The dietician says to eat each meal an I won’t binge as long as the right food groups are together and shit.
But.
I’m just fucking greedy. I don’t binge because I’m hungry. I binge because I want the fucking food and I want it then and there. But I don’t want the consequences of eating it so I purge. I’m just fucking greedy. I just want to taste it all because I like it.
Eating makes me cry.
Starving makes me cry.
Binging makes me cry.
Purging makes me cry.But nothing makes me cry more than looking in the mirror and seeing how fat and disgusting I am. Or standing on the scale and seeing the awful red numbers flash.
Theyre too fucking high.
I weigh too much.I am truly repulsive.
I don’t want to admit it.
This is not me admitting it.
Because I’m scared to admit it because admitting it means that it’s coming true.
I’m scared to be without my disorder.
But
I really think that it’s happening.
I’m getting there.
I’m getting better.
No, no I’m not admitting it.
The disorder is stronger than I am. But I’m fighting. I don’t want to live with it anymore, but I don’t know who I am without it. I still hate eating and count calories(I know the calorie count in every single thing that touches my lips. And if I don’t I wont eat it.), I still want to throw up everything I do eat. And sometimes the disorder wins there.
I still want to know my weight.
I still want to be tiny and thin and light and small and petite.
I still want to have my disorder here. In a way, it’s become my closest friend. It knows everything. It’s all I have.
I’m not ready to do it. That’s what this means. I’m not prepared to be better. I’m not simply ready. But it’s happening. And too quickly for my taste. (pun) I’m scared. I’m terrified. I don’t want to be fat. I want to be 110 pounds. That’s it okay? That’s it. I’m scared.
So, yesterday Antony found my laxatives. Threw them out. Found my scale. Smashed it. I was so damn overwhelemed. Those are my comfort. I need them there. So I cried hard. And screamed and yelled and got angry. I got out of bed and put on my slippers and just ran out the door. I was crying. Antony came after me. No matter how much I yelled and screamed at him. How much I told him not to touch me and how much I said I didn’t like him he kept following me and trying to hold me and I kept pushing him away. Ed wanted to win. My Ed wanted to win. I cried and sobbed on the pavement. He took away the things that comforted me. We spent 15 minutes. Er. He did, talking to me trying to calm me down telling me that this incident is progress. That this incident is going to happen again but it’ll slow. That he, Antony Stevens, was there for me right then. He loves me and will not let me go back to where I was years ago. He would not give up on me. He said he would not let me go. He said I will make it through this.
It will not be easy. I must have sounded like an addict crying about how I want my stuff. He took away my laxatives and my scale.
What do I do without them? I need them.
I don’t know how long it will be before I can answer “Tell me about yourself.”
I don’t know who I am. And right now, I am my eating disorder.
I want to be able to know who I am and tell people good things about myself.
I dunno.
I’m a little hopeful
there’s too much food porn on my dash right now.
sigh.
all the things I wish I could eat.
It’s the worst it’s ever been.
I’m crying more than ever.
I’ve been thinking about different ways to commit suicide.
I just feel too fat to die right now.
I hate myself.
So. Talked to my psych and councellor yesterday. Apparently three weeks without purging is a GREAT ordeal. I need to get my zinc levels checked, a full physical. Iron, everything. I have to take calcium and vitamin D. Psych wants me to be weighed.
No.
No.
No.
If I’M not allowed to know my weight, NOBODY is.
Right now I have to focus on where I FEEL comfortable. It may be lower, the same, or higher than I am right now but it all depends.
I kinda wanna shoot for 110lbs. Only like a pound underweight. But it’s where I felt OKAY.
I’m eating regularly. Still constantly regretting every bite. But I am..
I want to purge and take laxatives and skip meals every day, but I don’t…
I thought about filming myself smashing my scale. Just ‘cause I have to remind myself that the number on the scale does not define me.
But you know, that’s a really hard thing to do. .__.
I’m really fucking trying.
Although I cry every night, and I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror, I’m trying.
I do deserve better than to suffer. I do.
I know there is gonna be bumpy roads down the line.. but I uh. I think I can do it..
