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Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Demon in my Head

I slept a little over 3 hours. And I do mean just a little.

I kept feeling like I couldn't breathe. My period came out of the blue, yesterday. Or sort of. All the warning signs have been there. I'm broken out, my libido has gone nuts...but it was still like it was a surprise.

I forget I'm a woman, sometimes.

But that itchy feeling inside of my lungs came back. I would roll over and it would feel like the air was forced out of a great, hollow chasm. Like those great big fireplace billows you use to fan the flames with air. Compressing it together, shoving out the breath in a low whistle that rattled through my chest.

I don't feel like this when I get enough sleep.
I'm hoping it's just that.
But I'm also afraid that maybe something really is wrong.

I keep coughing stuff up. I get so tired without warning, and yet I can never sleep comfortably. My chest hurts, my heart beats too quick... deep breaths feel impossible, at times.
Perhaps it's just a lingering chest infection. It was there a bit before my mom visited, but being around her and her chain smoking must have solidified it.



I went from 130.8 yesterday, to 128.8 when I finally dragged myself out of bed after my measly ~3 hours of sleep. Normally, you don't lose when you don't sleep, because it causes your metabolism to sputter to a halt. But I haven't been EATING thanks to these new meds, so I think that, combined with my period, has helped to shake off some of this.
I stepped on 10 minutes after I got the official reading of 128.8 (I weigh myself until I get the same number 3 times in a row, making it official), I was up at 129.2. I'm eating very light today in hopes that I can make the 128.8 stay. Because then I'll be right around where I need to be to make this month NOT a waste.

I'm also considering the gym. I know I need to go. But I'm wondering if I'm really in any shape to drive there.

I almost passed out three times in the last two days. For the past couple of hours, I've felt cold and dizzy. Exhausted.
Would it be right of me to drive to the gym like this?
Would I be safe driving home after working myself to exhaustion?

Would the post-gym adrenaline be enough to navigate me through traffic like this?


Tough, tough, tough.


Every number on the scale counts. A symbol for more than the quantity it stands for. But for the measure of worth and size and will - all one in the same.

The monster in my head reflects itself with digital eyes.
She lives not in my mirror.
She lives not in my mind.
I see her most clearly when I am stripped completely bare,
feet on cold sensors
and her malignant eyes light up, displaying her disgust at me with angry 7's or 3's,
or her soft and reluctant well earned love by the way her eyes turn into 1's.
I strive for the approval of the demon in my head,
haunted by her reflection in my scale.


Stay strong.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

This is Brutally Beautiful

Every pound counts.
That's why I'm losing slower, isn't it?

It's what I'm telling myself.

Every pound counts. I had so much more to lose when I started. Now there's not as much. Now every pound is an alteration to my physical form. It shifts the shape of my body - the curve of my jaw - the fullness or emptiness of my belly - the tone of my legs - the strength of my arms.
Every pound of flesh now carries more meaning.
More worth.
And anything worth having is worth fighting for.

Yesterday, I took my medication on an empty stomach, and found it so hard to eat. I had about 500 calories, because I forced myself so I wouldn't get a migraine, but I worked so hard at the gym. Harder than normal. According to the monitor/reader thing, I was up to 900 calories burned. Which was very nice.

Today I ate before I took it, because I had a headache wanting to form. So now my appetite isn't as fully suppressed, but still.

Day two, and I feel like my attention is improving. It's better than the Concerta. It's doing it's JOB.
And it's so much CHEAPER. $20 instead of $100. I can actually AFFORD that.

I keep thinking that 129 will feel so different than 130.
That 125 will feel like a struggle.
123 may feel like sweet relief, but will still feel too big.

I kept thinking before that the 120's would mean I'm starting to get thin. I would start to look damn good when I was in there and near there. And now that I'm almost there (130.8 this morning), I feel like it's just going to be just like the last. Like I still haven't changed. I'm still fat, I'm still gross. After going through so many ranges (197 to almost 129 now) I realize that every 10 pounds feels just like the last....

Now all I can think is, "I'm going to look amazing in the teens. Then I'll start to notice it. Then I'll start to feel it."


I was feeling fat the other day in line at the pharmacy, and then this girl walks up in front of me to stand by her mom, and she made me feel worse. She was perfect. This tiny little thing, maybe all of a 100lb's, a little taller than me. Hip bones peaking out over the tops of her pants. She was so small, and her thighs and calves were so far apart when she stood there. She looked tiny, but not unhealthy. Maybe a little underweight, but not unhealthy, and I'm thinking maybe my views are skewed on what is good or not good...but I wouldn't be doing this if they weren't, would I?

But I wound up staring at her in amazement, wanting to be her. Seeing how she moved and walked. So light and so airy.


Every pound counts now.
But more than every pound, every ten will.

I'll start to notice it in the 110's.

(Don't correct me if I'm wrong.)

This is brutally beautiful,
And so are we.
This is endless,
And so are we.

We can heal this.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

I've been shit with not eating.
I keep doing it. I think, "I NEED TO STARVE"
and then I eat.

I'm eating like a fat kid.

So...what I was taking for my ADD was concerta. I just switched to something super old, called Dexedrine, which is...actually? Something called an anorexiant. It's in the same class as many diet pills and appetite suppressors. It's the cheapest, oldest, and apparently, it makes food disgusting. I'm hoping this will be the case. I need to force myself not to eat. I need to stop buying food. \

I don't know why I can't make myself starve anymore.


