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Friday, April 30, 2010

As you were.

I thought,
"I'm going to black out. Here, in the middle of traffic, at 70mph, with a semi on one side, two loaded pick ups in front of me, and a line of cars on the other side, and even more behind me...I'm gonna black out. Or I'm going to get cut off, and my response time won't work. Oh fuck me...."

...I didn't, obviously.
But it's the second time in as many days that I've felt it. That...sensation...where you've eaten too much to faint...but not enough to feel right. You're on that brink. odd. It's not like I've eaten that little.
I'm not sure what my calorie intake was yesterday, but I had a minibinge before bed. I think I got up to about 1000 or 1100. And since I'm not working out, that's disgusting.
My aim is 900, because that tends to be the range when...well...I can avoid binging, get results, and still maintain some sort of nutritional levels. Plus, it gives me a greater option to vary my different foods, while taking away some of the anxiety of that choice. It's hard to explain. (I get panicked by having to make food choices sometimes....)

900, albeit still under requirements, is typically high enough to avoid such sensations as this, as during my whole 600 calories for 6 months thing, I never passed out unless I was physically ill or there was some other sort of external motivator (read: infection wherein I was caught by old lady a few posts back--yaaaaay humiliation!).
I think the cause now is that I'm trying those Mega-T Green Tea pills.

Oh, they work fantastic...if you take them on an empty stomach.

Lemme tell you...nausea? Best. Appetite. Killer. Ever.

My whole body aches from them.
I wound up at a stop light, literally writhing. Clutching at my skin. Rubbing my arms. Pulling my hair. My face felt twisted up, the muscles between my shoulder blades were knotted, my neck was tight.... It's the strangest thing, and I felt like that before I took it, but it just...exacerbated it. I think...I had forgotten what this hungry sensation was like. Not the in-the-stomach hungry. But the body-screaming, muscles-aching-and-clenching, brain-groggy hunger that happens after your belly has growled so much that its lost its voice and gone silent.

My world spins as I sit here.
My neck aches.

But I don't want food.

I reached a new high.
Not really.
But new high for this time period.
131.6lbs. Talk about near breakdown.
I slammed the breaks on the food.

128.4 this morning.

This feeling is something I had forgotten. Something I'm more sensitive to. It was easier when I started, because I didn't know what this feeling meant or how it could be relieved. Now that I know its hunger, and that food can make me feel better, it's like there's the whole mental thing going on. That whole psychological side of it trying to draw out what's left of reason saying, "Just have something, anything. Just EAT."
But reason replies very calmly, "...and then you won't stop."

I got turned down on a loan for the treatment center.
I think that's what pushed me back into starvation.
I had been banking on help.
Banking on something.
I thought they could show me how to eat without going full out COED.
But then I got the call... "The best we can do is defer payments until after treatment, and then you'd be charged $637/month for three years...."

....I think a huge part of me--fuck that, who am I kidding? A majority of me--was incredibly relieved. It meant I didn't need to go back there, where people I didn't know would pry into my mind, control what I ate, and force change. Change is terrifying. I could return to my security. To my control. I could go back to changing the rest of my life outside of me and be okay with it while I held tight to the familiarity and security of this sweet, succulent, swirling emptiness--this miasma of sensation, starvation, and ultimate salvation--and be safe from the prying eyes of others, and the questions of "Why are you going to so often to therapy?"
The disease is more readily hidden than the cure.

...the rest of me--the minority, the non-majority, the part that had driven me to make that call to begin with--wasn't disappointed. Wasn't angry. Wasn't stressed.
The rest of me was just...defeated.
Utterly defeated.

I feel like part of me has died.
Like I'm nearing some strange rock bottom of emotion.
Sometimes I'm in control, guiding my way along the currents of this hellish tornado that is my life and mind, and other times...other times I'm being thrown around, grasping to find that current to carry me smoothly once again....

There is nothing glamorous or beautiful about this.
I never thought I'd so relate to the words, "If I eat one thing, I'll eat everything, so I just eat nothing at all" until that day I was told, "We won't touch you if you're broke. You're not good enough for help if you don't have money."

I've always been told that.
Que sera, sera, I suppose.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Double Standards

Is it sad that I'm so baffled by this quest for perfection in others?
I think this whole journey has led me to have a strange appreciation for the natural.
I imagine finding a woman and falling in love (to those of you who haven't followed me through the turmoil, my preferences tend to classify me as "lesbian", though I am open to the idea of falling in love with a man...women are so much more attractive to me). I imagine what she'd look like--and she's not skinny. Not by any of the modern accepted means. I imagine a size 14 or 16, maybe an 8 or 12. Soft stomach, soft legs, full breasts, and long hair. I think of how she'd feel in my arms, without a hint of bone, and imagine how she'd look with a smile on her face, or a flutter of insecurity at her own appearance before I convince her with every touch and kiss that she's perfect just the way she is.
That she shouldn't change.
That she shouldn't ever try to change, because her body is perfect to me.

I want to see her happy.
I imagine as we get older together, the way her face will alter. The wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, the slight thinning of the lips. I wonder if her fingers will become rough on the palms from work, or if she'll take up knitting or something that seems, as of now, like a ridiculous pursuit by older women. Crosswords, sudoku, or water aerobics at the rec center. I picture myself carefully massaging her hands when age begins to make them ache, or laughing at the wrinkle creams she brings home and telling her that I wish she wouldn't bother--every line on her face is there as a sign of the life she lived, and I'd like to think I had a hand in putting them there, especially the laugh lines.
I picture her in her forties, early fifties. Her hair is starting to gray, and I become obsessed with running my fingers through it. Even now, the thought of it makes me feel delighted--of aging with someone. Of seeing someone I love remain natural, confident, and beautiful.
I imagine older. Seventies. Eighties.
There's walkers. Perhaps an assisted living facility. She's got the face of a grandmother now, and so do I, and I love every inch of her just as much as I loved her in our youth.
I can see how she'd scoff and shake her head as I whisper to her the truth, "You've grown more beautiful every day that I've loved you..."

I see women who are older. Women who are young and fuller.
They want to change themselves. Botox, plastic surgery, starving, diets, constant self hatred...
...I want to tell them to stop.
I smile sadly because they won't believe me if I tell them, "Do you realize how perfect you are right now? How beautiful you are?"
If they loved themselves a little more, focused on being healthy a little more,
they'd stop suffering.
They'd learn what it meant to be healthy, rather than skinny.
They'd change the face of media.
You can't force the marketers to do it.
It's an internal thing.
They won't change their adverts until we change ourselves.
And we won't change ourselves, until we love ourselves.

I imagine being with a woman who is beautiful, and soft.
A woman who is...everything I'm not. Everything I don't want to be.
I want to be skinny.
I want to have plastic surgery on my chest.
I worry now about wrinkles. 23 years old and I obssess about grays.
I wonder why it is that I find in others beauty, when in myself, I see a monster....?

