I take morbid delight in my inability to learn from mistakes.

First of all, I have a confession to make: I DID weigh myself, at some point after starting this blog, despite saying that I really couldn't bear to know.

I did weigh myself, pretty much exactly a week ago, just two days after the "Serious Business" post were I still said I hadn't and wouldn't.

I did step on the scales, and kept the result to myself, because it was just as I had feared - not quite 60 kg, but a solid 59, hovering in between 58.9 and 59.2 as I stood there, shifting around on my feet to see whether that number wouldn't yet, magically, go down.

The good news in the matter, however, is today's revelation: I step on the scales this morning, not even entirely empty, not having been to the bathroom yet, already having had a bit of water - and it tells me 57.1.

I step off and on again, can't believe this stroke of luck.
Seems like the on-off ABC, the exercise, the one day of proper fasting have already done some good.

The bad news is the fact that I still look like a freaking whale of course, unchanged, 2 kg do not make a difference in the monstrously appalling dimensions of my thighs, the not-quite-flat-enough-ness of my belly.

Although I have seen some progress there; since I've started working out properly again, there are already teensy tiny changes and improvements in muscle definition along the legs, the abs.

I even imagine that I am already starting to feel a shift in the monstrosity that is my hips, but that might be wishful thinking entirely.

Still, wishful thinking is what fuels me to go on, and a little bit of a starting enthusiasm never hurts.

On the downside, I did eat today, although I wasn't really hungry - I went on fasting for most of the day and it wasn't even hard, it felt natural and easy.

Still, I was feeling suspicious for some reason, distrustful of my own ability to fast because I hadn't done this in so long.
So as the day wore on, I convinced myself that having a little something to eat would be "safest".

And there I went, eating, and immediately regretting it the second I had swallowed it down. It felt wrong, my high was destroyed, my belly full and my sense of peace and centered calm shattered to a thousand glittering pieces.

I am feeling shitty right now, on the verge of depression, but I will keep it together.

I have learned a valuable lesson; one that I already knew but apparently have to re-learn once more:
That I shouldn't eat when my body isn't even telling me to, that I should trust my body to handle itself and warn me by outrageous hunger or dizziness should the fasting become too much to bear, that I should trust my mind to handle the slightly heightened mental stress of running on empty for a while, that I shouldn't feel compelled to feed them in advance just because I fear they might not be able to deal.

I have learned, as I already knew, that it is very easy for myself to achieve a little happiness through careful fasting, and very easy to completely ruin the mood by eating when I do not need to.

I will try to keep these lessons in mind once again, to ease back into the confidence that I can handle a little hunger, a little silence, a little stillness of the body and mind.

I will try to listen to my instincts next time, to be patient and relaxed instead of nervous, to trust myself and discard the automated voice that insists a human being must have food to survive, and going without it for over 24 hours still feeling no hunger must be unnatural.

(Of course, that voice is technically right - a human DOES need nutrition in the long run, but that is not the point of a fast, and going without it for a few days will not kill you - so I need to shut that voice up for a little bit in order to concentrate on the void inside of me, to let it nourish me, replenish me during some food-free days of peace and silence.)

I hope I didn't ruin my progress too much; on the scale and in my emotional landscape, by tripping up my confidence and breaking the fast.

... and because I don't want this post to be filled with purely negative raving, I'm adding a little something from the "inspirational" department, a lovely fictional being with blue hair and blue tears, by the name of Jill, a creation of formidable genius Enki Bilal.

That image of her seemed to fit the mood of my post, and I'm using it with all due respect and copyright acknowledgement to Monsieur Bilal himself.
I love all of his graphic novels almost equally, but La Trilogie Nikopol was the first of his works I fell in love with, and of course first love lasts a lifetime.

If you haven't read them I can only encourage you to do so; it is worthwhile also to work your way through the French original, even if your French is as poor as mine.

Or, if you want a quick introduction to his world, I recommend the loosely-based movie adaptation Immortel, where Linda Hardy delivers quite a watchable, and incidentally rater skinny performance as Jill.





PS: Don't you just love the ironic juxtaposition created by those last two, completely unrelated panels when you put them together in this fashion?
Yeah, I'm deep like that...

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.

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.