Sunday's rant: Springtime Folly

Yesterday ended, inexplicably, with the late night consumption of an innocent Chocolate Easter Bunny in all it's obscenely delicious, golden tin-foil wrapped glory.
However, I've decided not to be hung up about this - the mere existence of chocolate bunnies is a sign of spring-time after all, and I do love springtime, I can only repeat myself in that regard.

Besides, today's the first day of my scheduled abc run anyway - meaning there won't be a whole lot of Easter Bunnies waiting for me in the coming 50 days, so crying over split (chocolate) milk is even less appropriate.

In the spirit of the hands-on, life-affirming approach I seem to have adopted just this minute, I went out and took a picture of a cutsie little trias of crocus blossoms sitting on the patch of grass outside my building:


Awwwww.

All right, enough with the pretty flowers already, I'll tell you straight away that the rest of this post is going to be nauseatingly boy-centric.

(You have now been warned and have had a fair chance to get the hell out of here & run for the hills - as bitching about the same boy over and over and over again is so last decade, I swear I wouldn't even blame you...)

Because - The Coward is still on my mind.

He isn't even my ex, per se - although he certainly is an ex friend by now.
We'd already known each other for two years when things started getting out of hand, and it has to be admitted that I used to have a thing for him pretty much from the start, while also suspecting, with moderately justified reason, that he might be having a bit of a thing for me, too.

Then, at a fateful party, he started flirting with me like there was no tomorrow (and I'm not making this up to minimize my own responsibility, I swear - although I do happen to posses a button with the slogan "That pig seduced me!" printed on it, and it would come in handy right now.)

I myself, of course, was anything but discontent with that turn of events.

As a consequence, we ended up having a thing together right then and there, with emotional and physical bonding running high for a few blissful hours and a dreamy morning beyond, and a dance of awkwardness and trying-to-play-it-cool with purposefully vague accounts on what this was supposed to mean between us running high afterwards.

Then, things got ugly.

Basically, he is a stupid douche-bag, who is too much of a coward to be honest with people to their face, instead opting to hurt them and lead them on and break their heart with lies, all so that he can avoid confrontation, avoid feeling guilty.

And I made it easy for him, tremendously easy - I asked him straight to the face, hell I practically begged him, time and time again, to just be straight with me, just be honest.
To tell me, honestly, whether he cared or whether he didn't, whether there was a chance for us or not.
"Hey, if you don't, I can take it - I won't cry, I won't hate you, I'm not one to make a scene. I just need to know where I stand!"

And he said that he did, that there was.
Despite it all being filthy lies.

"You don't have to lie to me, really, just don't. I want the truth for once, please, give me the straight dope. If you don't want me, say so now, so I'll have a chance to make a fresh start."

But he didn't. He said I was wrong in assuming he didn't care. That I'd never be just any girl to him, just any friend.

He kept leading me on, kept my hopes alive through well placed words and endless reassurances of his feelings for me, his concern.
"You matter to me, don't ever think otherwise... it's just so... complicated right now..." Yeah right.

Like hell it's complicated, you cavorting around with that clingy little trollop, the one without a shred of self-esteem, who depends on a man for her every identity, her every validation.
Totally helpless without you... I know some boys dig that sort of thing, perhaps... but really? You sure? That's your thing?

But then why not say so, why not answer truthfully to my questions, why not save me the endless disgrace of trying to win you over, the shame of hoping, of trying and failing to change your mind.

Cruel, is what he is.
And yet I keep on "loving" him, desiring him, without sense or reason.

I am a hopeless case.

It has reached ridiculous levels, where his so-called girlfriend puts up all these profile pics of them cuddling, kissing or doing whatever together on various social sites, and I can hardly bear to look at them, not because I am jealous, but simply because every single sight of his perfect face sets my heart a-racing.

Ri - di - cu - lous.

And the girl, she is so effing ugly no matter at what angle or weight.
I'm not just making this up because I'm a raving, jealous bitch - although I certainly am.