Perhaps because I cannot see me.
So it makes others all the more clear.

Who knows.

Saturday, April 24, 2010


He looked at me.
More than just out of my league.
Muscles. Attractive. Smooth voice. Deep tone. Fit as could be, muscles in his stomach shaped out of stone.
He smiled.
Looked away.
I did too...
...then caught his eyes on me again, staring with appreciation.
But my stomach felt fat.
So I wrapped my arms around it. Smiled back, as convincingly as I could, wanting his attention, wanting to be seen by him as someone worthy of attention...but then I realized that hiding my stomach made my arms smash against my sides, and my arms looked fat.
So I let it go. Sucked in my stomach. Put my hands on my lower back.
But then I realized my shoulders looked fat.

So I put on my sweater. Glanced in the full length mirror...
...and realized it made my legs look big.

So I hid.

I ran away.
And I hid.
He was still looking after my arms had been fat. And my legs had been fat.
But I didn't want him to see me anymore.
I couldn't think of anything attractive for him to look at.

I can't run.
My leg is too screwed up.
I can't exercise.
Not real cardio.
I feel helpless.
Unable to feed my addiction.
Unable to change it.

I keep binging at night.
If I could stop that, things would better. I would lose the weight.
Just have to stop the night binging.

I can starve all day, but before bed, I break.
Always break.
No more.
One day,
one day,
I'll have something worth looking at.
And I won't need to hide when someone looks at me.

Friday, April 23, 2010

And then there were puns.

As I tell clients,
things like food journals, calorie counting, etc., only work for so long. They are fantastic initial tools in the journey of weight loss, but eventually, they lose their motivating factor. After you see certain results, that side of you that says, "Okay...okay, can we stop now?" starts to overwhelm you, and the things that once held so much weight, stop.

It's like stepping outside in the sunlight. At first you squint. And then your eyes adjust. As it is with food journals, and every other method of motivation. Eventually, it loses it's drive.

As has happened with my motivating factors.

So I'm trying a new one.
If you have one, follow me. You need to request to follow (and I have to approve) in order to see any posts. You can find me at

(Though the most potent thinspiration ever? Zoe Saldana on The Daily Show. When she had her arms dropped at her sides, there was space between them and her torso. Like she'd have to squeeze them to brush her own hips. She was that narrow. And the outfit she wore? Made her look so long and lean, and highlights that you could see the indintation shadow and hint of ribs above her breasts, and how hollow her collarbone was. Freaking. Amazing.)

I used to not understand how some girls on here just never seemed to move.
They were so close to their goal weight. So close, and they would make progress, then fall back, and I kept thinking, "You can do it! YOU CAN!" And now I'm one of them.
And I wasn't judgmental before. I just couldn't comprehend how the goal could be so close in sight (ten, twenty, thirty pounds) and for the engine to putter out, when I was struggling to lose sixty or seventy. I envied them, and wished I was that close, so I could just get there faster, because every pound would count so much more, and I thought, "When I get that close to the finish line, fuck me, but I'll push if it kills me. I know they can do it, and I know I can do it." I was so afraid of falling into the trap of struggling with the same ten pounds.
I vowed, vowed, I would not let myself struggle like that, and not stop until I was there, at the 103 mark, and not spend over two months fighting with the same few pounds.

...See PrettyWreck.
...See PrettyWreck eat her own words.
Eat them, PrettyWreck. Eat them.

I am so off target for this month.

Screw me sideways, yo.

So I blew out my knee, and as a result of gimping, the knee is feeling better, but I was walking cockeyed on my ankle, and now that's fucked. Hoo-rah. Giving it a rest for most of the week until bootcamp. My new boss at the Gym--Let's call him Harry Potter, because he looks like Harry Potter, know...more buff, and less forehead-ornamentation--is going to take me on for free as one of his clients.

He promises to make it hurt.

I like it when it hurts (SOUNDS LIKE MY FIRST TIME! SHAZAAM!).

But yeah, he's going to train me and stuff, so I'm excited!~

Uhhhm...after that...hmm...
..I have an anatomy and physiology coloring book.
Great fun.

The end!

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Shout Out to All My Dropouts!

Let's hear it for the high school kids that never graduated! The college kids that ran out of funds!

I am amongst you.

Yes. You read that right.
I never graduated high school. Not true, formal high school. I was kicked out the last semester of my senior year. I then went to an adult education program, and tested out of my final few credits, and graduated from there. I have a high school diploma from an adult education facility.

Now, I am dropping out of college.
Why, you ask? PrettyWreck, why would you ruin your dreams?

My parents are broke.
I'm broke.
They cut the program at the current school I go to. The only other is at a bigger university that's three times as expensive per credit hour.

I have no scholarships.
I apply, and apply.
Also for federal grants.
No dice.

Now my parents just told me that our finances are worse than they realized.
I owe upwards of $5k on medical bills. I have $75/month I'm paying to one hospital, and another, chances are, I'll have to pay $100/month to it.
My bills are currently about $1000/month. I make $1200/month. Now I just got told that I"m going to have to start paying $200/month in rent.

Goodbye dreams of higher education.
Goodbye chances of true financial independence.

My grades aren't high enough for scholarships.
I'm not smart enough, really. Well...that's a lie.
I don't care enough, really. I can't make myself care.
Not enough to pull up my grades.

So I'm switching. I'm two classes off from an associates degree, which I think I"m going to do. I'm going to try and pull out a loan to get this certification that'll certify me in nutrition, and post rehabilitative exercise therapy, as well as give me a third personal trainer cert. That'll knock up my pay range at my current job. I'm going to stay at current trainer job for only the few months I need to get experience, and then I'm bouncing out to a more prestigious gym where I can be a private contractor, take private clients, and train them for twice as much. In the meantime, while I save up, I'm going to quit my security job, and become a waitress, since apparently, you can get up to $150-$200 a night in tips. If I work 6 hours at minimum wage of $7.55, and make only $80 in tips, then after taxes, I'd be making about $120/night. If I can do this 5 nights a week, that's $610 a week, or basically twice what I'm making now. So I'd really only need to make $40-$50 in tips at 6 hours a week. I'll need to talk to a few people who I know that do waitressing, but you know what?
I'd be on my feet.
Flexible hours.
I'd be moving. Walking. Active.
Earning more money.
Have more time to spend at the gym.

Sounds like a good fucking plan to me.
And a way to pass the time while I save up to either pay up front for this new certification, or else find a way to eventually go back to school full time and finish it off.

Let's hear it for the fuckups, my friends.
Let's hear it for us failures.
We're given everything at birth, and somehow, we lose it all, and have no idea what happened.

Damn it.