Unexpected Thinspo

I love unexpected thinspo.
I've heard this song a million times since I was a little girl, but a radio station out here just started playing it again after years. I was in the car, feeling down on myself and my weight, when it popped on. I started to sing along, and when it got the chorus, it was like...I discovered a whole new meaning.
Without further ado,
Smashing Pumpkins, Zero.

my reflection, dirty mirror
there's no connection to myself
i'm your lover, i'm your zero
i'm the face in your dreams of glass
so save your prayers
for when you're really gonna need 'em
throw out your cares and fly
wanna go for a ride?

she's the one for me
she's all i really need
oh yes she's the one for me
emptiness is loneliness, and loneliness is cleanliness
and cleanliness is godliness, and god is empty just like me
intoxicated with the madness, i'm in love with my sadness
bullshit fakers, enchanted kingdoms
the fashion victims chew their charcoal teeth
i never let on, that i was on a sinking ship
i never let on that i was down
you blame yourself, for what you can't ignore
you blame yourself for wanting more
she's the one for me
she's all i really need
oh yes she's the one for me
she's my one and only
don't leave

Thursday, September 24, 2009


131.8. I shot up from 129.8 to 131.8, while still being good and shit. I swear to god, my body hates me.
And yesterday I felt like I should have that line from Juno applied to me.

"Jeeze, Spermy, must you always FEED?"
It was like, I couldn't stop. So I went to the gym, despite hacking my lungs out, and ran for over four miles. Then I did weights, and while I could have gone further, after being there for two hours, my stomach was starting to hurt and i needed to get to bed. My key, which I keep on a safety pin attached to my shirt, had been torn off at some point, and couldn't be located. So we had to chop my lock off my locker. Which isn't as big of a deal as it might be for some, just because my dad has like...a huge tupperwear bowl full of locks he's gotten from the conventions and seminars his company sends him to. (None of them are related to lock companies, but I guess they have lockers at these places? Whatev, I'm not complaining.) Still, it sucked, because it was my favorite lock.

Odd how someone can have a favorite lock.

Anyway, went home, and wound up eating a bowl of cereal. Got so pissed at myself, that I decided, hey, instead of purging, how about I take laxxies?


Yeah, it would have been, had I stuck with my normal lemony fizzy liquid shit. Instead, I took this herbal stuff my dad has, and that I've taken before. And it might have been okay, had I only taken two.

I took six.

I woke up an hour early, and was still twenty minutes late to work. Even after it had done it's job, the pain in my gut was so bad i couldn't move. And I didn't lose a god damn POUND at ALL.


In the morning, I have breakfast with my dad. I figure we can go somewhere, I can get egg whites, and apple slices, and wheat toast. I've already had like...280 god damn calories today, and I can only have 60 more at work, since breakfast will be like...300. I want to try to stick to under 700 today. I've been at 1200 and my urge to binge has been worse than it ever was when I restricted. So I think that's my cue that it's time to go down a little bit and maintain some control.

Or at least dignity.
The type of dignity that doesn't come when it seems like SUCH A GREAT IDEA to take SIX LAXATIVES when you haven't even touched the stuff in TWO MONTHS.


What's even better about the whole thing?

After I had my TWO GOD DAMNED BOWLS OF CEREAL (because, had I read the label, I would have seen that there's ingredients in that herbal shit my dad has that INCREASES YOUR APPETITE to help prevent dehydration and malnutrition after use...) the stomach cramps kicked back in, and I wound up dry heaving.

Thirty minutes. I dry heaved for thirty minutes. And NOTHING CAME UP.
All of that, for nothing.

I wanted to throw the bottle out the window, but it's expensive, and he'd be pissed. Still, a girl can dream.

Asthma, and dropping out of college

I may cave and find a way to beg a doctor for an inhaler.
Though, the only issue would be getting refills. Since I don't have insurance, most of my money goes towards my sleep aids and ADD meds.

For the past few days, I've been struggling to get my breath. It's making my head hurt behind my eyes, and I feel like there's shit in my lungs. Cough medicines and decongestants make me really sick, and don't do anything, so I've been resorting to steam baths and peppermint extract. If you rub it under your nose, on the roof of your mouth, and over your chest, it helps to reopen the airways and clear up some of the shit.
When I moved out on my own (before moving back in with my parents) I would go to the gym a lot, and smoked hookah. One day, during a checkup, I explained how it was hard to breathe, and they determined my love affair with meth had done permanent damage to my lungs, leaving me with asthma. Generally, deep breathing and the like takes care of it, but it's been rough, lately.
I think my body is trying to get sick.

Oh well.

If I can't afford the inhaler, there's not much I can do, is there?

I'm dropping my college class. I'm still in the personal training program, but I went and changed my major. Instead of Bio with an emphasis in Graduate Studies, I'm switching to Bio with an Emphasis in Applied Health and Kinesiology, and a minor in Psychology.
Meaning my one class, Calculus, is completely worthless, because all my electives are done.

The only BS classes I have left that I don't want to take? Health Chemistry I and II, and Physics. The rest are nutrition, exercise for obese and type 2 diabetics, movement science, anatomy and physiology...other such interesting things...

...and get this...

Eating Disorders.

That's one of the Psych classes.

My current major meant that once I got the degree, I could only get a job doing lab tech work, unless I went on to med school (or decided to pursue a career in microbiology...which...I can't stand the thought of sitting STILL all day). When I researched the satisfaction rate of trauma surgeons (especially pediatric trauma surgeons), I found they have a high instance of depression, suicide, extremely high rates for heart disease caused by stress, addiction to amphetamines (they do 24-32 hour shifts at work), and very poor quality of life ratings when it comes to personal relationships.