She is seriously bad looking, and the biggest factor in this is her "charisma", the constant expression on her face that conveys "I need to perpetually reassert my self worth by putting down others, so that I can feel most special when indeed I am as insecure as the next person, probably more - and I revel in that paradox".

It's a fiasco of a sham, the fact that I am in love with someone who is love with a girl like that instead.

Serious Business

After a week of so-so restricting, I've decided I need a plan.

I need a firm and serious regime to adhere to, instead of starting my day without a definite maximum level of calorie intake in mind.

Restricting "into the Blue" has led to some fairly good days, where I stayed around 500 to 650 - but also to a major binge day and a few so-so ones, like yesterday.

I didn't binge yesterday, not exactly.
Rather, some friends of mine quite spontaneously invited themselves over to my place for brunch, bringing most components of said brunch with them and only asking me to supply a few more missing pieces.

I was thrilled about them coming over - they are wonderful friends, more so than I deserve really, for not being mad but wanting to cheer me up after I have pretty much hidden under the duvet, given in to depression and not answered the phone to anyone for weeks.

I was less thrilled about the "brunch"-part, obviously... I made a fruit salad and an omelet, supplied freshly pressed orange juice and a lot of low-cal snacks like baby tomatoes and chicory leaves.

Still, I couldn't get by eating nothing but small tomatoes - not only would it have caused attention, it would have been infinitely hurtful of me to reject all the food they made and brought for me, and to reject their thoughtful idea of a comfy and relaxed day of eating and chatting together.

So I ate - I didn't go overboard but I couldn't exactly weight and measure the food I consumed either, and with some of the more fancy stuff they brought I have no idea what the calorie content might have been.

Although I did try to minimize the damage - they ended up staying over til midnight, and at various points throughout the day the others would get up and get themselves a fresh plate full of left-overs from the brunch, as a snack, a late lunch, dinner, second dinner, whatever.

I, however, maintained that I was still full from the morning's eating, and politely refused every third and second helping I was offered after the initial brunch-period was over, so in principle I only ate once all day.
Still, because that "one" meal was a lengthy and copious one, I strongly assume the calorie intake was enough to gain, in the end.

I still haven't weighed myself yet - but from the way I look, I strongly assume it hasn't budged from the 60 or at least 59 I estimated it to be.

So, to get on track, I have decided to make up an individual plan for myself detailing how much I want to consume over the next 20 days.
It should incorporate a fast about once a week, as it has been too long since I've done that, but I'm not doing ABC or 2468 or any other existing plan.
I think I need to find something individual for myself that I can stick to right now, and that might provide results in the time-frame I have in mind.

Stay tuned, I'll keep you updated.

Tonight, I am invited to a party and will later go out clubbing with my friends, probably, so I have to take care to limit my alcohol intake (actually, I'll see whether it will be possible to get away with not drinking at all), and of course to not eat any party snacks.

I think it won't be too hard though - at the fist party, I will say that a) I have already eaten at home and b) I cannot drink too much because I will be going out later. Meeting up with my friends, the excuse will be that I already drank a lot at the previous party and am feeling rather tipsy now, so no more alcohol for a while, please.

... actually, I think today will be a good day. I also think this was a rather uneventful post; I do apologize, I simply had to think aloud and organise my thoughts on how I want to proceed in relation to food and weight.

In other, possibly slightly more exciting news: My mother called this morning, and actually apologized for her behaviour the other day, saying she should have perhaps been a bit more understanding.

She friggin apologized, people!

Knowing my mother, that is quite a big deal, and a rather pleasant surprise at that.
I'm deciding to feel happy about this, as despite the rocky nature of our relationship I do prefer to be on good terms with her.

Have a wonderful Saturday everyone, I hope you all get to do something you like. <3

Update, late afternoon of the same day:

All right, change of plans - I think I'm doing the ABC after all.