Friday, April 16, 2010


Post-gym: 125.2.

Yeah, my weight fluctuations are probably a combination of muscle gain, water gain, and also, the most ever fantastic fact that I seem to forget every month--I ALWAYS plateau and gain about 10 days before the girl-time. Yuck.

Ran 3.1 miles, 35 minutes (bad time, but that's including warm up and cool down), burning off 289.5 calories
Stairclimber: 13:03 minutes, 160 calories
Sationary bike: 7 minutes, 62 calories
Elliptical: 8 minutes, 89 calories

Total time: 1 hour, 3 minutes, 3 seconds (01:03:03)
Total calories: 600.5

That little .5 is so unholy....I wanted to hit the treadmill when my time ran out at 289.5 calories. It wouldn't let me increase time to get to a nice whole number. Nope. Decided to screw me, instead. I hate 5's. I don't know why. On my grades, a 92% (for exams) is like...a C. A 98% is okay. A 100% is...irritating, for some reason (since we normally have extra credit, and 100 is indicative of fucking up and not being completely perfect, only false perfection). And 95% is like...mediocre. Like, either I should have studied harder, or just not studied at all. It's somewhere in the middle, and the number makes me insane.

I keep watching documentaries about people with AN and other ED's. I see the symptoms listed out, and I'm like, "Oh, I can't REALLY have anything wrong. I don't (do the same exercise every day; have anxiety attacks when not able to do said exercise; have a rigid number of steps I have to count up to; have to eat the same thing every day; wear clothing too big for me; am a neat freak; have perfectionist tendencies; etc., etc. etc.,)." Now, before you correct the perfectionism, let me just say this--my room is messy, I don't particularly care if it's in a certain order or not, and only my exams face the wrath of my need for absolute perfection. My grades are always mediocre, and I can't seem to turn things in, and I'm not really a high achiever.

Therefor, I don't really have any disorder at all.


Isn't it ironic how the same shows trying villanize this quest for perfection and the "improper pressure placed on girls" does the same thing by invalidating less extreme versions of the disorder, and only showing the most shocking?
"Anorexics are all like this...." Because, of course, no girl with an eating disorder has a proper BMI, suffers from COED phases, can't organize their life, has ADD and severe issues with managing to clean, feels overwhelmed by mess, can't bring themselves to be a high achiever, and maybe may not really be that academically brilliant/need to prove themselves in their grades/need to show their perfection in the form of their schoolwork and-or regular work. Of course, we all need to be compartmentalized, and anyone who doesn't match that category? Well, they're simply not good enough to worry about.

No one cares about the fat girl who hasn't eaten in two weeks beyond lemons.
It's just a fad diet.
She can't be suffering.
Let's film the skinniest of the skinny, instead, and act like nobody will take you seriously and listen to you when you say you're screaming and dying inside, until they can see you decomposing before their eyes....

...awesome. I totally approve. (Or not. Obviously.)


On another note, I got an 83% on my last exam.
It was harder than the others.
Now I'm going to have to nail my final, and my next homework assignment, to get above a B for that class.
Fucking GPA's. Because a 3.2 cumulative is bad enough, but I refuse to keep my GPA for that school at 2.9. I die inside.

And obviously, I can't have a food-related disorder. My grades are too low.


("Hey, is PrettyWreck anorexic?" "Oh, no, she got a C on her last quiz." " she's just compensating?" "Pretty much.")

Wow. Migraines make me cranky pants.

I'm gonna stop cranky-facing at all of you now, sit here with massive amounts of excedrin, and wait for my shift to end.
And also continue reading this really, really bad romance novel. Because after my suck of an exam yesterday, I could use it.

(Also, I think I strained my neck not through excercise alone, but also from chucking my textbook so hard across my room that I shook the wall. I really need to focus on my posture and form before throwing things in a rage for any distance. Not only would it improve the general strength of the pitch, but it would most likely increase satisfaction, and decrease self-inflicted negative side


Stay strong, my underachieving, nondisordered, food experimentors. May the power of wrongful perception work only to your benefit.
*Insert strange vulcan hand gesture here...and disregard my geekiness showing itself in the form of Star Trek references.*

Thursday, April 15, 2010

I want to collapse.
128.2 this morning.
After running for four miles or more on Tuesday (working out once in the morning, once at night, plus, doing EXTRA cardio/weights on top of that), doing a 30 minute go on a stairclimber at a high rate of pace on Wednesday, and yeah...granted, I did eat last night. Way too much. I had a bowl of cereal, then I had a big orange, a steak and cheese quesadilla from El Pollo Choke-It, and then a serving of orange ruffy, brocolli and cheese, 1 1/2 slices of white bread with butter, and three cookies. And a chocolate bare. wonder I went from 125.4 to 128.2. Jeebus.

I have an exam today.
I'm hoping to take it before I get off work. I want to work out a little before bed.

Also, I have discovered something called a bodybugg. All the other trainers at my gym have one, and it monitors your calories burned (via body temp, heart rate, age, weight, etc.), calories consumed, steps taken, and oxygen consumption (I believe). You set a goal for how many calories to burn in a day, and it beeps when you reach it. It also does the same for steps. You have to TELL IT what you eat, and it puts it into an online database, accessible for a monthly subscription fee. I think I want it only for the calories burned/pedometer/goal thing, because I wouldn't want anyone to see what I eat. That scares the living hell out of me.
But I've been twitchy. If I could just know how much I burn in a day, then I could perfectly tailor my consumption. A lot of the reviews I've been looking at it say it's pretty spot on, but some of the trainers aren't too excited about it, while others swear by it. I might ask my boss if I can hijack his for a week just to see, and maybe then decide. The thing costs upwards of $300 after taxes, so yeah. Maybe I can convince someone to buy it for me....hmmm XD

It's between that, and a netbook, since I'm tired of lugging around my laptop everywhere.
Choices, choices...I can't afford either, really.
But the BodyBugg will be more useful and conducive to not being a fatass.

I'll see if I can get my boss to let me borrow it and tell all of you about it then.

No pictures. I'm not on my home computer, but the work one, so I can't really do anything about it. Can't bring my big laptop to work anymore, since it's not very easy to hide, and the battery and cord are close to kicking it. Hohum.

Stay strong, girlies.
Wish me luck.
And hope this up in weight isn't actual gain, but just a fluke of water weight and grossness.


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

I've lost the definition for living.

I'm stuck somewhere
in a silent scream.
Up so high that I
can't even feel
the crumbling of my insides.
Arms and legs and limbs are all numb from
pressure-related shock.
Staring at the sky I cannot see
the quick approach of the ground.

You can grasp at vines but it doesn't help
when they're attached to nothing.

Shut down emotions.
The world is falling apart, but it's okay.
If the ground falls out from under me
it means I won't make impact.

