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*

This post scares even me (I'm not sure who this person is.)

You see these girls?
Me: Not one of them.
In any way, SHAPE, or form.

I realise something now. He regrets it. Doesn't he?

He regrets it.
He regrets it.
He regrets it.

He regrets me.

He made a mistake.
He doesn't want:
To see me.
Speak to me.
(He can't. If he did... if he did... he would have... said... so... Obviously)

He is ashamed.

He fucked the ugly, fat girl.
I am the ugly, fat girl.
I am disgusting.
Fuckingdisgusting.

Why? Why did he have to touch me? Look at me? Why did he do it? A secret: He wants me to be a secret. He is ashamed. I am ugly. I am. I am, am I not? If I wasn't; he would want me. Want me for himself.
I've seen what his ex looks like: Thin. So thin. So thin and beautiful. He loved her. For four whole years. Four whole years. He can't even consider liking me. He can't even do that. He had to sit me down, tell me the 'parameters'; he doesn't 'want to hurt me', he knows I'm not in a 'good space'. He knows.
Knows he made a mistake. And that he had to clean up the debris. The mess. Make it better, make it go away, make me disappear, pretend it never happened.

Pretend it never happened.
Pretend it never happened.
Pretend it never happened.
Pretend it never happened.
It never happened.
What? What never happened.
That he never... kissed me... held me... what? What, say it; made you happy? Made you feel good about yourself? (Well that won't fucking do.)

Pretend (it was all pretend):
That I ever believed he could like me.
That I was ever happy, glad, thankful (t.h.a.n.k.f.u.l. of all the shameful feelings) because I thought - for a few short days - that he wanted me, at least in some stupid pathetic carnal, you're-a-hole-to-stick-my-dick-in, way.

I was thankful.
THANKFUL.
Thankful that you even looked at me.
Thankful.

How pathetic. How sad.
And do you know why you were thankful?
Because you feel alone. And unloved. And unlovable. You look in the mirror and you are disgusted by yourself. Your body: it's revolting. Fat. Bloated. Obese. Huge. Disgusting. Morbid.

Because I wish I could die.

I wish I was dead.
I wish I was dead.
I wish I was dead.
Just to be out of this body.

Away from this disease.
For one fucking day.

Do you know that I wished for, prayed for, wanted an eating disorder.
Did you know that?
And now I have you. All that I ever wanted.
So thank you.
Thank you for making me see how alone and unlovable and cold and hard I am.
How ugly.
How wrecked.
Thank you.

Thank you.
I am thankful.
Pathetic.
Exhausted (purge-burnt hand and purge-torn mouth and lesions and scars and sagging flesh and rib bones, though too few, and tears and tears and tears, and pain, and self-hate, and weakness, thank you especially for that).

Thank-you: because maybe one day I will disappear, maybe, maybe one day, I won't be somebody's regret, least of all my own.

Maybe one day I won't use you to get what I want, and wake up to find that I never got it anyway, maybe you'll use me; use me all up, rip me up melt me down wear me away like the rock beneath the salty sandy waves washing back and forth back and goddamn forth day in day out inescapable wearing moulding reshaping destroying, everyday, over and over and over and over. Maybe one day I'll be alone. Alone again. Without you. (Him? Her? Me? I don't know.)

Alone.
Without the world to see me.
To remind me that I'm not enough, I'm nothing, I'm worthless and useless, and I don't make sense to it.

Can you imagine? What he would say, do, think, if he knew this was what I really was. Howwhichwhat I am, I am, I always have been, will be, am-am-am forever.
Can you?
I wouldn't be revolting, ugly, irritating...anymore.
I'd be terrifying.
It is terrifying. In here. Sometimes. I am terrified. (Though I have nowhere else to go...)

He would run sixteen hundred million twelve thousand one million miles and miles and miles away.
So far away.
Even further.

How could I believe he wanted me?
That I meant something: intimacy, or friendship, or care or compassion, or lust, attraction, wanting, needing, having to have it, satisfy it, else you might die.

Why am I pretending I'm okay with what happened?
Because if anybody knew the truth I would chase them all one thousand million hundred so many miles away.
They would know I'm all fucked up and that I can't do life. I can't do. I can't be.
And I must be acceptable. Because if I can't be wanted. At least I can be allowed, around, not shunned (No.), not discarded (No.).

Earn your place bitch.

Nobody wants you here.
Nobody wants you.
Nobody wants you.

He regrets you.

You can try pretend it never happened; but it did.
You thought you could handle it; but you fucked up. (Got drunk and) fucked up again.
It's not a surprise is it?
And you want to know something really sad.
Stupid silly pathetic fat bitch.
You're still thankful. Don't lie: You are.
You are. You are. You are.

Thankful that he even fucking looks at you.

And you would do it again.
Right now.
Even though - now you know - now you see - it's destroying you.

I'm going to win.
If you're not careful: I am going to win.

I shall not want

"If you could only see
the beast you've made of me
I held it in but now
it seems you set it running free."

Howl
Florence and the Machine

Since A's death my weight climbed (at a shrieking pace) back up and my binging has been out of control. The daily frustration of wanting, desperately, to stop and seemingly being unable to is turning me into a loon. All my time is consumed with ramming food down my throat, then my fingers, vomiting and vomiting and vomiting, stripping, holding myself as I stand on the scale and leering and glaring at, and beseeching the number to not have risen. It's a truly shit situation that seems to be an articulation of my inability to rein in my feelings, do deal with them, which manifests itself in literally trying to quench and quash the pain in my chest by smothering it with food and then trying to evacuate the calories and hurt from the inside out out; flushing them away. But of course it doesn't work like that.