Whereas personal trainers? One of the highest job satisfaction ratings, with the highest health scores.
I can also make good money, if I have a degree and the right certifications.

I'm getting my minor in Psychology, because I have the strangest urge to do something truly ironic, and that is work with girls and boys in recovery. I think being where I am, and knowing what I know, I could help others get healthy, and relate to them in a way most trainers, or psychologists, couldn't. I want to work with people in recovery from ED's, drug addictions, and other mental disorders. I would also like to work with people with injuries, or who are high risk (extremely overweight or obese).
Maybe it's strange, but I feel like it would be good to help others make themselves right, just so they don't have to feel like they need to do it this way.

On another note, I was down to 129.8 the other day. Since I only slept three hours the other night, I know I gained. I also ate a LOT. Last night, I only slept five, but at least I know I'll have the energy to make it to the gym. I have to, if I want to get to my goal of at LEAST 128 (hopefully 127) by the end of the month.

Stay strong, loves.
Refuse, resist, restrict,
and remember - you are better than food. You are better than your cravings.

Monday, September 21, 2009


It's like falling.

Tremulous fingers press against a mirror, lips parted, wondering why everything around you looks so stationary when you can feel the earth cracking under your feet. Wondering why everything is sitting still when you know the ground is shaking, breaking, and crumbling apart.
Alice in the Rabbit hole.
Falling, falling, and you feel it,
but nothing else is moving.

Only you.
And only in your mind.

It's not the world that's shattering. It's your life.
Piece by piece. Chunk by chunk. The fall is not so long as it seems, it is just that so many bits of you are breaking off, that even though you feel the impact of one, you're still feeling that gut wrenching sensation of the rest. Never ending, no matter how many times you splatter.

Shards of your heart tink-tink-tinkling to the ground like glass - like slowly falling rain, the drops of it uneven, punctuated by moments of sheer...emptiness.
Fragments of your soul, roiling, rotting, dripping like acid, searing a trail of corrosion as it carves lazy paths down your skin. Every trickle of it marks you like a map of where you've been, turning unmarred consciousness to a battle worn and ugly grand canyon in your mind.

And parts of you. You. Your mind. Your sanity. Like a great weather-worn monument, its grandiose structure turned brittle by the cruel hands of time and disrepair and sheer neglect.
The slightest gust of wind makes inches strip as if it were just coatings of paper, baked under the sun, flickering away. Falling, flying. Falling. Flying.
You feel every part as it goes. You stay with every speck as it goes, and yet still stay trapped in you. A sensation that never ends - being so scattered and yet so stuck. Flying so free, and yet being so trapped.
Every smash to the unrelenting ground is felt, serving to emphasize the knowledge that you're not done breaking yet.

You're not dust.

You're not dead.

And even dust can be scattered by the wind.

Swirling. Tempestuous.

Will you be trapped by your fragments even then? Like some horror movie scene? Trapped by who you are? By who you are becoming? By everything you fear?
Forever flying and falling....brushed off bookshelves by oblivious mothers?
You are rendered silent in your slow degradation,
but when you are nothing but soot, will you finally have the will to scream, only to find that mites have no voice?

Fingers dig into the mirror. Every part that falls is too small to be seen, and try. Search for it. In the mounds of hated flesh that can be seen, and the imperfections it symbolizes underneath.

The impulsivity.
The lack of control.
The flaws in your personality.

You know its breaking.
You know you're breaking.

Will you continue to shatter?
Or will you gather the pieces?

Can we ever stop the effects of aging and weather?
Are we doomed to become nothing but dust?
Emotional, physical...mental....?

Will I ever get the courage needed to scream?
Will it ever feel okay to breathe again?


Black palm trees sway, they whisper to the purple sky
Close your eyes and feel the ghosts of Hollywood gone by
Still the dreamers come, still the dreams are left to die
Behind the lights a necropolis lies
-Tiger Army, "Atomic"

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Binge, Purge, Wash, Repeat day on Wednesday/Thursday (I'm uip all night, so my days blend XD) was...absolutely terrible. And I realized that I pushed myself too hard, too fast.

I had done 650-750 cals for about 2-3 days at that point. I was feeling shaky with hunger, and couldn't understand why. Because I hadn't been doing it long enough, and I was still eating.
Thursday morning, after the gym, I had a small amount to eat. So I took a full ambien in an attempt to get to sleep...then I wound up eating more.

And more.
And more.

I freaked. Drank two bottles of water, and then purged until my throat was raw.
I didn't weigh myself Thursday night. Stayed home from class for a second god damned day in a week because I was exhausted and depressed on Friday, meaning I can't turn in my homework, and I'm super behind (two missed consecutive days in Calculus? BAD NEWS) and I just...yeah... I realized that I cut back too much, too fast.

When I started out in April, I went from like...2000 kcals to like...1500, then to 1200, then 900, 800, 700, and finally bottomed out at 600. I did it SLOWLY. Or at least like...over the period of like...a week or two. Not in one day.

So I've gone from 700 cals to 1200. Or at least, that's my top limit. Today, I'm at about 850-900. I don't plan to eat any more.

I had gotten up to 134.6 after the week with my mom and her family. When I did the math, I realized I was over 2000 kcals a day while they were here. So I'm at only about 1200 right now. I'll drop down slowly, but after the gym today, I was at 131.6, which means that it's WORKING.

Slowly but surely, I'm dropping the weight I gained.

