Wednesday, February 29, 2012
I've been giving a lot of thought to eating disorders recently. After watching Kate Thornton's Anorexic: My Secret Past, I've been spending a lot of my time contemplating eating disorders and what it would mean to other people.
She talks a lot about how her anorexia affected other people and that's probably the one area of anorexia that I can't understand. Even though I watch all the eating disorder documentaries that I can find and each and every one of them talk about how much the illness affects family and friends, I still can't get it into my head.
There is something so odd about the concept of other people wanting to care about what I'm eating, if I'm eating, how much I weigh. I can't believe it. Some part of my brain just refuses to compute that. It's a most bizarre concept.
I don't understand it when people worry. I don't completely understand that they do worry. I think they are being stupid. But then again, I don't completely believe that they are worried. After all, I'm so fat, why would they worry about my weight?
But on some level, I must know that it is a bad thing and that it will worry people, because why would I try to hide it so much? On some level I still have some grasp of what is "normal" and what is "abnormal". But my grip on that reality is slipping fast.
I can't remember what it's like to eat 3 meals a day, every day and not flinch at the thought of it. I can't remember what it's like to go out to dinner with friends and not try to count the calories in every meal. I can't remember what it's like to order what I want to eat, instead of carefully scanning the menu and choosing something that's possibly low calorie but not so low as to alarm my foodie friends. I can't remember what it feels like to live a day without feeling disgusting and fat.
I used to pride myself on my grip on absolute space. The place that was dimensionless and has no concept of time and contains at every single point, the absolute unbiased truth. My my absolute space is changing. I've got my own version of it now. I've created my own reality and my own truth. And it no longer matters what would normally exist in absolute space. That precious truth that I used to treasure and hold onto for dear life now doesn't hold any value for me. How did I get this way?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
My friend and I have tickets to see St. Vincent perform!!!!! Wooooo!!!! I love Annie Clark, she's so beautiful. I wish I looked like her.
Ah, what I wouldn't give to look like that! But no matter how wizardly I become with make-up I shall never be that pretty. My ugly little Asian eyes with the awful single eyelid that hides my stubby short lashes will never be that pretty. And my button up-turned nose. *sigh* I guess genetics were never really on my side. I was never destined for that beauty.
Anyway, the weight loss attempt has taken a rather interesting turn. I'm at a rather odd balance in life right now. I can't really do the negative calorie balance thing anymore. I was doing it while I was vegan. But I guess a year and a half of constant binge/purge and restricting cycles has taken a toll. That long of not eating normally has got to have some effect. And until now I had believed that I could somehow escape it and that everything was okay.
But alas! I was convinced that everything went downhill when I turned 21 and I was soooo right! At my ripe old age of 22, I can no longer handle all that stress. During general medicine, I worked 8am-5pm but I slept about 4 or 5 hours a day because I spent the rest of the time studying. Now, in general surgery, I work 7am-5pm days and my body refuses to let me scrimp on sleep.
Now when I am tired, I just shut down. There is no more reserve for me to burn through anymore. Now when I am tired, I simply faint. Like my body is saying "well fuck you, I'm doing what I want" and I just collapse. I've collapsed 3 times now (in public) and passed out countless times in private. It's really quite bad. I spent half an hour lying on the floor in a bathroom in the hospital today because I knew I was going to faint and I spent that long holding onto the floor and trying to drink water to get myself back up again.
Medicine is so not a glamourous job.
And I'm eating. 3 meals a day. It's really strange. I haven't eaten like this for almost 6 years now. But in the morning, I get up and I have fruit. At lunch I will have maybe some noodles and then I will have vegetables for dinner. I'm fairly certain I'm averaging 800-1000cal per day and the thought of that is killing me. But on the other hand, the shame from passing out at work is also killing me. I don't quite know what to do. But I have to eat, or else I keep passing out.
After dinner the guilt of eating so much always gets to me. So I go to the gym. I burn 300-400cal there. It makes me feel slightly better but being in a positive calorie balance makes me feel very insecure. Knowing that each day I'm taking in net 400-700cal makes me feel awful. I know that probably won't make me gain any weight, in fact I will probably maintain a steady weight loss, especially since the frequent eating ups my basal metabolic rate.
I will see how this week goes really. It's all just horribly foreign to me. I didn't realise I was so against eating. I thought I was choosing to eat less. But I really don't like eating, even though I love food. Eating so much is so foreign now. And very disconcerting indeed!
Monday, February 27, 2012
This is the story of meeting Tom the Orthopaedic Surgeon.
I'm slouching around ED, fiddling with the numerous useless items that I've stuffed into the pockets of my scrubs to keep me occupied. I'm so angry about having to spend a week in ED when I could be in surgery. Convinced nothing will ever cheer me up. Then she gets carried through the door. A beautiful 6 year old girl with her forearm in the shape of a wave. Even she knows that her arm isn't supposed to bend that way.