So I'm going to try something new - and, God knows, I'm a fan of continually 'starting over' - a process which is only necessitated by my continual failure.

I'm not going to weigh myself for a while: my weight is hovering just over 60 at the moment.

The anxiety of TBB and work spurs me to even more failure. But, hopefully, if I concentrate on restricting (and hopefully recording my movements here), I will be able to restore myself somewhat.

consumed today

green tea

1/4 cup muesli with water

2 x coffee with milk 

binge: sushi, chocolate, about 4 brownies (I know.), 

cheese and crackers, two chocolate milkshakes (I know. I know.)

*purge*

obviously

... 

hopefully nothing more for the day except

black coffee

green tea

and diet coke

...

of course: I want tomorrow to be better

don't I always

(I know.)

TBB: Things were okay at school. We both tried to be normal. But of course things aren't normal: kissing is intimate, getting naked is intimate, oral sex is intimate, having we-could-make-a-baby sex is the utmost of intimate. And then, there we are, fully clothed, two days later, back in the same academic space in front of people who have no idea (and who neither of us want to have any idea) trying to act as though none of it ever happened. Not knowing whether it will happen again. It wasn't that either of us were nasty. But I sense from him, as I can't seem to help myself, the absolute terror that we've royally fucked up, that we'll never be able to act normal around each other, that people will somehow know, and that I may fall for him at any goddamn moment. And he still hasn't contacted me since Saturday. Not a word. I didn't really expect him to. I don't. But I want him to. I want everything to be okay. And it's not... bad... it's just weird... not good. God. Ugh. I don't know. 

One last A related thought. I loved the reading of this poem in Four Weddings and a Funeral and I just wanted to put it down here. It's beautiful.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

WH Auden

If I looked like her
(Felice)
I would be happy.
It sounds so foolish doesn't it?
But,
 I know in my heart that it's true.
If I were beautiful
I could rest at last.
Be happy and be free.
I love you A.
Help me.
Please, please help me.
I love you, I love you, I love you and I'll never leave you.

Do not stand by my grave and weep

A friend of A's posted this poem on her birthday:

Do not stand at my grave and weep 

I am not there. I do not sleep. 

I am a thousand winds that blow. 

I am the diamond glints on snow. 

I am the sunlight on ripened grain. 

I am the gentle autumn rain. 

When you awaken in the morning's hush 

I am the swift uplifting rush 

Of quiet birds in circled flight. 

I am the soft stars that shine at night. 

Do not stand at my grave and cry; 

I am not there. I did not die.  

- M E Frye

But there is where you are. 

You are dead. And all I want to do is stand by your grave and weep; waiting for something - anything - to happen, for you to come back to me. 

I am so weary with grief. 

You were the lines on the map, the handle on the door, the bough from which every part of me hung. You assembled me. You followed me, you led me, you were with me when I needed you and when I did not. You chose to be beside me, and I beside you, we were for each other, and in loosing you I have lost a part of myself. When you went you took my certainty, my direction, all that I looked to when I looked away from what others call 'God'. You have left me alone in a familiar room that now seems like a siege tower; the door is unlocked but where is the knob? I cannot get out. I wring the air, twisting, grasping, but there's nothing left. Nothing alterable in the world. Only the same. Wake-up and breathe and hope to feel that sense of security that I had when I had you.

My father says that you can count all your true friends on one hand. I always stopped at one. Because if that one was you then one was enough. He told me that you would want me to work, work hard, and succeed. But I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I have the strength. My chest is caving in from the pain of loosing you. And still nothing changes! The outside world remains similarly variable; it changes insufficiently, as expected, refusing to acknowledge that my heart is broken, the world is empty and black and over. And nothing will ever be the same. That I have lost my person: I am owner-less. I wanted to make you proud. What's the point now? Just horrible days passing, creasing the sky, the 5th (your birthday), the 18th (your diagnosis), the 25th (your death).

I don't even know where I'm going without you. So how can I begin to attempt to get there. And all the while a part of me feels that if I survive, if I succeed, if I go on, that it's like I'm killing you all over again, snuffing out the memories in order to continue living, which must mean that I never really loved you anyway, needed you anyway, desperately depended on you. Traitor. Traitorous living.

I would have given you everything, if you had asked, but you would never have done that to me, nor would it have made any difference if you had. But, I need you to know: I would have given you everything and I would still give it, if only to have you back. I love you. I miss you. Come back to me.

'Don't over think it' (he said)

So: I fucked TBB. I know. I can't believe it either.

I went out. Got trashed. Threw caution to the wind and offered myself up to him. Next thing we were sitting by the bar kissing. Forcefully. I just assumed nothing would happen. My friend was spending the night. But when we dropped him at his place he just grabbed me, pushed me up against the car, kissing me hard, popped the button on my pants and started fingering me. I couldn't let it end there. I took him home with me (to my parents house) and just got on top of him and got naked. No hesitation. No condoms. No holding back.

I fucked him, again, yesterday at my brothers house. He's rough. But he's also gentle. All he wants is sex. I know. He told me. Is he even attracted to me? Is he just looking for an easy fuck? Can we still be friends? I don't know.

I just need to not think about it. The sex. Or him. Nothing. No thinking. It's not allowed.