And I hope more than anything that I'll be down to at least 128 by the end of the month. I have been losing so slowly lately that I'm not sure if it'll happen. I don't want to think I will. I don't want to think I'll lose, because I don't want to be disappointed when I step on the scale and don't see it move. I'm just not even thinking that I'll lose weight anymore. Just...going to keep working. Going to keep pushing, because it's gotten to the point where restricting, and going to the gym, are the only things that are keeping me sane. Whenever I get depressed or get anxiety, I just...go run until and go at the weights until I feel like I'm either going to vomit or die.

Anyway, now I'm watching Gia and looking up pictures of Twiggy. It's helping to stave off another desire to binge.
Because I can't wait until I'm skinny. And even if I'm not tall enough to be a fashion model type, at least I can be pretty enough.

Stay strong, my boys and girls.


Friday, September 18, 2009

Sometimes, I hate compliments

Nobody ever felt the need to harp on about my weight when I was fat. And if they did, it was seen in bad taste, and I had lots of people to go, "What a dick" with me when I complained.

Now it seems like it's all people can talk about.

At first, it's nice to hear. I love hearing the " look so good!" remark. The gasp when people hear just how much I've lost, or the envious glint to their eyes. I like some of the attention I get from strangers when I go out. But it gets old. Because I wonder why they can't see what I see. The fat still hanging heavy on my legs on my arms. The swollen stomach. The hanging chin....

...but I can take the compliments, because that's what polite people do. They know how to take an insult, but they also know how to take a compliment. How to not deny it, or contradict it, but to instead smile and be gracious about it, no matter if you think it's accurate or not. It's CLASSY.
But then they ask how much more I want to lose.
"Oh...I don't know. A bit more."
"How much is a bit?"
"I was thinking 20, maybe 30 pounds?"
"...from WHERE?"

From where.

From they want me to lift up my clothing and show them my imperfections. Convince them. I don't know if they're being polite, or if they're being honest, but I don't care either way. I tell them, "Well, when you lose weight, you're supposed to have a very high goal, you know? Because the closer you get to your goal, research has shown that you slow down. So if your actual is aim is say...120, you want to shoot for 110. I'm not sure of the science behind it, but studies show overwhelmingly that it works."

And then they scoff. "You don't even need to lose any weight." And they go on about it. On and on and on. Talking about my weight. Complimenting my looks, scoffing at my's like such a backhanded sweetness.
Like saying, "You look wonderful, but you're stupid as fuck still." A way for people to tear you apart with the pretense of kindness. It makes me look at them and think of how bitter they are, or how much they don't LIKE the idea of me losing more, or of me being able to do what they can't. From women, it feels like they don't want me to lose it because they don't want me to be better than them. From they're trying to get me to approve of them more, you know?

The only person who I feel like their opinion was completely untainted was my brother.
He saw me, and kept saying that I looked good...but not just that I looked good...
"You should be so proud of yourself. I'm proud of you. I know how hard what you're doing is, because I've worked with people to help them, and you did it almost completely on your own. I'm so proud of you and how strong you are."

Untainted by the ED world. Yes, he said something about my weight, but it was more than that. He complimented my will. Complimented my strength. Someone else saw what I've been trying so hard to prove to myself.
When I eventually confided in him that I did want to lose about 30 more pounds, he held me at arms length and looked me up and down. Spun me around. And then he said,
"That would look so sexy." And looked at his fiancee and said, "My sister would be HOT. That's sort of disturbing. I mean, she is hot, but she would be SEXY." He looked back at me. "It'll be hard. When you get closer to it, those last ten or fifteen pounds can take longer than any of the others. You could get to a point where it might take a month to lose a pound, but that's because you'll be fighting against your body's own desire to stay at a certain weight. But if you keep up and stay as strong as you have been? You'll do it."

No judgment. Nothing. Approval. I realized how much I love brother in that moment. He has never judged me. Has never said I was doing the wrong thing with my life, unlike my sisters. He's supported every wild whim I've had, and never even flickered an eye when he found out I was gay (his only response was, "Just don't steal my god damn girlfriends,").

My Dad is like that, too, in a lot of ways. Not fully. Because he's my dad. A dad needs to judge, to knock you back into line. But yeah....

And my mom told me, when she was here, "You shouldn't call yourself fat in front of me. I'm bigger. How do you think that makes me feel?"

I looked her dead in the eyes and said, "My opinion of myself does not translate to my opinion of you. Just because I think my legs are ugly and my nose is huge doesn't mean I'm going to go around comparing my calves and nose to that of everyone else and look down on them depending on their nostril size or something. I don't like how my weight looks on me, and I don't like how it feels. That doesn't mean I see you the same way I see me. We're our own harshest critics. I think you're beautiful."

Suddenly because I'm losing weight, I'm supposed to be judgmental to everyone else around me or something. Just because I'm judgmental of myself....awesome.

Anyway...I'm back to restricting. Not well. Have to ease myself back into it or risk migraines/binging. Yesterday I was at 745 calories. Today I'm aiming for about 700 again. My goal, as before, is to get down to 600-650, because any lower, and the migraines kick in D:

I forgot how hunger feels like this. My moods are all out of wack. I'm so quick to get angry. I'm tired but not sleeping very well, and feel very reclusive.
But I feel better about myself.
I like it.
But it makes me miss my ex. The crazy abusive one. There was a lot of good about her before she truly, truly lost it. Like...when I needed to fight. She knew. She always knew things about me, and sometimes knew how to act. She would tell me, "'s okay to fight with me. I know you need to." And then that would mean that would scream at each other, and nothing we said would be held against the other or taken seriously. She would let me shout about nothing and everything, until I was too exhausted to do more than grab her and cuddle.
I don't miss her. I miss some things about her. But she's still a nutso whore and the reason I've sworn off sex, and relationships, for the past like...5 years XD
Crazy bitches.