Two main factors were my inspiration in this change of heart:
1) I just read Bella's post, where she said she would be starting abc tomorrow, and it inspired me to go along (humans are gregarious animals, ain't that the truth..) and "inspiration" number 2:

I literally just met a "friend" I hadn't seen in a while, and he asked me whether I had put on weight.

... yeah. I think well can all imagine how ecstatic that made me feel.

So, I decided I need to stop dicking around and making excuses - a 20 day plan won't even cut it, I need to think way more long term than that and abc seems like a good start.

Plus, I haven't been doing too well in coming up with my own plan anyway, so I will focus my creative endeavors elsewhere and go with what is tried and tested in the restricting department.

It's settled; I'll continue trying to be good today (hopefully, 280 cals so far), and then officially get on the abc wagon tomorrow...

On Sleepless Nights and Guilty Pleasures

Blargh, no sleep again last night, although I was feeling so goddamn tired... know that feeling when you're actually TOO tired to sleep?

Kept telling myself to get up and do something useful, like say reading or crunches, if I couldn't fall asleep anyway - alas, I remained absolutely paralyzed by lethargy and inertia.

I just lay there all night, morbidly fascinated with watching the shifting shadows on the ceiling and the excruciatingly slow passage of time, firmly held in the withering, vice-like grip of total apathy.

Then a big fight with mother dearest this morning, where she called me "manipulative" because I cried in front of her.
I said I didn't mean to be, what made her think that, and she replied that I was purposefully trying to make her feel bad by crying.

I wasn't though - I was sad, feeling alone and helpless, I wanted to talk to someone familiar and was hoping that perhaps she'd comfort me - clearly a naive notion.
So I said I was sorry, I didn't want her to be mad at me, I was just trying to tell her how I felt.

And she just yelled at me, that I should do whatever I wanted with my life but leave her alone with my manipulative ways, then she left.

Obviously, a very successful mother-daughter meeting.

Teaches you that crying in front of other people is seldomly a good idea; unless they happen to possess a modicum of compassion, which you cannot always count on.

Hmpf.

On the positive side, I did exercise today (go me, one step towards easing into becoming the happy exercise freak I used to be - I'd almost forgotten already how GOOD your body feels when you actually give it some movement!)

Also, I'm going to meet up with a wonderful friend right now, a friend I haven't seen face-to-face in a long time, and who happens to understand from personal experience a wide array of troubles and obsessions of the mind.

So, that should be nourishing for both body and soul (we are going to a sushi place and I haven't eaten yet today, therefor low calorie makis and high satisfaction with self will be provided).

I really liked the comment Summer left on yesterday's post - saying that it's a highly satisfying guilty pleasure to be "that other girl" that someone suspects their bloke might long for.
It is indeed, and while it doesn't exactly make you feel like you deserve a Nobel prize in the category "high morals", there's no denying that it feels good.

I've been there with The Coward and his new girlfriend before - not too long ago, there was a party that we all attended.

She was looking rather plain that night, as in my eyes she always does, and I had actually pulled myself together, bringing my hair to shine and my eyes to sparkle, making an effort with my make-up and my clothes.

So there I was, surrounded by friends, the center of attention, laughing, looking my best and pretending mirth like there was no tomorrow - and there they were, slightly isolated in a corner as overly clingy couples often get, not really talking to anyone.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see her gaze darting over to me every five seconds, filled with uneasiness and fearful concern - the kind where she knows that her man and I had something once upon a time, and that even if he decided to break my heart and choose her to become his girlfriend instead, that doesn't mean she can stop worrying.

It felt good then, even though clearly if she could see inside my heart she would know that I still feel the loser, still cannot quell the longing for a guy that decided to lead me on and hurt me in a most undignified fashion.

When they were getting ready to leave, she actually came over to me.
She tapped me on the shoulder while I was immersed in conversation, just to say a shy goodbye, all down-cast eyes and batting lashes, staring at her feet.

And I smiled at her, generously, all teeth and insincerity; gave her a warm "goodbye" back, in a voice much louder, much more affable and cordial than was strictly required.