Ah, what it must feel like to be 6 years old. A time when weight and calories and metabolic rate aren't things that matter at all. Plus, she's thin as a rake. I'm jealous of how thin she is. How fucked up is that? The first thing I notice about a girl who has broken both bones in her forearm is how thin she is.
The x-ray is horrific. We grimace as we look at it. That's when he walks in. Tom the Orthopod. I stare at him like some sort of idiot. He's HUNKY. And that's not a word that I usually use at all. His dark brown hair poke out of the sides of his theatre hat and he stares back at me with his chocolate brown eyes through his hipster glasses. You can tell how muscular he is, even though he is wearing shapeless scrubs.
"Hi..." he glances at my name tag, "...Judith Marie, do you want to help out?"
I hold the unconscious little girl's arm as he reduces the fracture. The quiet room is filled with the sound of the crunching of bone grinding against bone. Slowly he massages her arm back into a straight line and plasters it in place.
The entire time I'm thinking what it would be like to have a him as a boyfriend. And at the same time hoping that he's not standing close enough to me to see how fat I am. The bandage on my stomach itches. It covers the cuts that I did last night. I'm pretty sure I will never ever wear a bikini again because of all the scars.
I'd been thinking that I can't ever need abdominal surgery, because I don't want any surgeon ever examining my abdomen and seeing all the cuts.
After meeting Tom I had one of the best days ever in the gym. I ran for longer than I have for a long time, rowed 2000m and did over 100 crunches and some other upper body strength stuff. I haven't worked that hard for a long time.
Because I want a boyfriend like Tom one day. And I don't want to ashamed and I don't want him to be ashamed of me. Someone as ripped and nice like that should have a beautiful, thin girlfriend. Shouldn't have to have some lumpy, dumpy fat girl like me. I've always talked about wanting to date an orthopod. About time I made myself worthy of one.
Friday, February 24, 2012
To start off with, thank you to Rachel, Fat Piggy, strive4perfection and Christina for your lovely comments on my last blog post.
It's raining outside. I'm upset but I forget exactly why. All I know is that I feel as though the world is ending. Melodramatic? Yes.
I rush through many sets of double doors, down vomit-beige coloured corridors and I know that I'm in an unnamed hospital somewhere. I'm running and running down my vomit coloured hospital corridors and somehow it is raining inside now. The stinging icy shards of rain melt into the hot tears streaming down my face. I'm cold and tired and devastated.
In that way that can only happen in dreams, I am suddenly redirected from my Newtonian method of running to walking down carpeted floors and richly painted walls. It takes me a while to notice that I am no longer where I used to be. His arm is draped across my shoulders as we walk and then he picks me up and I am being carried through time, and I know I am going to somewhere safe.
I find myself standing in his living room. He's sitting on his leather couch and he pats his lap. I squirm a bit and shake my head. "Why not?" I shake my head again. "Are you scared you'll be too heavy for me?"
I sit in between his legs because no force on this earth and in the land of dreams will compel me to sit on his lap. He cradles me and softly croons to me in that deep, melodic voice of his. I slowly drift off...
...I look around my room to find what has woken me.
My phone is buzzing. New Text Message. I curse it for waking me from such a nice cream. I look at the time and find that it's some ungodly hour of the morning. Who on earth is texting me at this time?
The professor. The shock of seeing his name immediately after that dream causes me to fumble and drop my new iPhone. His text says that he's in Abu Dhabi. At least that explains the time difference.
The past week has been an unmitigated disaster. I can't even bring myself to stand on the scales because I know I've gained weight and I really, REALLY don't want to know how much I've gained. And I know it is A LOT.
I started the week off with binging. I stained my bedsheets with blood from all the cutting and I snuck around at night cleaning them. I felt so full that I was dying for some laxies. And by the time Wednesday swung round, I resolved to fast and go to the gym. Good plan. I was looking forward to getting back on track. That morning, I rush to theatre, scrub in for the first case of the day and faint within the first half hour. Fainting in theatre. I will never live down the shame.
And this brought on an amazing amount of binging. Endless binging. More and more food. Clothes are tighter, things cease to fit me. I can see the fat piling on. And that's not a turn of phrase. I can actually see that I am fatter. I hate it. I hate it so much. But I brought it upon myself. I am so ashamed of myself. I didn't want to open this blog because I don't deserve to post here and have you lovely ladies read what I write when I am such a failure.
I miss the professor so much. Somehow, knowing that he is in Abu Dhabi makes me miss him more. I wish he was here. I want to do what I did in my dream and sit in his embrace and tell him about how I hate everything that I have become. I can't even lose weight properly. I want to hear him to tell me that it's okay and that I am a good person and not a complete waste of space and energy.
But that scenario is really one that only exists in dreams.
Then I think of J, the professor's wife. She's slightly taller than me. Maybe by an inch. And she weighs 56kg. He told me this. And so it makes me think. J is like a mother to me. So if my mother is going to be 56kg, then I should be well and safely tucked in the 40s. The ideal would be for me to be 10kg smaller than her. I'm not sure why, but I feel like being smaller than her will make them both like me more.