Anyway, back to chugging energy drinks.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Beginning Again

I started a new pen and ink journal today. My old one felt like a chore everytime I opened it, and I had to recall what I had done.
This week, I gained 3-4lb's, depending on when I step on the scale. I knew it was going to happen, but it still hurts to see it. So I started a new pen and ink journal, because I felt like it was going to be so god damned hard to lose what I had already lost. So instead of thinking of getting back to where I was, I'm looking at this as starting again.
A new day 1.

A new beginning.

It's not so hard when you see it that way. Like pausing the treadmill halfway through a 4mile to grab some water so you don't collapse, and catch your breath. Stop for about a minute, and then when you start again, you feel almost as good as new.
Or at least I do.

But I wanted to share something I had written in it. I hope you girls (and boys) enjoy.


It will be hard [to get to 123 by Halloween], and I may not make it. Which will be okay. I have to try with all my power, though. I have to forgive myself my sins. I need to not let one ill breed a hundred more out of shame and self contempt, but let it instead inspire a stronger resolve and self control as I strive for my own redemption. I need to remember that even the greatest stumble, and even the most powerful have their moments when they, too, are weak. As the quote says: I will be strong, I will starve on. Find anything to focus on but the poison that is food.

I must love myself, but strictly.
I must love myself enough to be disciplined.
I must love myself enough to exhibit the true compassion that is "tough love".

When I eat, and binge, that is disrespecting my body and mind. It is equivalent to beating myself. I make myself fatter; I give in to the inner child that has no patience, and demands immediate gratification rather than long term results. I give in to the piece of me that wants, demands, and screams if it is denied - if I say no.

But I must love myself enough to do just that.

I am happier when I am thinner. And while food does provide momentary satisfaction, it leaves me miserable in the end.

Thin will secure my future as a trainer. It will equal money, security, independence, esteem, respect of my clients, an easier path to happiness, and more than anything, satisfaction and self respect. Many may say that physical appearances do not hold so much sway, and while this, in some cases, may be true, for me it is not. Without the layers of fat, I do not have the same masks of tightly woven insecurities, and people like me better when the flesh is stripped and I am more free to be myself.

But what is exponentially more important than their opinions is that I like me better when I am losing. When I am thin.

I must love myself enough to do this.
I must love myself to fight through the pain.
To never give up.
To never give in.
To become what I most desire.

I must love myself to be good enough.
To force myself to be strong enough to be worthy of my love.

This is my oath.
From today forward, I will love me.
With strength, and discipline, and control. I will love me with a hard hand and a forgiving acceptance.
With high expectations, and gentle patience.

I will love me enough to be hard on me,
and love me enough to forgive.

Just keep fighting on.


So that's the entry.
And now here's a few quotes for you guys that I thought of while writing this. The first one is probably my favorite, though the second is pretty close.

“There comes a time when you have to stand up and shout:
This is me damn it! I look the way I look, think the way I think, feel the way I feel, love the way I love! I am a whole complex package. Take me... or leave me. Accept me - or walk away! Do not try to make me feel like less of a person, just because I don't fit your idea of who I should be and don't try to change me to fit your mold. If I need to change, I alone will make that decision.
When you are strong enough to love yourself 100%, good and bad - you will be amazed at the opportunities that life presents you.” -Stacey Charter

"Be yourself, don't take anyone's shit, and never let them take you alive." - Gerard Way

And finally, a site you all should look at:
A great entry on xanga about strength and thinspo.
(link opens in new window)

Stay strong, girls. The race has yet to be won.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Reverse Thinspo Video

I love this song. And this video.

Hopefully I'll be able to update more later. I don't have a computer right now, so sorry for being quiet.

Stay strong, everyone. I have to not-restrict until tomorrow morning, because of family. But Wednesday the starving starts again. Good luck, my loves.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

My Weight is Symbolic

Mother's family is here.

I have been sick. Or my body is trying to get sick. Not sleeping well, constantly exhausted and overly emotional. I wound up nearly breaking down at the idea of seeing them after work, and being forced to go to breakfast. I had been at 131.6, and because I ate a bowl of cereal (half a serving) before bed, woke up at 133 on only 3 hours of sleep. I finally just told my mom I was going to bed early when I got home, and I'd see her in the later afternoon (I work overnights, so it's 2pm now, and I'm about to head out to see her).

My grandmother on my mom's side disowned me. Apparently for being gay.
Come to find out, one of my female cousins is not only dating a female, but a female who dreams of getting surgery to become a man.
And she's still welcome.

It's awesome favoritism.
My family on my mother's side is that one-step-above-trailer trash. Highly baptist, psuedo-liberal, super abusive, dellusional snakes. They say things about how wonderful everyone of them is, and yet, they steal from each other and know it, and half the thing they talk about never happened. I know, because I was there when some of these supposedly "Hilarious events" occurred, and they're all LIES. It's like a mass hallucination amongst them.
And I just have to keep reminding myself that I cannot expect them to be anything other than who they are. Don't hold them to the same standards I hold the people around me to, because they'll never meet them.

They're sad, broken little puppys who gave up and prefer their fantasy worlds to the hell that they created for themselves.

God I'm so happy my dad got custody.