I breathe.
A tangled mess inside my head.
Untying the knots only leads to more complications
--you're not supposed to use scissors to slice it open.

Absolute peace comes from absolute certainty of what tomorrow brings.
No wonder man holds so fastidiously to his wars.

126.8 before gym today. 124.8 after.
I purchased $127 worth of gym equipment (Dyna-X pad, perfect push up device, yoga mat, and medicine ball) for $27. New job isn't as wonderful as I thought it would be in pay, but I'll get the experience I need to start up my own business, and the side benefits--free gym membership, free classes, trainers willing to teach me everything they know, and discounts to other certifications, plus $400/month or thereabouts if I meet my MINIMUM on training requirements (which means I'll only be getting paid $10/session rather than the $40/session I'd be charging independently)--isn't too bad. Granted, the pay is absolute shit, especially considering I'll be making less there than I am at my current job, but I'm going to just use it as a study experience, with some extra cash, and keep it as a side job, just to learn the ropes.

Ran myself sick before other job. There is now Job S, and Job T. Job S is main job, Job T is the side/trainer/part time job. Ran myself sick before Job S. Now I'm sitting here, holding my stomach, wanting to nap, and thinking about how I'm going to use the bike at the private gym at the school after work to burn off an extra 100 or so calories.

I've decided on my new calorie amounts.
Best way to calculate calories:
Divide your weight by 2.2 (to convert lb to kg) then times the answer by 30.
So for me,
56.72kg x 30kcal = 1701.81 kcal
That's approximately what I need to maintain my weight when I'm not regularly active (regular activity boosts your resting metabolism). I got this equation from a doctor out here who specializes with that stuff, and he says that calculation tends to be the most right on to what the results are from actually doing clinical scientific measurements of metabolism.

So I need about 1701.81 kcal to maintain, when I don't have regular exercise. That means if I eat 600 cals, then I'm at 1100 calorie deficit. I want around a 1000 calorie deficit a day, so aiming for 600 gives me leeway.

The most calories I can eat without exercise is 600-700.
With exercise, I then can eat whatever I've burned.
Meaning, today, I burned 330 calories before work. It was a light work out.
That means I have 600+330=930.
Meaning my new maximum is 930 calories.
This will continue to provide nutrition and energy to my metabolism, while messing around with my intake to keep it burning, and still providing me with a 1100 calorie deficit daily, landing me at burning an average of 7700 calories weekly, or, 2.2lb's.
I want to always aim to be under my maximum, and try not to exceed 1100 calories. I figure this way, I'll be able to make up for extreme loss during some of my work outs, and since I have to work out with other people a lot now, such as other trainers, it will hopefully prevent my normal paleness/dizziness/etc. that comes with extreme work outs, and help hide my disorder a little better.

Because it hit me that I work with people who specialize in this now.
And while exercise addiction is the norm,
so, too, is a very serious awareness of eating, and a very careful and watchful eye kept on everyone, since they have to do it with their clients. So they're more attuned to these behaviors, and if I run the risk of being caught by anyone...well....

Oh well.
I like a challenge ♥

Monday, April 12, 2010

I am he as you are me and we are all together

I'm not a cog.
I'm not a wheel to the coorporate machine.
I'm not a thinspiration. I'm not an anorexic. I'm not a lesbian. I'm not a woman.
I'm not an employee.
I'm not an eating disordered individual.
I'm not a tool to be used or a peon to climb up someone else's ladder.

I'm not an individual in the bigger scheme of things.
I'm not a human.
I'm not white.
I'm not fat.
I'm not thin.
I'm not anything you label me as.

I am me.
What am I?
I am powerful.
I am a person with a vision.
I am what I am now, but I am becoming what I will be.
I will be powerful,
I will be strength
I will use this fire, this passion, this force burning inside of me. I will use this heat to pull apart the mechanics of this world and I will change it. This flame will shape me, and by proxy, shape the fucking world.
I am the engineer of my reality.
I am the controller of my destiny.

I am more than food.
I am more than weight.
I am more than wages.
I am more than education.

I am power.
I am a piece of God. A piece of divinity. I am not unique. I am what we all are--temples in our own right. Bundles of energy and atoms and molecules that are eternal and powerful, and able to do anything in the grand society, and yet we sit here closed in on ourselves, forgetting who we are. Forgetting that strength of our very souls--that power that we knew as children.
We ask advice from people who we see as wise, even though we don't want to wind up where they are.

REMEMBER being a child.
REMEMBER before we understood words, when all that mattered was what we saw. FOLLOW only the examples you see and admire. FOLLOW only the instincts inside of you--those same instincts that told you to ROLL onto your stomach when you were an infant. That told you to PUSH UP ONTO YOUR KNEES, that finally screamed RUN, RUN, GET ON YOUR FEET AND MOVE! when you had never done it before! FIND that passion in you that said, "Fuck all of this, I WILL prevail!" no matter how many times you fell flat on your face. You couldn't understand the words spoken to you then--you couldn't tell if they were scorning or encouraging. You were guided--you persevered--only through the fire of determination in yourself. The instincts in your heart that led you on the proper path you were meant to be on.

Forget the rest of them who tell you what to do.
Forget the rest of the world.
and do it on your own volition!
and do it because you built your own wings!
Playing it safe, listening to everyone around you? Where will that get you? Where will this mindless, constant stream of advice take you?
To, if you're lucky, a middle class home with stress over bills and an obsession with the stock market.
Find your passion! Live what you love! Find a way to manifest your desires into the career that will set you free, and never, ever, ever be afraid to not find your way, because if you are determined, you will always do it!
If there is no path, then make one.
If there is no light, then make your own fire.
We are stronger than this.
We are more than our labels.
We are Gods of our own universe.
Stop vying for control only of your food, and take that control of the rest of your life. Fight every day, and know, that no matter how exhausted you get, you'll get used to it. It will pay off.
Don't stay on the ground when you fall.
Stand up.
And then run.
And then fly.
Fucking fly.

Don't let anyone guide you anymore.
Take those disappointments, and take the misdeeds of others, and feel them. STOP BEING DEPRESSED!
Forget the sin of rage! LIGHT IT IN YOU! Light that passion! Light that flame! And then use it to drive yourself. Become a straight fucking beam of rage, and take control. Use every slight to drive you forward, and to make yourself better--to put yourself in a position where it can never, ever happen again.
Let it drive you forward. Let it drive you up. Let it make you better.
Always do something that will be of service to man,
knowingly harm no one,
and never, ever forget--
You are the one in control of you.
You are the guide of your own voyage, and your own destiny.

Fuck the well trod path.
Find the ways that aren't walked. Find ways to help people that have never been done before.
And then do it.
Make your own way.

It will be harder.
But it will be all you.

Stand up.
Stand up and fight.

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Boot Camp as a warm up?! YES PLEASE!