It was my On-top-of-the-world act, my I'm-so-great-I-can-afford-to-be-friendly-towards-you, You-are-but-a-tiny-blip-on-the-outskirts-of-my-world and of course I wish you luck dear, you sure need it.

And damn it felt good that night, if only for a few hours.

I also liked how Bella said her self-esteem won't "rear it's fragile head" - the fragile bit is spot on, she has an almost non-existent self-esteem that depends entirely on validation from others, particularly men.

Now, I am not the queen of the "Love Yourself"-club either - but the particular way she goes about openly putting her insecurities out there - all "ooooh, look at me, I'm so poor and insecure guys, don't you wanna saaaaave me, make me feel pretty?" - it is appalling to me.

I hate hating myself, I never think of it as an advertising advantage.
Nor would I want to talk about it to potential romance interests or passing acquaintances all the time.

Found the below picture with the caption "Jealousy. The best motivation for revenge.".
True indeed.

Goals

To update; I did finally manage to calm down last night, although it took forever.
Blogging proved to be quite cathartic though, and major thanks to Ancora and Athanasy for your helpful and supportive comments, love you guys to bits! <3

Despite no sleep and feeling utterly shitty, I also passed an oral exam today - but it was rather gruesomely embarrassing, I only just made it by a narrow margin.
Did I feel relieved when it was done with, anyway?

Let me put it like this - say you spend several months being brutally tortured in a dungeon by some absolutely merciless abomination straight from the depths of hell; you might rightfully abound in joy when you are finally freed and the entire ordeal is over.
Much more likely though, you will be too scarred and traumatised by the experience to feel any relief at all - and that was what that exam felt like.

(obligatory PC addendum: I am not a complete moron, and I do realize no actual real-life torture experience compares to something as trite and mundane as an exam. I'm doing this for comedic hyperbole, obviously - and because, in my crazy pathetic mind, it really felt THAT bad to get another chance to show myself just how much of a worthless worthless loser I really am.)

Anyway, I digress, so on the topic of goals:

I want to be carful about setting them weight-wise - disappointment is already a major theme in my wretched little brain, and I don't want to set myself up for more of the same.

Still, there is this:
In less than a month, less than three weeks really, I will be attending a concert of a band I adore.
I happen to have reasonable cause to suspect, nay fear, that this concert might also be attended by The Coward, the Boy That I Still Long For Despite Knowing That I REALLY Shouldn't.

And his new girlfriend, of course.

From what I hear through mutual friends, they never do anything separately anymore.
So if either of them is there, the other will be.

And then I will be meeting a personalized nightmare of loss and rejection in double force, instead of enjoying a relaxing evening where I shut everything out of my brain except for the music.

The thing is (and I use that phrase way too often lately), that I know weight is pretty much the one issue where I can get to her.

I happen to know that she is equally messed up as I am in the food department, that weight and clothes sizes hold the same morbid appeal for her, and that she defines herself, much as I do, through the space that is or isn't visible between her thighs.

So of course, the petty bitter side of me dictates that I have to be super skinny, that I have to fuel her insecurities by nourishing my own, that I have to beat her at being thin at least if I can't beat her at winning his love.

If I have to run the risk of running into her, into them, then I would love for her to be shocked and envious at the sight of me.
I know that I am grasping for straws and that my attempt at physical superiority to her is petty; but that's what you would expect from a bitter person, it's the best I can do.

I am unsure what my goal for those three weeks should be though, how much I would want to have lost by then.
I'm out of touch with what is even realistic, what I am actually capable of achieving.

So, I think I'm going to give it a few more days, see how I'm doing and where I'm at, then try to decide what goal would be achievable and sufficient for my petty revenge.

Operation Skinny For The Wrong Reasons starts tomorrow... (There's always another reason to starve, isn't there? And right now I'm damn glad about it, I need incentive to stay on track; I could pretty much use incentive for a lot of things these days.)