Today, I have to go out with some of them. Luckily, my brother will be there. Doesn't make it any easier.
I just have to keep reminding myself to stay calm. And stay in control.
I realized that my need to restrict right now is natural. I'm so stressed over the whole lot of them getting here, that it can't really be helped but to desire to take control where I am. So I know they're all going to want to go out and gorge themselves. But I'll be good.
I'm going to restrict.
I'm going to refuse.
I'm going to resist.
Elegance is refusal.
Strength is knowing when to say no.

I'm not going to gain a damn pound from this encounter. I'm not going to get any fatter. I'll go through this, holding on to what matters most to me right now, which is my weight. It is not that it is the most important thing in the world, but it is symbolic. It is a sign that I am in control of these encounters - that even when I'm around the demons of my past that helped make my childhood hell, that I am no longer child, and I am free from them now.

After we go out, I'm going to wait for my mom to go to bed then head to the gym. Come back to my house, print out my study guide for math, sleep, and go see them again. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to go to the gym while they were here, but I realized that I can. Very easily. Because nothing says I have to stay at the hotel with them. This way, I can avoid eating out at every meal, and still get a breather and time to spend with my dog. Who is like...better than prozac when it comes to helping me chill.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

These Final Laps

It's strange when randomly it hits you - you're losing weight.

I remember when I started this in April. My highest weight, or at least the weight I started to psuedo-diet with in November of 2008, was 197. I had given up after only a short time due to pnuemonia, and other personal problems, and when I began again in April...when I started this blog...I was at 187.

One Hundred and Eighty-Seven pounds.

I would look in the mirror and not think I was too terrible, or too fat. Because I couldn't possibly be, could I? But still, I started to restrict more as a social experiment, I suppose. And it became an obsession. Quickly unhealthy, but quickly wonderful all at once.
And I realize that yes...yes I was that big...
My waist was larger than a man's size 38. I was wearing a woman's size 20.
I'm not even 5 feet tall.

When I reached 184, I remember thinking, "What I wouldn't give to have those last two numbers switched...."
"If I could get into the 140's, I might be okay."

Today, after the gym, I weighed in at 131.6. A new low. Lower than I remember being since I was in, maybe, Jr High. And I wore shorts into public. I had on shorts after the gym, and I walked into a grocery store to buy mouthwash, and vanilla-chai soy milk. And I wanted to pull my shirt over my legs and curl up, because i felt like everyone was staring, wondering what that fat girl was doing wearing that outfit....

...that outfit, which consists of a shirt that is now incredibly baggy, which I wasn't able to fit into back in April at all.
And shorts. That are literally less than half the size of what I used to wear.

Size 7's. From a size 20.
I don't ever remember being any smaller than 8.

I'm two pounds away from being in the 120's.

It's going slow. Yes. It's painfully slow. Hair pulling, ragingly, agonizingly slow. But it's going.
When I got into my car, wearing my shorts, I looked down expecting to see large thighs smashed together, with those pockets of cellulite.

Instead, I saw the bruises from running, and my knees touching, my legs slightly elevated, and a wonderful little gap between my thighs that I hope will one day be there when I'm standing.

I sit down on the edge of the tub waiting for the bath to fill, and look down at my naked body, and expect to see my stomach swelling out to cover my pelvis and weigh heavily on my thighs.

Instead, I see the tattoos I got when I was 18 right at the crook of where torso-meets-thighs, and while there is still a swell, it doesn't extend beyond my pelvic bone. It doesn't protrude so badly as it used to.

There's still a long way to go, and yet, in a way, it feels like when I run.

I'll be on the treadmill, and that first mile always is the easiest. I'm filled with that excitement of being back on it - of tackling another challenge. After the first, the second hits with more of a buzz, but partway through, the exhaustion begins to touch the back of my arms. My breath starts to shorten, my heart rate picks up. I feel like I'm going too fast but not fast enough at all.

Near the end of the second is when the pain starts. I wonder if maybe I should just shut off the treadmill, or slow down, but I don't. Because i have a goal. I have to get there.
Then I reach the homestretch after I hit mile 3. I know I'm almost there, but still so far. I push past that first lap...that second lap...that third....they're the most painful. So close, but so far to the finish. I contemplate stopping, but I know my goal is coming, and I'm nearing the end. And when I start on the fourth and final lap around the digital track of mile 3 and see that ticker nearing the 4 mile mark, I know I cannot stop. I speed it up, I push harder - I see the finish line. The final home stretch.
When I cross the line, I nearly collapse, but I take my time to cool off. Let the machine slowly notch me down despite wanting to stop early. I let my body regulate again until I can walk without feeling like I'm going to throw up. It flashes my distance. I've finished the fight. I've won.

I'm somewhere in mile 3 now. I have 28 more pounds to lose. I'm on my first lap of mile 3; the 120's will be lap 2; the 110's will be lap 3; and the quest to 103 will be my home stretch.

I know some people say it's hard to lose the weight, and it is. But it's also hard to run. I never did it before this. I never thought i could. But I learned that the trick isn't to stop when it gets tough - it's to keep going. To push through until you know you're going to die, and then to push a little more. Some of you girls - more than one - has said to me that I am your thinspiration because of how much I've lost, and what I've done, and you have no idea how much that means to me. Just how good I feel when I see that.
And I'm going to be worthy of those words.

I'm going to make all of you proud.

I'm going to push through this final mile of my weight loss until I reach my goal.

Will you run with me?

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

I pushed your buttons with my piggy sniffles

My cuticles drive me nuts.

