Empty.

I'm not gone.

Just trying to relearn what it means to breathe again.

I keep demanding of myself "Where has my self control gone? When do I get to take it back?"
And I think this as I make food to eat when I don't need it - not even meals like normal people, but snacks and things to eat when I'm not hungry. And I hear that voice in the back of my head saying, "NOW. Now is when you take it back."
And then I ignore it.

And eat anyway.

That voice has gone so quiet. I wish I could go back to that triggering moment when I went "I can do this now" and just...stopped eating.

Anyway. Doctor thinks it's all PMDD. I've been depressed. Like...can't get out of bed, depressed. Can't move, depressed. Can't breathe, depressed. Where I feel physically ill and always cold. They think that's why I've been sick so long - because I'm not happy. Doc says it has to do with my period, and just gave me a higher dose of Adderall.

Whatever.

My head feels blank.

But at least I'm not hungry anymore.





Maybe I'm depressed because I'm eating.
I keep thinking, "I'll stop when I'm not sad anymore. I just need this to get through the day."
And I eat.
And I feel depressed, and sick from the food. And I think, "I should purge", but I don't. And I regret not purging. I regret the initial act of eating.

Maybe the key to getting control of my emotions is getting control, again, of what goes in my mouth.





This weekend, I'm throwing out all my food. Everything that's higher than 200 cals per serving. I'm cutting down to having at the MOST 1000 calories a day, with a goal of 800 calories a day by the end of the week. From there, I'll start up a schedule of how many calories I'm allowed in a single week, so if I fuck up one day, it won't feel like a complete failure, and I can make it up to myself for the other days.

I'm going to start aiming for a tops of 700, with a goal of 600 again.
I'm not touching the scale for another 2 weeks, until I get myself under control. Until I can get my life under control. The numbers cannot guide me right now.
I just have to stay strong.
No...not stay strong. I'm not strong right now.
I have to make myself strong again.

My legs feel weak and weary, made lead by weakness and the fat left in the wake of that temporary satisfaction known as food. Despite the heaviness of them, I have to stand and I have to move. There is no other way to fight the devil in my head unless I starve it out.



I will take away the fat it feasts on, and leave the purity of my bones to see my value by.
Because I don't know any other way.