Positive Thought of the Day:

I absolutely adore the girl I'm stealing for today's picture, her outlandish glamorousness, her almost inhumane body posture in that glittering suit - very David Bowie Ziggy-Stardust-era; also reminds me of the foam-spilling poise of his alien character in The Man Who Fell to Earth in a way.

(Bowie himself never seems to eat, does he? Certainly didn't during the seventies, when he lived on "red peppers, milk and cocaine"...
Alas, that doesn't really seem like a recommendable long-term plan either.... still, I wouldn't mind to posses the otherworldly razor-blade-ish grace of the Thin White Duke.)

Cal count standing at 550 and I'm actually going to bed now, because I feel like a walking trainwreck - so that's quite agreeable!

Double-Post of Insomnia

It's going on two a.m. and I meant to sleep but I'm afraidafraidafraid, of nothing and of everything. It is just panic that is creeping up my throat and clogging my brain and surging over me, and those things go away after a while, I know.
But no matter how often I tell myself this, it doesn't help.

And my head is like something filled with hot, damp cotton candy, it's all mushy and soft inside and in danger of floating or possibly melting away.
shit shit shit. I don't want to be scared liked this, it feels like my skin is on fire and my guts are inside out.

I'd like to see my therapist right about now, because she's nice and calm and rational, and has a friendly smile. But the next appointment is still a few days away, I know she's a busybusybusy woman.

She tells me I should monitor my fear in a situation like this, make a list where I write down in certain intervals the perceived level of my anxiety on a scale from 1 to 100; so that I have something tangible, a concrete manifestation of my inner chaos in the outside world, something real and unscarily objective that gives me some control.
Also so that I can track how it develops, so that I can be relieved when the panic finally abates.

I thought that was a fine idea, only I have no scale - it's always 100 to me.
100 100 100, I could write this on paper all night long, it's coming in waves and it isn't leaving.

Do you know that feeling where you thought you could do something, but find out you really can't?
You can't, simply can't, still can't, physically can't? I'm not referring to eating or starving, I just mean - something you can't face, you thought you could but you realize you can't and it's crushing, it makes you sweat with fear of how much you will disappoint yourself and others.
And you feel that others will never understand, how could they even suspect the width and depth and height of this nightmare?

I listen to the cars passing outside and try to pretend it's the ocean - but that's cheap, really, a cheap thing to pretend.

I'm sorry for rambling, I just need to try and get rid of the mushy-cotton-candy-feeling, the hot-hot-panic-feeling, and I think rambling on here might be helping. It's perhaps an 80 now. I'm not sure.

Eldritch Abomination

So... I sorta kinda majorly binged today.
It wasn't even just one giant binge, but continuous piling on of calories throughout the entire day in absolutely unnecessary amounts.
I had every intention to keep counting, though, so as to hold myself responsible.

I think the worst thing one does when bingeing is to get that feeling of complete abandon, like the world could end in a fiery blaze and it wouldn't matter, and fuck it, I'm not even counting the calories right now because the balance is so obviously shot to hell.

For me that's always a way to avoid feeling properly horrified, to avoid facing the consequences of my actions - I don't even want to know that devastating number in irrevocable precision; I do not want my head to spin at the exact account of what I have just devoured.
It's like a Lovecraftian Horror - the mere sight of it will make you go insane with frenzied despair.

So, I stop counting during a binge.
But , as we all know , sticking your head into the sand doesn't accomplish anything - I need to face up bravely to what I have done so that I can do better tomorrow.

... yeah, so far for theory.
In praxis, of course, I couldn't handle it.

I did have every intention to, but finally stopped in abject horror when I was starting to inch past 2000 and still could not bring myself to quit.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, the Eldritch Abomination that is my bingeing calorie intake wins again.

Basically, it adds up to me consuming a quantity of food that could have fed a small village of less idiotic individuals. (Much the same as a Cthulhu-ish monster would consume the village itself, ha. Bet that adds up to a lot of calories... not to mention that I totally feel as huge as Cthulhu right now.)

God, I shouldn't be joking about this.
It's gross. Utterly disgusting, despicable gluttony in its purest form, a real proper binge after not even 3 days of moderate restricting.