Today, I go to my new gym (WHERE I WORK, DID YOU KNOW THAT?! Just had to say it again) to do a group class called "Boot Camp". My boss goes, "That'll serve as a good warm up, so then we can do some exercises after, and I can see what you do with yourself."

I'm like, " a warm up?'re my fucking hero, dude."

If this class is how it sounds, then I'm kind of excited. Because then, that would mean I'm not the only who sees an hour long activity of pure agony as a suitable warm up for a good exercise.

New workout shirts: $25
Gym Membership: Free with employment
Bottle of water: $1
Working in a place where exercise addiction is the norm: Priceless.


Friday, April 9, 2010

Sleep? Sleep is for the WEAK. Or not-busy.

Quick update.
1: Heart checked out ok, just pulse rate high (blamed on Adderall)
2: Everything checked out clear. My "social experiment" to do this with as much care and regard for health as possible seems to have worked. I'm "in shockingly good health. Better than most non-disordered patients" the doctor had seen. Still waiting for blood work results, since my thyroid had some weird results and I had to get blood drawn.
3: I got the trainer job, and offered another one the same night. I didn't take the one that has the potential for the best pay, but that has the best potential for the best training. It will put me in a better position later, and right now, I think I could use the help with honing my craft.
4: I'm at 124.6-125. Keeps fluctuating. Fucking scale.
5: Still ahead of target, since I need to only be at 124.4 by the 14th to be at my goal. Hoping to be at 124-123.8 instead.
6: Ran almost 3 miles last night, biked another mile, and then did a stairclimber. Hour and a half. Relatively light exercise, but I'm using the gym at the school, which is incredibly small and super private, so I'm totally alone in there. Will be starting to use the gym by my house soon, since I now work there.
7: Getting ready to head off to a meeting for said new-employer. Will be working current job, and new PT job, until I start to get clients and make more money.
8: Also until new FUCKING AWESOME health benefits kick in with new job.
9: My sex buddy just announced he's going back to Afghanistan, rather than coming home. He's in Germany right now. Dick. Only guy I'd do it randomly with, and he's off shooting people. Though he said he's tempted to come back, he doesn't really have a choice in the matter. Sad day.
10: My foot itches. Not sure what that has to do with this post, but it's rather pertinent to my existence right now. And it's on a spot that I cannot, for the life of me, scratch successfully. Stupid foot.

Okay, have to hurry up and head out to my meeting.
I haven't slept more than like, 16-20 hours in the past 4 days.
While it sucks, I think I'll eventually start to get used to the busy-busy-busy pace. It's sort of nice.
No time to think about eating.
But that also means I'm more prone to hitting up fast food.
Just gotta keep myself careful.

Not counting calories for today, or tomorrow.
Since I will have to eat in front of people who know about disorders.
I'll still work out.
Still lose.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

A Post, in which your mind is violated by bowchika


Step on the scale.
Off the scale.
On the scale.
Off the scale.
It's a comfort.
I can do this again. Not be afraid. My weight is going down.
I'm winning this.

125-125.4 today.
I made my goal.
Means I get my 1000 calorie day.

Didn't start out as smoothly as I planned. Got woken up at 9 and told that we're having people coming to look at the house in twenty minutes. "Anywhere between 9am-11:30." I have a job interview. I need to leave at 11:30 for it, Dad. "....shit. Shitshitshit!"
We're not supposed to be in the house.
But I had to stay to get ready.

It's almost 11:30 right now, and they haven't come yet.

Meant I had to rush breakfast, rather than enjoy it. NO eggies in a basket, sadly, cos I couldn't get the kitchen dirty. Instead, I was left with a breakfast toaster strudle for 180 calories, rather than my 130 for the eggs in a basket. Made me wince the whole time I was eating it. But, I'll have to make up for that elsewhere, won't I?

I am totally not feeling interview ready today. I'm tired, grumpy, and needing to collapse on my bed and masturbate do wholesome things like nap or snuggle with my dog. And by snuggle with my dog I mean read porn.

It's going to be a very long day.
I hate the ovulation cycle of my monthly cycle.
I'm just hitting it.
I'm like, "Oh, is that a magazine about how to do a floral arrangement? That is SO sexy. I need to go make naughty, now...." I think a can of Pepsi could somehow remind me of something sensual. I mean, take anything unsexy, and I could sexify it during this phase. It's really why I hold so strongly to my vows of celibacy-until-in-a-relationship. Because otherwise, I would turn into a rampaging she-hulk-of-whores and jump on anything that's ALIVE (or anything that's inanimate for that matter. I would be the dog going into heat for the first time, somehow thinking that a locker is an acceptable item to make sweet, sweet love to.)

This interview is going to be hard.

Oh maaaaaaan.
I'm uh
totally done now XD

I'll update you all later on how it goes.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I have in my head the picture of the perfect Anorexic.

She's petite and thin.
Delicate wrists.
Thin fingers that are skeletal and lean. Graceful and horrifying. A nightmare image carved into flesh that leaves you staring in horror and disgust and more than just a small amount of secretive envy.

She's riddled with phobias and fears.
Sweets never touch her lips because she's terrified of them so.
Her calorie count never exceeds 200-300 in a day. She can starve through pain. Hates herself, and has notebooks filled with poetic, artistic renditions of the cruel and deceitful voices in her head. She has long thin hair, and stares unamused, her size zero pants hanging haphazardly off her flat stomach and hips sharp enough to slice. She rests her sharp jaw line on a palm that's dry with skin fragile and flaking from lack of nutrition, staring like a goddess at the hungry pigs around her. She turns her head from food, gritting her teeth, nails digging into her wrist, palms, knees, thighs--teeth gnashing at the inside of her mouth--refraining. Resisting. Restricting. Sipping at her water and a slice of lemon.
She is superior to food.
Her body decays.
But her will power prevails.

That is what I see when I think of someone who belongs in a clinic. Someone in need of an intervention.
Someone at risk for heart failure.
Not me.
Not me with my slip ups. My face-stuffing-quests with chocolate and peanut butter. My sickening 600-800 calories a day.
Not me, with my gaining weight back.
My caving in whenever someone lands a good slice of pizza in front of me.
My lack of will in getting to the gym and working myself to exhaustion.
My need for friends.
My inability to attain that crumbling perfection.

I read blogs and think, "You're all stronger than me". I hear the term "Wannorexic" in my own head, applied to myself. The wanna-be-anorexic. The not-strong-enough. Doing it for kicks and fads. The pretend. The make believe.
But I told them I had just thrown a tantrum and was just making believe when I attempted suicide, and had to be resuscitated in sixth grade.
Because that's what I thought. No matter they had to shock me back to life. Pump out bottles of sleeping pills and cleaning solution from my stomach.
I wasn't like the rest of the people in the pediatric psych ward.
I didn't think my problems were that bad.
Nobody else thought they were.
Why should I?
Just attention.
Just control it.
Just be better than it.
Stop being depressed.
Just move on and get over it.
Get over it.