I keep wanting to chew at them, but it does nothing but make it worse. Instead, I prod, and shove, and pick at them with my nails, trying to get them to give. When I have nail clippers, I always chop them until they're almost raw. I can't stand thick cuticles. I pluck too much.

I will not bite them. Watch me. See how I keep my mouth away from my hands?
Now if only I could keep my hands away from my hands, without wrapping my fingers in bandaids to stop me from tugging at the skin...

Meeting with my mom yesterday was strange but very good. Whoever thinks all cancer makes you lose weight is very silly. They put you on steroids, and you gain a lot. My mom is very down on herself because of her weight, and the fact that so much of her hair fell out. If I could afford it, I would buy her a wig.

She kept saying how skinny I was. I know I'm still in the overweight range, but it was nice. She prodded my stomach when my shirt rode up and goes, " have shaped abs"...and I said, "Of course I do. Round and floppy is a shape!"

She gave me a weird look. I thought it was a funny joke...


She also didn't think it was funny when I convinced some people in an elevator I had swine flu.

It was a group of six or seven, acting super obnoxious. They were moving about in a crowded space, talking, touching, even somewhat rough housing. Irritating the fuck out of me.
So I looked at my mom and said:
"You know, I think the doctor was wrong. I know he said to stay out of public for another week or so, but I really do think I'm over that swine flu thing."

Then I started coughing.

You have never seen such a stampede of people to get off the elevator at the wrong floor EVER.


She would start crying at random intervals. For no reason. She would hug me and say she never thought she'd see me again - that she thought she would die in that hospital room.

I know she thought that. She tried to hide it. I knew. We always knew how scared she was.
She didn't have to be quiet about it. I told her that. I told her we knew. That we wanted to be there for her. That she didn't need to conceal it.
She just smiled.

She said sometimes, your pride is all you have left.

Sometimes, even though other people know you suffer, you need to think they don't. You need to think you're protecting them. Because if you have to live to make sure they don't hurt...then you don't give up. It's easier to fight for your children, than to fight for yourself.
Easier to make yourself live for someone you love, when all you see when you look ahead is hell....
I played the song Beauty From Pain for her (the Superchick song)
She wants to play that song for the support group she's started up (she lives in a small town and the nearest one is four hours away).

I don't think I ever realized the meaning of the words until I saw her with a hand over her eyes, shoulders shaking.


It's hard to see someone you love falling apart.


It's easier to keep myself distant. To close my eyes.
To not feel the panic that wants to set in.
The helplessness.

I don't like that feeling.
I have to keep myself strong for her. Keep my chin up, and myself carefully contained until it's all safe again. And then, when we're on steady ground, and it's safe to feel?

Then I'll cry.

You can't steer a ship through a storm if you let your panic blind your eyes.
And you can't navigate out of a maze if you can't see through your tears.


We had to change rooms. They upgraded us because of an error in her hotel room.
The bell man was talking to us. He said one guy there stole a door when he left.
Another time, a guy called him up to clean something, and his wife walked out of the shower naked, with nothing but a towel over her head.

The bellman said, "She screamed, I screamed. She goes, 'You're looking at me!' and I yelled back, 'You're looking at ME!' and ran out. With the way that woman was, she should have paid me to have to see her naked."

Cue me walking into a hallway table from laughing so hard.


132.2 today. I lost, despite going out to breakfast with mom.

Restriction has a feel to it that I had forgotten.
It's a nice feel.

A cold feel.
A dizzy feel.

I like it.

I like the way my arms tingle.
I like the way my head swims. How my stomach clenches. How I feel floating or disconnected. It's a slow onset. Careful and easy, but I feel the difference even with how much I'm eating.
In my lips. I can feel my heart in my lips sometimes. They feel fuller. Sticky because of all the chapstick.



I have a crush on a girl in my math class.

I think I'm going to try and ask her out.

It's hard when you date girls. Because if she's prettier or skinnier, you're not competing with another're competing with her to make her think you're good enough.

The end.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Dance like an idiot

Somedays, restricting is easier than others.
I've done it for the past three days, I suppose.
I ate 700 calories on Saturday without meaning to (or something like that).
Yesterday, was about 700 as well.

It's still a lot, and I've been realizing how much 700 is. I told myself I wouldn't restrict again until my mom had come and gone, and yet here I am, on the second day of her being in town, obsessing over what I put in my mouth.

This is dangerous.

My brother is a personal trainer. My aunt is a drug addict. My uncle is too.
My grandmother on my mom's side despises me. My cousins dislike me. Another aunt, I've met so rarely in my life I don't even remember her name.
It's strange.

None of us like each other.
But we're gathering.

For my mom.

She's in recovery from leukemia. It was the biggest scare ever, and I really can't wait to see her. But at the same time, I can't wait for this to be over with. It's a huge stress, and if I could, I'd fast forward through it all. Yes, I want to spend time with her. Yes, I want to make her happy. Yes, I miss her. But you guys understand, right?
It's hard to things sometimes. To face things.

You get scared, and anxious, and you have no idea why.

You want something, but at the same time, you can't bring yourself to do it.
The anxiety just builds and builds....

I dislike change.
I dislike many things.
I need to change.
I need to do a lot of things.
We all have to grow up one day.

The process just sucks.

Weight loss stuck. 132.6. I'm happy, but it doesn't feel like enough. I'm afraid of being stuck here all month.