... which is, yeah, pretty fucking miserable.
I know I need to step away from this kind of behavior if I ever want to stop being cripplingly unhappy with myself again.

Yet I mustn't allow myself to wallow in my failure and be overwhelmed by self-hatred and despair. There's always a chance to do better tomorrow, and I need, no I WILL be focussing myself on that.

As a side effect since starting this blog, I have noticed that the general re-focussing on food avoidance and weightloss has served to pointedly alleviate the acuteness of my depression.
Maybe that's why I'm always happiest when I'm doing this, "getting skinny"... yeah, I know, revolutionary thought, that - the entire calorie-counting game is just something we do to keep our minds off of more unpleasant things anyway, big fucking surprise there.

I'm sorry, I'm a bit of the cheap-mouthed cynic right now due to my own (literally) enormous failure.
I'm feeling deplorably weak; I just wish I was one of these girls that simply don't eat without making a fuss about it, firm resolve and no bitching about the struggle and the slip-ups.

One "nice" thing that I binged on were frozen strawberries though, which was good because a) they barely make a dent in the calorie count obviously and b) sucking on frozen berries on a hot day is one of my favourite pastimes in general.

They also colour your hands a lovely shade of purple/red when you are grabbing them out of a cardboard box one by one, so you can look like you have just committed gruesome slaughter while walking along in the sunshine or sitting down in a park.

Mmpfh, wish I'd stuck to them...

Sunday's essay rant: Food and I, the endless dance

I know that my relationship with food isn't exactly "normal" or healthy, that it hasn't been for ages - certainly not since I was a 12-year old kid, with my parents begging, yelling, threatening, pleading with me to have "just a few spoonfuls of soup, please!", and me crying into my soup as if that was the end of the world, wailing like there was no tomorrow, thinking that they were torturing me, trying to destroy my life; that they wanted to purposefully turn me into a fat and hideous monster.

Here's the thing though - I have never felt "hindered" by that, I have never felt restricted in my liberty by the desire to be slim, the desire not to eat.

I have felt, instead - perhaps falsely - that the times I was most at liberty, most at peace with myself, were those where that desire came to fruition.

Times when I was fasting every other day and going to the gym often twice in 24 hours, were the times when I felt "right" and freed from the oppression and restriction that masses of fat and the crushing failure associated with them impose.

Really, it is the other end of the scale, no pun intended, that has always made me feel trapped, imprisoned.
The moments when I'm bingeing, eating far too much although I'm not even hungry, eating and eating because if I'm not eating nothing then, hey, I might just as well eat everything.
Because I am unable to distinguish a margin of "just right" in between extremes, because there's either all or nothing, so every bite that passes my lips seems "too much".

And once that first bite of too-much, of more-than-nothing has been consumed, the day has turned into a bad day anyway, and I might as well, no I actively need to make it official by wrecking it with ridiculous amounts of food, so as to punish my transgression, so as to show myself just how properly I have messed up.

I am sure a lot of you are all too familiar with the mechanisms I am talking about...
The thing is, that I cannot bring myself to see the restricting/starving side of things as the oppressive, abusive partner in that dance.
I realize it is a masochism tango on the whole, still only one participant seems hurtful, the other endlessly liberating.

The days were I actually manage to consume few enough calories so as not to trigger that switch in my brain to flip, as not to trigger a binge because "it has all gone wrong, anyway" - those are the good days.
I feel proud then, like a bulimic who has manged to keep their food down for a change, has managed to eat little enough so they won't feel the need to purge.

Only I don't purge when that switch gets flipped, when I've had that one piece of fruit salad too many, I simply start bingeing where I have been eating "reasonably" before.
I've always hated the thought of purging enough to avoid it on most occasions (I go out of my way not to throw up out of "natural" causes even), which I guess is some kind of blessing - and still I engage in that ridiculous "all or nothing" scheme, where everything spins out of control as soon as I feel I haven't stayed completely in the straight and narrow with restricting my intake.

