the world' by some or other big gossip mag thingy. She really is stunning. In fact I'm shocked (shocked I tell you) by how stunning I find her. A guy at a party (a gay guy; yes, this is relevant as it supplements the genuineness of the compliment) once told me "I love you! You're like Beyonce!" and then he made this badonk-ka-donk voluptuous gesture with his hands. Now I know he meant this as a compliment. But I could smile twistedly in response. Because what my mind told me, in translation, was 'You're fat, but you workin it'. That the list of compliments he could give me, in the urge to sweetly and sincerely just hand one out, was restricted by the fact that my hips and ass were not, that I was a big girl, who managed, despite bootilicious obstacles, to still be desirable. Isn't that sad; that being told you look like the most beautiful woman in the world becomes code for 'you're okay! ... For a fat chick.'

I've found my ideal of beauty changing recently: I remember sitting on campus, watching the people go by, and thinking (as I watched a pair of jeans go by) 'I used to want to look like that girl'. She was thin. Not normal. Thin. But I found her body... unexciting. Childlike? Unwomanly. She didn't fill her clothes. Not that I wanted podge. But there was no... shape. No curves. She was just a skeleton with some flesh around it. Her figure no longer excited me with a desire to shrink to its proportions. I wasn't turned off or on by the thought of her, she was just there. So what was it: She wasn't sexy. Not in her clothes. But that's not all important. If she had on some sexy clothes she would've been a little more... ya'know. But her body language; nothing. No sex appeal. And she didn't have the sexy to compensate for the lack of the first two.

So why do I want to be super thin, very thin, painfully thin. Attention? A cry for help? To look like a 'winner' and feel like one too? The problem is: I'm not happy at my current weight. I feel fat: Physically and mentally enveloped/bogged down by/weighed down by my physical being. But I don't want to be this little unlustful twig either. I watched a film tonight - Shame - and, it's true, we all look the same naked. It's boring. It's so so boring. Sexiness. Sex appeal. Allure. Confidence. That's all a woman can have that would possibly set her apart. I've slept with a girl I think has my ideal body. Very thin, with the perfect figure. And... I wouldn't write a novel about her... or a poem... or go to the ends of the earth for her love or desire. The girl I love the most, and desire the most (or at least I think I think that I think I do, as one does) is also incredibly thin, has a great figure, and big boobs (yes, every women's dream) and you know what: she could not give less of a fuck. And that's what makes her beautiful. She doesn't dress to be sexy. Ever. She snorts when she laughs. She has strange quirky little mannerisms. She drinks and she smokes and she swears and she can be incredibly irritable and offish. And she's interesting. And creative. She has an appeal, a brash and bizarre mystique that makes no sense and has next to nothing to do with her looks. Her looks are just not a barrier to her personality; she's not morbidly obese, or hugely tall, or facially odd. She is beautiful. I wish I had what she has. (I wish I had her but that's a different matter.)

This makes me think that, or hope that, as long as your body doesn't stand in the way of who you are: You will be beautiful. So if it stops you, holds you back, worries your mind, stops thoughts from being spoken. Then try and do something about it. Don't ignore it. Or tell yourself you shouldn't worry. What bothers you, bothers you. And that's that. But don't forget that who you are is what's important. Your body shouldn't be in your way. That's all.

10 days to smaller!

So. Damn. Hot.

Kay... So I get to have (almost) stress-free sex in 10 days times. Which means I need to look bangin'. Obv.

So I'm just going to try and restrict like a boss and, to help me do so, I'll be editing this little what-what riiiiggggghhhhht here. Wish me luck! Oh, and the twist is; I'm not going to weigh myself from now until the morning of the 25th. Eish; restricting must be the focus!!

*WEIGH-IN*
... 61. gross.