I want the 120's.
I want to be out of this number range already.
I'm grateful and happy for every pound I lose, but on the same note, I'm frustrated with how long it takes. The happiness fades so quickly for a new resolve that feels like it's wearing on me.
I just need to restrict. To make the scale move. To starve.
If I can...when I get the chance, I can do a hard restriction, and I know I can lose 10 pounds in a fairly short amount of time. Then I can slowly up my in take again, and then restrict again, and then up it slowly....

...I want to lose 10-12 pounds. I want to try and lose that quick through restricting.
Because if I do, then I'll be in the low 120's, which is in my healthy range.
I'll feel more like I've accomplished something. I think in my mid to low teens, I'll finally start to feel like a regular person, and not this fat blob.

Fo fum, ho hum.
Oh well and all that good stuff.

Back to studying for me.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

My Boyfriend named Concrete

I've started trying to run the full 5k everytime I'm on the treadmill at the gym. And I tend to gravitate to the treadmill everytime I'm at the gym. I know you need to change things up, so today I decided to still run, but instead of doing the 3.25 miles or what have you, I decided to increase my speed and see if I could run a mile at 5.5 instead of 4.5mph (I'm still very slow, I know). I managed to get to the full mile, then increased it to 6.5 for another two laps. Spent a while cooling off, then did the stair climber for thirty minutes. Some ab work outs, leg work outs, and when I went onto the pull up assist machine, I set it for an assistance of 70lbs (my weak ass can't do a full pull up yet XD) and then I grasped on....


....felt the burn radiating along my arms. Shooting like it should, but something more...something vision sparked. I lowered down...

...back up....

....everything went black.

Luckily it wasn't a full out "oh, hello floor, let me give you a giant hug!" fainting spell style black out. It was more of a "Wow, the world really does move! Hey...wait...where'd my eyes go?" sort of black out, where I managed to have the presence of mind to drop the chin up bars above my head and grab onto the support beams at the side of it before I collapsed. I kept myself upright long enough for my vision to return to normal, slowly stepped off, and proceeded to introduce my ass to the floor and promptly discovered that I have a greatly reduced amount of butt-fat, because it hurt far more than it used to heavily sit down. I think my tailbone cracked.

Anyway, I'd rather have a bruised tailbone than a public makeout session with dirty concrete.

I didn't feel like I pushed myself that hard. I wasn't there for a full two hours, but I know I did push myself harder than usual, because normally, I'm not so SWEATY. But I was absolutely soaked. It felt good, but I think I didn't eat enough complex carbs or something, because when my head cleared enough to walk, I recognized that cold-hand-and-feet feeling that comes from low blood sugar.


Paid off, though.
I got home from the gym and weighed myself.
I was at 132.6. New low. Let's just hope it holds through till morning *Fingers crossed*


And...I don't know.
Try not to have any random love affairs with flooring, yeah?

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Hunger hurts but reading works--?

I've read two books this week. Meaning I've slacked at school, badly. But I noticed when I read, I don't get hungry. Or I do, but I don't stop to eat, because it's such a...far off thought compared to the book.

I have a lot of novels on my bookshelf I haven't touched, simply because I haven't had time or lost interest. There was one I picked up the other day, just by way of trying to entertain myself, and wound up reading it in one night. Then I re-read Sherrilyn Kenyon's book, Night Play, which is amazing until the last few pages, and those made me facepalm. Now that I've actually progressed to JR Ward, I realize that Kenyon's writing style isn't the most...amazing. But her characters are still brilliant.

Yesterday I ate. A lot. I went from 133.8 to 134.8. It wasn't a gym day, though, and I sort of expected to gain back the pound, because I had done a serious work out that I could feel when I reached that 133 mark that it wasn't permanent. That my body was fighting it and would rebound and I'd regret it later. But my average weight is down, which is what I needed. Slowly but surely, I'm losing.

It doesn't matter how slow you go, so long as you just don't stop.


I forgot to change out of my pajamas before work.

Under my uniform, I'm wearing my pajama shorts and a wife beater. I have special undershirts for bed, and special undershirts for work. Work ones are tighter than bed ones, but at least they're both white. And who am I to complain? At least I'm at work, and nobody can see that I didn't get dressed right XD And I have on a bra. no bra would be bad.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Us of Lesser Gods

4 miles.
It's a lot longer than you think it would be, yeah?

I got onto the treadmill yesterday with the intent of running, but didn't think I'd run THAT much. I managed to find a way to move that didn't kill my leg, and then I just rolled with it. I pushed past the point where I started to feel queasy, because I wasn't at the full 2 mile point yet. As soon as that happened, I realized I didn't feel winded or anything. Like I could just keep going. So I did. Straight through to 3.5 miles. I stopped because I started to dry heave, and wound up making my way around the track trying to chill out. Cold chills like you wouldn't believe...severe stomach cramps. I finally dragged myself home, where I tried to have some water and promptly started to gag. I couldn't eat anything. All together, with the cool down around the track, i did over 4 miles, not including the other ellipticals I had done before my run.

It paid off, though. 133.8 this morning, which is a new low, and a great way to start off september. I've been starving all day, though, and it's hard for me to not just...start inhaling anything that comes my way. I even did a terrible thing and bought some mini donuts from the vending machine. Ate two, and then chewed and spit the third. There's three more left in the package. I'm keeping them stashed in case I have another weak moment. it's better to have one then to break and uncontrollably eat a whole fucking package.

I feel like my body is in shock or something. Starving but refusing food. I'm thirsty and hungry like no other. But it's all good.

I don't think it helped that I found a website on Skinny Love's blog called "This is why you're fat". I think I got to the hurler burger before I DID hurl. EEW.

Never knew food could be it's own reverse thinspo!