I don't know what that makes me or where it will lead; all I know is that I want to go back to the good days, where I keep myself in check and keep my intake in check, where I starve myself just enough to be skinny and free.

And I know that am unable, at this point, to see those days as anything other than liberating, highly desirable.

PS: Getting graphic on the subject of food, I'll add today's estimated calorie intake which stands at about 620 (Half a grapefruit, a cup of steamed veggies, 170g of soy yogurt mixed with applesauce - they incidentally list the same calorie content per 100g -, a 70g piece of a boiled potato, a smoothie at 133 cals, 2 cocktail gherkins, half a slice of brown bread and 40 g of Gouda).

Meh, that's ok, about same as yesterday; yet I feel full and vaguely guilty.

So much for the no-binge-days being liberating, eh? I guess it only makes me feel that way when I am already skinny, otherwise the hideousness of the bod cancels everything out.

Oh well, gotta think positive though, and a moderately successful restricting day is certainly good news.

"I'll do what I can..."

"...nothing more, nothing less."

It's a mantra my therapist has me repeat as a means to avoid anxiety attacks and counter perfectionism.

I'm not sure it is helping - but then again I know she didn't mean for me to apply it to food intake, either.

So, did I do well today, did I do everything I could?

I ate some stuff, namely 160 g of soy based yogurt (57 cal/100g, which means 91.2 cals), half a banana (medium size, so let's say 50 for half of it), a 10-cal cup of broth I drank in the morning, half a grapefruit at maximum 50 cals; for lunch I went out to have sushi with a friend, so I had a miso soup plus an avocado and a shinko maki roll.
(Taking into account the differing numbers you find on the calorie content of sushi, I estimate I come in at somewhere around 600 cals total for the day, perhaps even below.)

All in all, that adds up to considerably more than I wanted to eat in an ideal scenario; but on the other hand it seems pretty reasonable for a "first day back" to restricting, and is definitely better than the fiasco I have indulged in lately.
Still, I just don't know what to think.

I feel low.
No, that's not right - I don't feel either or, really.
Mainly, I feel disgusted with my body, despite doing relatively well today where food is concerned.

I have that kind of feeling where you want to peel off your own skin so badly, shed it like a reptile, that you have to restrain yourself hard not to take a kitchen knife and cut it open from top to bottom so you can wriggle out of it.

In positive news, I like the fact that spring is beginning - the first sightings of crocuses (crocus? croci?) and lilies of the valley, the re-awakening of the world, the metaphorical rebirth of life and all that sappy crap.
I'm just very fond of this season, whenever I step outside it elevates my mood by a tiny fraction.

I hope, if you are reading this, that spring has set on wherever you live, too, and that it is bringing you some amount of pleasure.

Ineffectual Musings

Perfection... I've always been obsessed with that little world, and I know I am far far from alone in that.

It is often curious to me why human beings work the way we do, and why that little word holds so much power over us.

How it is that the concept of perfection can motivate us so much, elevate us, crush us, excite us.

How the thought, that every little part, every centimeter of our bodies, minds, even souls could be perfect, seems so liberating and promising, and daunting all at once.

Still, it is all that sustains me often.

My life is far from perfect right now.
My flat isn't perfect - it's a bloody mess.
My mind isn't perfect - it is equally messed up.
My "career prospects" aren't perfect - I am letting it all go to hell, and I'm not even sure I have chosen the right direction with what I'm doing at uni.
My "love life" isn't perfect - I am still painfully in love with a boy who doesn't even deserve it, King of Cowards that he is.

And finally, my body isn't perfect - it is farther from perfection than it ever was.

I dare not even step on the scales at this moment, but I reckon (and I am an unfortunately gifted soothsayer in that regard) it might be as high as 60kg, 132 lbs, a BMI of a square and scary 20 (defined, of course, as perfectly "normal and healthy for your age". Blech. Whoever comes up with these definitions obviously hasn't seen the state of my thighs. Or my behind for that matter.).