Just get over it.

So imagine my surprise when I go to the clinic today, to see if I can get therapy...just talk to someone who I can be honest with about eating, and everything else, and suddenly...suddenly I'm told I'm wrong.
"You're...severe, PrettyWreck. I need to be honest. I'm worried about if you start eating, you could give yourself a heart attack. Your history is bad. The cuts are worse. You're in deep. You're not in control of this, and I don't think you're going to live much longer if you keep doing this."
"I want to send you to our primary care physician for some tests immediately. We need to check on your heart, and especially your kidneys. Your vitals aren't good at all right now, and I'm worried that you're at a high risk for cardiac arrest. Especially if you try to refeed on your own."
"I think you should seriously consider checking yourself in to our clinic in (next state over) if it's possible. If not, then I want to discuss our day program with you. It's from 8am-8pm. I don't even think outpatient intensive is good enough right now. I think if not full hospitalization, then partial with the day program. We need to get you physically better before we can start working on your mind."
I...don't want to.
"Just let us do the tests, and when the results come back, we can decide how much needs to be done. We're here to help you, PrettyWreck."

So Thursday, I get to go get tested for heart problems.
I'm at the high end of my BMI. I broke down and ate 1/4 of a brownie, and a 1/4 of a reeses egg. I am now sitting here staring at a TV dinner I heated up. After work is exercise. Tomorrow, I just need to be at 125.4 to be ok. 125.4, and I'll survive.
I'm...not ready for treatment.
Not the kind they're talking about.
I'm not ready to get better from this.
I don't have the ability to dedicate that much of my life to refeeding or whatever. I'm switching careers, I have to get back into school, and to be honest, I'm terrified. And I know my mind frame is fucked up, but...I can't be as bad as other girls.
I'm still fat.
I still eat.
I eat too much.
600 is a lot.
The fact that I struggle sometimes to stay at 800-900 is terrible.
If I could get up to 1300, and forever to get it off, like Piglet, then maybe, maybe I'd be considered healthy again, and nobody would say anything else.

I just wanted someone to talk to.
I'm too scared to get better.
I'm not ready to go into group, or have to talk in front of people, or have to eat three meals a day, with snacks, and have people observing my bathroom use and eating habits.
I'm too scared to eat normally again.
I'm too scared to do any of that.

But I did cry when I was in the waiting room.
They had this little decorative black metal wrought fence on the wall, and there were ribbons tied to it. "Stop worrying about gaining weight!" "You're beautiful, and so am I." "It's okay to get better." "I believe in you!" All written in the handwriting of different girls on the ribbons. It was like, I suddenly thought of all of you. And it was like hearing your voices, or seeing your comments. "I believe in you." But it was more personal, because there it was, in each girls handwriting, and I had this sudden...this sudden compulsion. Like here were all these people who understood--who knew--and they were so close. They were in that building. They were gathered in a room, talking. They could see each other. Smile at each other. Be at comfort, because someone else who they could touch, and feel, and see--someone else knew. And they were close, and they understood. It was such a weird feeling of relief. I'm not alone.

One of the employees there said, "Why don't you want your parents to know?" Because. I just don't want them to. This is private. "We all need a base of support." You have no idea just how much support I have.
They don't need to know, because I have all of you.
I'm not ready to get better yet.
But I know when I am,
you'll all still be there.
And I'll still be there for you.

Here's to hoping the tests are okay come Thursday.

On a lighter note, my final interview for the gym is tomorrow at noon.

The problem is Diet's not a big enough word....

127.4 124.8 today.
My body listened. It said, "Oh, yes, I approve of this metabolism confusion method. Here, let me eat a huge amount of my flesh to show it!"

I'm not gonna complain.

If I manage to be at 125.4 (1lb under my goal for this week) then I'm going to let myself have up to 1000 calories tomorrow. Today, I want to try and keep it around 800, since I'm actually up super early. Hopefully I can keep it at LESS. But if I do 800, then I have to go running after work. Which I did last night. It helped, I think.

Though I did start to cut again last night after eating a small bar of chocolate and some popcorn. Still was within my calorie requirements. But the popcorn, despite only being 300 calories for a bag (30 calories per cup, 4 cups per serving, 2.5 servings per bag) and only eating about 80 calories worth (plus the small chocolate bar, totaling 140 calories) I felt greasy and gross. Started to cut. Stopped before I really gouged into my flesh. I'm not sure what this new fetish with self harm is. It seems COMPLETELY illogical any other time than right before bed. But then again, so does stuffing myself with whipped mouse and sugar free cookies until I'm close to vomitting, and then dipping ice cream in powdered sugar and eating half a tub of it. In fact, that sounds all disgusting, until it's night time and I'm about to go to bed.
HOORAH for night binges.
Gotta get those under control. I'd be fine, if not for them.

I need to keep losing.
Chugging on and chugging on and chugging on....

...800 calories is a super lot.
I think after I get back from the doctors, I'm just gonna nap so I don't eat.
And then stick to a small amount when I'm at work. Just enough to stave off a migraine.
And then, then, then, then, then...then I'll go be awesome, and run again, or something.
And be at 125.4 by tomorrow. Since I full and well expect to gain a little after how much I lost in one day (you don't lose over 2lb's in a day and NOT gain some back). And then, then, then, then, tomorrow? Tomorrow?
I can have One. Thousand. Calories. If I just be really strong. And really good. And keep my weight under control today.
That's all I need.
Just control today.
I already know what I'm going to eat.
This pot sticker dish. Only 360 calories, which is a HUGE AMOUNT, but I'll still have like, 640 calories left over, right? I mean, that's a lot of calories for one day. That's more than I'm allowed to eat on regular days. So I'll have eggs in a basket for breakfast at a total of 130 calories, then I'll have the potstickers, and after that, I don't know what I'll eat, because that'll be so much fucking food already, and I'll STILL have calories left.

I'm so excited for that.
Of course, I'll have to go work out.
But I'll still be at a calorie deficit. Which, will be win. On many levels.
And I can have potstickers.
And maybe maybe maybe MAYBE I'll have a cupcake to round it all off with and still be in my calorie limit.
Holy shit. That's all so much food.
And if I'm good, I'll deserve it, and I can reward myself.
Fucking 1000 calories.
I'll be STUFFED.
And then I can starve again. I think that's a good reward, right? If I'm good, and meet my goals, then I can have 1000 calorie days. Just to keep my metabolism up. And so I associate eating with a reward, so I stop eating when depressed or something. I dunno. Maybe I won't do it, because I don't want to get fat again, but it sorta seems healthier in my head than punishing the bad by cutting....
Okay. I'm off to hunt down caffeinne and try to not fall asleep int he middle of rush hour traffic while driving to the other side of town.