Saturday 14 April
1/8 cup muesli with water
black coffee
2 bioplus energy sweet things
huge tuna salad
5 almonds
two cups earl grey with milk
black coffee
too much goddamn chocolate
- yeah, very average, but I only decided to kick it up a notch (the ten day - day 1 is tomo - challenge) after I ate - (whoops)
...
So I just binged and purged. Again. Must be the millionth time this year. I would really like it to be the last. Really-really. So lets make it the last. Yes? Yes. I can do this: ten days of extreme restriction. Looking good for TBB. Because when I look at *that* picture of Her it makes me feel sick inside: Happy and thin and beautiful and loved and comfortable in her own skin (and unlike me in so many ways). And despite not wanting me (all of me) he still wants me (this body) so that's what I'll give him; so it better be good (better best perfect). Because I need that R10 000: clothes clothes I need so many clothes (that actually fit me). Because I have A's name transcribed (inscribed forever) on my body and it must be a worthy memorial to her. Because I want... so much... everything... happiness. You ca never be TOO RICH or TOO THIN. No such thing as 'too thin'. Please!

What's it like to be perfect MK?
I doubt you think you're perfect.
That's part of why you are.
But I think you are.
So perfect.

Sunday 15 April
1/8 cup muesli with water
2 cups black coffee
2 glasses diet coke
10 dry All-Bran flakes (yes, I count shit out yoh)
1 x gum
... and then I fucked up...
tuna salad: I made too much and added cheese (no and no)... so I binged; tea, chocolate, three brownies. Fuck. Purge. Who knows how much I got out. It is shameful but I need to PUBLICLY SHAME MYSELF RIGHT HERE so that I will actually stop. I want to I do. But I'm just a compulsive failure. So no food for me for the rest of the day. Listen to me: No more. Nothing. Stop.
I will be thin. I will I will I must.
...
and I did it again. Soup-cheese-bread-bread-peanut-butter-blergh. I'm starting to worry I'll never be able to stop. Why can't I control this behavior?It's mad. Totally mad. While I was purging I left the bathroom and a white gecko, dappled with black spots, it's pinkish yellowish blueish insides pulsing beneath it's translucent skin, went across the door frame. I hate geckos; I'm actually phobic about them. But I thought; 'You're rather pretty, little one'. And then, as I was heaving (yet again) over the toilet bowl I felt something brush past my right leg and heard a wettish plop. The little spotty thing had obviously been on the ceiling and had either fallen or parashot itself to the floor. She seemed dazed. Or terrified of me. It's hard to tell. I felt strange; this funny little pretty thing was watching me and throwing itself around the room. I felt bad; she shouldn't have to see me like that. And it made me think of A; she shouldn't have to see me like this. If she can. What if? I don't know. I hope more no than yes; I wouldn't want her to see me failing and retching and carrying on like this. Constantly falling down. I'm sorry. 
...
In other matters; I can't stop thinking about him. I'm not sure if it's because I want/need a distraction. Or I'm just prone to crazy hallucinations about untouchable unreachable people needing me. ... I slept with two different guys on Thursday night. Neither were him. One was the fuck-buddy of old; the sex was selfish (on his part) I thought. Then there was the other one; sweet sweet boy, and about 2 minutes of intercourse. Hmmm. It's bizarre; I should be more... surprised by my behavior... but now that it's done... it's just over, just something that happened. But when I think of TBB, of how... involved... how 'there' ... he is when we fuck? Well: It's just not the same. It's something else that we are doing. Not that it's 'making love' or, well, whatever that even means, but - sure - it's carnal. But it's beautiful too. There's an element of give and take; exchanging something. And I just wonder what he would think. Would he be disgusted? Maybe. Am I? If he were; then yes. I would be deeply saddened. I'm not sure what any of this means. I don't know what we're doing. I want his body. And I want everything to be alright; I want him to want to see me. To be satisfied; physically and to just feel good about the whole thing. He makes me want to be more beautiful than ever before. And feel more terrified than ever before; because I don't know if I can be beautiful enough for him.

In Paris.
'Cos they can.
Duh.

Monday 16 April
6 almonds
1 black coffee
2 coffees with sugar and milk
2 x gum
1 veg samoosa
1 piece raw cauliflower
1 apple
2 x binge and purge (I know.)
3 x bioplus energy sweets
lets hope I'm loosing (not weighing myself is kinda a lie, but shhhh)


Tuesday 17 April
6 almonds, black coffee, coffee with milk and sugar, a tomato
all good
3 x binge and purge... ugh...
not good
try tomorrow. please. x


Wednesday 18 April


Thursday 19 April


Friday 20 April


Saturday 21 April


Sunday 22 April


Monday 23 April


Tuesday 24 April


Wednesday 25 April
*WEIGH-IN*