60kg would be the absolute highest I have weighed since the day I was born, and I swear I'm going to die if it goes any higher than this right now.
I need to regain control but I am struggling, pitifully, to rediscover any fragment of my former strength, any semblance of my old composure.

And yet, amidst all this chaos, I hope and dream of a state where perfection can be attained.
No matter how unrealistic it may seem - if I didn't cling to the abstract hope that perfection was possible, I would have thrown in the towel on life long ago.

It is all that keeps me from giving up when submerged in the darkest, dankest recesses of my personal Void... the possibility of perfection.

PS: re: first picture - that sunrise, on that day, was perfection to me.
Nothing quite like watching the sun rise from aboard a boat...

The girl below, of course, displays a different form of perfection. And yet she seems so forlorn - the atmosphere in that image is pretty much how I'm feeling right now, so I like it.

Lies

You know how they tell you "Oh, even if you DO get skinny, that will not suffice to make you happy!"?

How they tell you that the perfect weight is not the gateway to the perfect life? That you need to see that skinny doesn't equal happy, that reaching your goal weight won't satisfy your craving to be whole, fulfilled, perfected, complete?

It's bullshit, if you ask me.
I have been there before - never as skinny as I wanted to be, never perfect - there is always room for less, how couldn't there be.

Still, I have been skinny-er before, I have been starving myself and exercising vigorously, and yes, I have been happy.

Hell, less than a year ago, I was ever-so-close to where I wanted to be with my body - I was thin, I was toned, clothes were falling off me and people were commenting the way they always do, with a mixture of awe and concern, of jealousy and curiosity.

"My, you have become ever so thin!", The Blonde Girl would say to me, and I would smile, all oblivious.

"Really? Hm, if you say so, must have been the fact that I took up running again..."
And she would laugh, unbelieving, flabbergasted "What, you didn't even notice?", clearly envious, so skinny herself, and yet in awe of my progress.

Those were good times, and I can honestly say that I was SO much happier then - not only happier; more complete, more in control, of myself, my life.
The "simple" fact of my body being closer to perfection made a whole world of difference in controlling my messed-up mind.

So there, I never want to hear those again, those lies of "It won't really make a difference" - It does.
If only I could get strong again, if only I could reach my goals, make up for the time I slacked.

If only...

Stay strong, and take those offerings of "wisdom" with a grain of salt.

Back to Zero

I am starting this blog because I need to get back on track.
With my life, with my body.

I am not doing well right now - I am depressed, as I've ever been, and I'm going through a bad episode at this point.
There's medication I should be taking, but I'm not.

I know what it does, why it's supposed to be helpful, but I just can't stand the thought - of something, anything, any entity messing about with my brain, influencing my emotions.

I've always been sceptical of that, the concept of forced-upon chemistry invading my head.
My brain is messed up enough as it is - I don't wanna add to it with pills.

At the very least, I want the messed-up-ness to be my own, to have originated in the depths of my own f*cked-up brain chemistry, not inside of a plastic bottle.

So, they're just sitting there, prescribed and paid for on my bathroom shelf, untouched.

The most important part though, that overshadows everything else, is to get my weight back under my control.
I've let myself go, and I don't feel skinny anymore. I AM not skinny anymore.
I am fat.
I have become a fat, disgusting slob.

I am not dancing through the Void right now - I am slouching, I am lying on the floor barely able to raise a limb.

That has to change, and soon, but in order to dance again, I need to be lighter.
I need to be thin again, thin and fit, thin and muscular - like the wispy, wiry wraith I know I am supposed to be.

So, I am starting here.
Starting on this blog, to give myself some semblance of control from the very start, a place to raise myself up, a place to let myself down, a place to bitch and rave and unwind.

I've been lurking about and reading a lot of thinspirational blogs around here, you're all fucking amazing to me and even though you do not know me and we've never met, I feel like you've already helped me a ton on my journey.

So, thanks to all you wonderful ladies out there, thank you and starve on.