Monday, April 5, 2010

"What's with all the hooplah?"

127.2lb's. I've gained back a pound, which is relatively minor considering how yesterday went. Migraines leads to me breaking, and I wound up eating two soft steak tacos (steak and cheese only) and a piece of a steak quesadilla (steak and cheese only--also, I know I can't spell it XD) and a bowl of cereal from El Pollo Locco. I don't even want to think about the calorie count in that. I also had a 100 calorie thing. And then I just laid around grabbing my head and staying curled up.

I hate holidays. Stress and having to work when I normally have a day off, made me just feel absolutely miserable.
That, and crying. Which is also a typical response to holidays. I'm so selfish for being depressed when I have a family, no matter how broken it is. A lot of people don't even have parents. Who am I to feel pathetic when I have better parents than most people could ever wish for? When I at least have parents?

Oh well.
Just something else to work on. One more imperfection to hide.

My cuts from Friday haven't faded much. They still hurt. I actually sawed at the skin on my legs in a lot of places, and they're still raised lines that you can see through my pants sometimes.

I can't believe I gained back a pound.
But at least today, I still feel very full from yesterday, so I haven't been all that hungry. I can get away with eating relatively little, if anything at all. I will admit i had two more slices of that stupid quesadilla this morning. I have no idea what's wrong with me. I shouldn't have, but my headache was still lingering, and at least it helped to keep it away.
Can't linger on the failures of yesterday.
Only the drives of right now.
I will lose this pound. And more.

Dear Metabolism;
Consider this a boost to confuse you and make you suddenly burn faster, and prevent you from slowing down. So please to be dropping me down quick into the 125 range, and then lower. It will be much appreciated.

I'm in an artistic writing mood, but can't think of anything to write. BAH. I've also been unreasonably DOWN the past few days, and I'm sick of it. So I'm going to be better now. Flip that switch of depression and kick in the happy attitude. Even if I don't feel it, at least I can pretend, and eventually, it makes you feel happy. Because you can't fucking cry through a smile. At least not easily.

One of the best lessons I ever learned in life was from the Animorphs books, and it was Marco who said it. I don't remember the exact line, but it was basically:
You have two choices in life. Laugh, or cry. I choose to laugh. I like it more, and if I cried, I'd never stop.

I need to find the exact quote where he said it in.

speaking of favorite childhood memories,
I've been watching POWER RANGERS AGAIN. The ORIGINAL you guys.
It was so cheesy
but let me tell you
He IS the original girl-crush, ok?

Feeeeeeel the nostalgia.


xoxoxo PrettyWreck xoxoxo

Saturday, April 3, 2010

Weight, job interviews, food phobias

CW: 126.2lb's.
I lost 2lb's yesterday, apparently. Not that I'll complain. I did wind up eating a whole chocolate bar with peanut butter on it last night. Wound up cutting again. That's the last time. I'm not going to slice up my leg anymore. I did it with dirty scissors, then went to sleep. Woke up with the cuts stuck to the sheets, and just burning agony in my thigh after only five hours. I went to pull on a pair of pants to go intot he bathroom, weigh myself, and clean it off, and could barely stand on it. Got it cleaned, which in itself was one of the most painful things in the history of EVER. Put neosporin on it, and am now sitting here, pondering trying to sleep a little longer before I have to go to my job interview.

That's right.
I have an interview as a personal trainer at a major national gym chain. One of the top rated in a recent study done by Fitness Magazine, as well as, apparently, Men's Fitness. I'm super, super excited, and worried about my mobility when I go in there. If they ask me to do anything that I can't cover up the pain with, I'm going to just say I spilled some boiling water on my thigh while watching my friend's kids. Something nice and noble. And try not to think about how ridiculous it is that I can show other people how to do things right, and HAVE, but I can't seem to do it with myself. Hoooorah.

I wound up with a serious issue with food yesterday, which is fine by me. I started to shake partway through eating a salad, and suddenly couldn't handle even dipping the tips of my fork in the dressing so it was just barely grazing the top of it. I had 300 calories in a 13 hour period, then came home, ate partway through 200, then took a sleeping pill, and ate the chocolate bar and rice cake with peanutbutter, and cut myself. Bah. I had gone shopping earlier to pick up some PB, actually, for the rice cakes (great freaking meal--35 calorie rice cake with 1tablespoon reduced fat peanut butter. 115 calories of awesome) and wound up pacing through the store, literally pressing back against the wall to get away from certain foods without realizing it. Especially the waffles, which I really had intentions of buying. They didn't have the ones I had already determined I wanted, which were the Buttermilk waffles by Ego, since their individual waffles VS their serving sizes match up (some are 90 calories per waffle, but 190 calories for 2....buttermilk is 90/waffle, and 180/2 waffles). But they didn't have the Buttermilk. They had homestyle. And a few others. And another brand of Buttermilk. But I had no idea whether or not any of those were lying to me. I started to push myself intot he glass on the other side of the row, because I was convinced I was going to get fat just looking at them. I broke a bag of food I was holding, squeezing it so tight in my fingers. And then I realized the glass I was pressing against had a huge ass long row of ice cream. I don't think I've ever felt such a jolt of terror, like it would come out of there on it's own and make me eat it and I would die.

I ran.
Like a bitch.
"Omgomgomgomgomgomgtheydon't havethebrandIwasgoingtobuyomgomgomgom--AAAAAAHNONOT THE ICECREAM! *Run away crying*"
You woulda thought I had just witnessed a mob hit. Jeebus.

I also started to concentrate on what I was eating. Found myself separating the parts in my salad according to color. Lettuce was gathered on one part of my plate. The little carrot strips on the other. The four thin almond slices I allowed myself were on another. The purple cabbage in another pile. I ate it all small bite by small bite. Except the purple cabbage. And the two pieces I had cut from a chicken strip to include in it for protein. That got thrown out, too. When I sat down and started to concentrate and focus on what I was eating, it made it so much harder TO eat.

So far, my most complicated meal, and quickest for me to fuck up, is breakfast. But right now I'm not too opposed to that. If I eat a bowl of cereal, or 200 calories or so in food, pretty quick, right off, then I tend to feel full, and I can get control of myself, and also have a clear head and avoid the shakes and awkward talk that comes from low blood sugar. I can seem more normal through out the day. Only near the end do I start to hit the zoning out, blank stare stage that comes with not eating enough.

That I can blame on general tiredness since I work until 10pm.

