135.6. That was the lowest I reached last week before I fucked up again. 137.0. That's where I am now. Fail.
I have to be more strict with myself. I do. I will. I can't afford to let complacency seep in this way, whispering those faint echoes of lies that reverberate through my consciousness long after She's left me...telling me that I'm getting thinner, noticeably thinner, that I'm starting to look better. So the fuck what? Does that mean you can eat more now? Are you fucking out of your mind? All of the hard work, the hours spent at the gym, the counting and recounting and recounting again of every single calorie, just to be sure... You're going to let a fucking craving take all of that away, undo everything? Weakness! Weakness is NOT acceptable here! I can hardly even bring myself to write of the evils the past few days have held for me, concerning food, at least. Ugh. Fried foods. Chocolate. Peanut butter. Bread. Potatoes. All of them, forbidden. All of them...in my mouth, down my throat, into my stomach, but not before sending all sorts of mixed messages to the pleasure/gluttony and guilt/remorse/regret centers of my brain. Yes, that tastes good, of course it does. Yes, I want to throw it up immediately...right now, I have to get rid of it. No...I won't. Purging isn't practical in my lifestyle, and it's so horrible for me, and because I know myself enough to see the potential for addiction there, I resist it the best I can. I've only purged maybe...what...ten times in my whole life? Yeah...no. Have no fear; my decaying sense of reason is still here.
I woke up this morning and the smooth slant of my hipbones was fainter, undefined, the ever-indomitable layer of abdominal fat covering my perfect bones. I walked into the bathroom and wished for a scale, and simultaneously was glad for its absence. Every mirror is an enemy, and yet I need them all, need them to remind me that I'm on track somehow, even though the reflection still repulses me, angers me, weakens me. I still need it, I need a reminder...Tell me why I'm doing this and what to do next? Ah yes..that's why. My huge ass and thighs and love handles and the disgusting jiggling masses of putrid fat that cling to my bones; it feels disgusting, just handfuls of it, and the mirror reminds me. You want to get rid of that shit? You want smooth, sleek, slim legs that show just enough of a line of muscle, just enough of your bone structure through flawless, fatless skin? Then DON'T fucking EAT.
It seems so fucking simple, doesn't it? You know what my favorite line is? "Just work out; that way you can eat whatever you want." FUCK. OFF. Second favorite line? "Wow, you're so thin, lucky you!" You, also...Fuck off. Luck plays no role here. Only discipline, determination, self-loathing and self-punishment. Yeah, this probably sounds a bit insane, huh? To any *normal* person. God, I hate that word. Normal? Seriously? Have I ever been normal? My best friend of countless years visited me this weekend. I love her so. She is the last piece of my life before all of this, before I feel like I lost control (though back then I don't remember searching or striving for control...it was never an issue)...She reminded me of a time back then when she and I were in the kitchen of my grandmother's house, making cookies from scratch from my grandmother's recipe. We're talking full-fat milk, butter, shortening, eggs, flour, real sugar...The works. We made this huge batch of snickerdoodles and proceeded to polish off the entire pan by ourselves. Just the two of us. Why? Because we'd made them and they were ours? yeah. Because they tasted wonderful? Yes. Because we didn't have a care in the world about our fucking waistlines, or the cellulite that would come, or the feelings of intense guilt and failure and agony by which I would eventually come to find myself encompassed daily. No...no foresight, no worries...I can hardly remember it, or believe it, now, but there is that vague shadow of a memory that remains with me...I will hold onto it now, as a time before the time of obsession, of Ana... Thanks, besty.
So back to reality. I'm here, sitting, instead of running, because I ate some oatmeal for my very late breakfast and have to wait a bit before I can go work out. My entire food consumption for this morning consisted of that oatmeal, one Fig Newton, and a handful of the usual cocktail of pills I take daily, plus four more...I'm starting a fiber/laxative/cleansing regimen that is supposed to last for about 14 days. I've read that a good colon cleansing product is a good way to jumpstart a period of weight loss, so we'll see how that works. My experiences with fiber usually involve extreme pain and abdominal cramping (gas) that can last for hours...so I took some Beano with them. I hope that works.
Over the past week I started something new and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I've found that when I do hit a moment of weakness, or rather, the weakness hits me, and I do go ahead and binge. Not nearly as much as I used to, of course, because I know that to binge is to bring my depression to new depths and I want to avoid that. But no...I do...I crave food (weakness, again!) and I want to see it and smell it and feel it under my teeth and in my mouth...it feels like broken rules and reckless rebellion and it's frightening and indulgent and REAL...I think I've written about this before. Regardless, I do it, and it feels good. For the time being. But you inevitably feel totally fail later, for reasons we all know by now. So what do I do in this situation? C&S, baby. Yeah, I know, it's not the best idea, but I've been chewing and spitting lately for half of my binges and it seems to work pretty well. You still get the sensation of eating but very few of the calories are actually absorbed by your mouth and stomach. Plus, there's the added bonus of the fact that fully masticated food looks utterly disgusting when spit into a plastic cup or paper napkin...Kind of kills your appetite to see it. Now I'm certainly not saying this is a badass new idea because it's not, and I would never suggest anyone adopt such a method...I'm just saying that it works for me. A little. Sometimes.
It's time to work out. 500 calories burned or bust. Be well.
This post was quite amazing. I just wanted you to know that. I believe you mentioned before that you are an English major, so maybe that explains it, but you seem to be able to capture my feelings with such extraordinary language. Your talk about weakness and favorite lines... that's just wonderful to read. And I will surely return back to read this post when I am feeling a moment of weakness, because the message is so completely clear: Don't Do It. Don't Eat. And I'm sure you meant to write that as a message and expression of yourself, and weren't necessarily writing directly at me, but it's useful to me nonetheless.
ReplyDeleteI also find it a bit ironic that we are both around the same weight right now. I'm sure you are much taller than myself, at merely 5 feet tall. But the weight matches up and I feel that we are fighting the same battle in some ways.
Anyway, this post was quite refreshing to read. A bit of an eye-opener to the attitude I must start having about food and about myself in order to succeed in my goals.
I hope you have a wonderful day, and wish you the best of luck!