Anyway, thank you so much for the comments on my post yesterday.
I think...I'm going there because I'm going to be a personal trainer. I don't know if I want to get better, so much as I want to go talk to someone who I don't have to lie to about it. Someone who I can tell, who's worked with it before. I'm going there because my past has gotten to be too much, finally. I've been kidnapped, part of a cult, made to feel like everything I've gone through is just one more thing to be shouldered with private strength and dignity, and the only thing to do is put your chin up and lock it away and never let it bother you. But I can't do that anymore. These demons in my head--these chains of my past--have become so heavy that I can't even fly in my dreams anymore. I just want someone who I can tell the whole story to, and who I can talk to about all my bad, habits, -all of them-, and not feel like I'm strange. People who are trained in dealing with someone like me. Maybe someone to make me feel not so alone.

Though you guys did a great job of that yesterday. I was reading through the replies at work. Some of them saying things like, I always figure it'll go away when I'm thin enough, were just right on. Or saying that I'm not alone. There are more like me. And I have found you. You're here. With me.
Saying that I, and all of you, are more than this disorder.
It's...something I always kind of have to remind myself of.
That I can have this,
and I can still be something else. Something clean.
That this doesn't make me completely dirty.
(And if Subaru commercials and porn are to be believed, dirty is not a bad thing, bowchika?)

Anyway, I've written a lot. And I'm sorry these past few posts have been down and depressed, or too serious. Some of my humor is coming back. I've just been really exhausted by how all of the past has been coming up, and I don't really feel comfortable talking about it in a public forum where it could potentially be linked to me, IRL. People in my life don't need to know the truth. They don't need to know why I claw at my throat sometimes when I'm asleep. They don't need to know why I've been single for five years. They don't need to know about the past that still tethers me.

Friday, April 2, 2010

...and I have no idea what I'm doing, but I love you....

I feel guilty when I eat.
It's the hunger that makes me want to curl up and die. The guilt that comes from eating.
"I'm not good enough. I'm not strong enough. I'm still overweight. How do I have a problem if my BMI is 25.2? How could I ever be considered anything worthwhile? I'm not sick. I'm not sick because I'm still fat. Fat people don't have eating disorders. Not outside of COED, and I don't weigh a ton, so I can't have that either...."
...I'm in the middle.
I'm in the spot where "average people" are.
I'm a size 5. And those pants are tight.
Granted, the way they sit? They're always tight, even when every other size 5 is falling off.
They're only comfortable when I'm a 3. But it's because they rest RIGHT at the sharp of my hipbones.
But...point is, I'm not a three. So the pants don't fit right. So I'm still fat. I'm so fucking fat,a nd I'm still overweight. I'm -overweight-.

I only feel dirty when I eat.
I only feel dirty when I need to eat.
I only feel ashamed when I do eat.
I hate that I have to.
I hate that I crave it.
It's an addiction.
A dirty addiction that I can't break.

I made an appointment for a place that treats these sort of disorders.
don't know why.
I don't want to eat. I want them to stop me from eating at night. I want them to stop me from binging. To show me how to stop my COED tendencies before they start. I always do this. Lose a lot, gain a lot. Lose a lot, gain a lot. I'm going there to learn to stop eating, I think.
No, I know.
I want them to tell me how not to eat.
How to stop the binges.

I'm going in as a COED client.
Funny that.

I don't know what else to write.
I wish I had something inspirational for you.
I don't.
I'm still fat.
I'm still a failure.
I'm 128.2.
Nothing skinny.
Nothing pretty.
Nothing worth your adoration.
Nothing worth anything.

I'm a liar.
And I shouldn't even be posting here. Encouraging all of you to starve. I don't want any of you to starve.
I don't want to be your inspiration.
I don't want to make you want to be hungry.
Go! Get better!
Go get help!
This is your wake up call!
If you've been waiting for a sign, here it is! GO GET BETTER! GO ASK FOR HELP!
It's okay. It's okay to eat. It's okay to be normal.
It's okay to forgive yourself for the crimes you're punishing yourself for.
Ana doesn't love you like I do.
And I want you to be happy.
I want you to be healthy.
I will always love you. I will always accept you. No matter how many calories you eat. No matter whether or not you're a size zero, ten, or other. I will always, always accept you.
I will accept you just for you.
I don't care if we've chatted. If we've talked. If you've commented.
I don't care if you've ever read anything I've written before. Or if I've read anything you have.
I don't need to meet you to love you. I love you because you hurt, because you need to be loved, and because I want to love you. Because you are a beautiful, wonderful, amazing person, no matter how little you see it, or if you don't see it at all. There is something amazing inside of you, and perfection is not an attainable goal. Perfection is an illusion, and you, my darling, are exactly the example of why imperfection is beautiful and desirable. I love you. More than your bones. More than what you eat. More than anything. I love YOU. Who you are. Your mind. Your heart. Your smile. I love the way you struggle through your tears, and I love your strength. Even if you don't see it, you are so STRONG. You are amazing. You are everything I wish I could be, and I will always, always, always be here. Even if we never talk, my heart, my thoughts, my support--it will always be with you. You will always be unconditionally loved by me.
It's okay to be better.
It's okay to rest.
It's okay to stop.
You're safe now.
You're going to pull through.
Because I believe in you.
And I'll believe in you until you can believe in you.

I need you to be better.
Because if I never get better, if I never find out why I do this, what's wrong with me, or what drives me to such self destruction...I need to know that I did more than just inspire you to such terrible things that I do.
I have such a hard time loving me.
So I'll just love you, instead.
And maybe you can love me for me, until I learn how to do it.
And that way, we'll never be alone again.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

1 Year Anniversary

1 year ago, I weighed 190 pounds.
Today, I weigh 128.4lb's.

Not the weight I wanted.
I'm behind on my current goal.
I'm also behind on my original goal of being 103 by this time.
But I'm closer than I was before.

I feel very tired.
Last night was a full sleeping pill night, and of course, that led to a binge.
But no more.
I went out with a friend rather than exercise.
Which is a no no.

When my life is in order,
then I can have friends.
When I complete my goals,
like finding an internship,
getting my trainer insurance,
and stop sabotaging myself,
and start losing weight again,
then I can be allowed to go out and have friends again.
Then I'll be allowed to be a regular person again.

Until then, I'm grounded.
Only work, school, and diet for PrettyWreck.
Because she betrayed Ana last night and went out with a friend, rather than listened to her and exercised.
And for that, I binged, and didn't work out, and am behind on my goal.
I failed her.
And she deserves better.
I deserve better.

I will be successful.
No matter what.
I will be productive.

1 year ago, I started on this.
I don't know why, but the switch flipped, and suddenly, I was worshipping the hunger goddess.
I had always had a disordered relationship with food,
but one year ago today,
I grabbed it by the reigns and took control. Stopped eating, and started losing.
It's like another birthday. Which is always awesome

Anyway, time for a shower.


Wish me luck, dollies.
I'm off to the gym tonight.

♥ PrettyWreck ♥