Flawed logic, yes.
Next week will be better. Next week.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
This is the winter of our discontent.
My flatmate and I are suffering in our little world. She has failed her exams and now can no longer go on her big overseas trip at the end of the year. She's usually so upbeat and witty and fun, it's such a shock to see her crying and lethargic and dull. I don't know what to do. I don't want to be too upbeat and desperately try to cheer her up. But apparently the only alternative is to ignore it. I'm trying to strike a balance between the two of them and I'm not sure how successful I am being. Maybe she just needs time.
A couple of things. Firstly, 76 followers???? When did that happen? HELLLOOOO!!!! Also, to my new followers and my old ones, blogger is just not telling me when all your blogs update so if you want me to follow your blog or check up on it, message me in the comments. Sometimes I'll log onto a blog and find lots of posts I've somehow missed.
Next is that my weight is swinging wildly out of control. My flatmate's depression goes hand in hand with junk food and I've been binging like some pig. And this makes me very VERY itchy for laxies. I haven't taken laxies since the end of last year and I don't have any left but I really, really do want some. I want to take a handful of them because I'm pretty sure I'm blocked up. I swore off them but I really do crave them. I guess time will tell what happens.
The cutting is coming back with quite a vengeance. I've been wanting to cut for weeks now but have refrained until today. 5 cuts on my upper outer left thigh. My usual depth and my usual sort of cutting. It felt good, but it didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted to cut deeper, longer, and I wanted more cuts. I'm trying not to cut my abdomen because I've pretty much already guaranteed I will never wear a bikini again and so that really only leaves my thighs. I am desperate to cut my arms but it's summer and I don't want others to see them.
I know I've gained weight, probably all the weight I lost so successful and with so much grandeur when I was vegan. I don't want to weigh myself. I think I will go through next week with vegan/fasts and maybe a few laxies before I subject myself to the scale again.
I hope you girls are doing better than me. Love you all.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Fat Piggy, LittleMissFairy, Zapfire, Anafly and Christina - my beautiful ladies! Thank you for your lovely comments on my last post. So encouraging! I feel so loved!
I honestly can't say how much your support means to me. It really, really means a lot. So, seeing as it is Valentine's Day I thought I'd write a different sort of post. Also, seeing as I just started General Surgery, I thought I'd update you girls on what has been going on.
The days of medicine are over. No more 7 hour long ward rounds. No more stopping off for coffee. No more gossip with my girls. Welcome to the quickfire world of General Surgery, where the theatre days are tough, the long days tougher and the bosses tougher still. Yesterday I was dropped into the world where the days start at 7am and end around 7pm, you stand up all day, run around and run up and down stairs. No more 8 patients on our lists being considered a long list. Today we had 25 patients. And this is the shortest the list has been in a month.
This is a world where nobody gives a fuck about who I am or where I am. I could go home and chill out or I can work myself into the ground. The only person who gives me the time of day is Dr. St Valentine (no, that's not his name, it's a literal interpretation of his name). Like the little girl I am, I giggled when I heard his name.
There are chocolates in his pigeon hole, he offers them to me, "Happy Valentine's Day". We do the ward round with me chewing on chocolate. He treats patients the way I want to treat them when I'm a doctor. Watching him work is like watching a vision of a perfect doctor. He's smart, funny, incredibly understanding and comforting, he's handsome and he puts his patients first.
It is a privilege to meet someone like him. It's much too hard to find someone to look up to in this world. Hopefully I lose some weight on this run. I'm already shirt tired after 2 days. So very tired. There is never enough sleep, or enough down time. Or enough people who give a shit about me. The only person who talks to me is Dr. St Valentine. And when I see him, I make a mental note that I swear to always treat my juniors nicely.
Before any of you perk up, Dr. St Valentine is very much married. But my favourite doctors have been married men who I got along really well with. Still, it's some sort of strange motivation. Seeing someone so perfect, it makes me want to reach for perfection even more. I want my future students to think that of me. Beautiful, thin, smart, caring. That's what I want to be.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
"How can I help you guys? Would you like to try any flavours?"
Her long red hair was piled on top of her head in a perfectly styled messy bun. Small slivers of hair fall around her angular face and follow the line of her jaw. Her cherry gloss lips smile out at us as she hands us little spoons full of gelato.
2 scoops is what I order. She gives me more like 5 scoops.
It's the cheapest ice cream I have ever paid for. It comes in a flower bowl and she hands it to me on a silver platter. Literally.
She takes her apron off to clean the tables. The tight shirt she's wearing clings to her ribs. As she turns around and bends down to wipe the table down, her spine sticks out. Her waist looks like it's about the same size as my thigh. My friend is wolfing down her ice cream. She's a psychologist. I eye my gelato up and down and follow suit. Each bite taking me one step away from the girl cleaning the table next to us.
Each spoonful that I put in my mouth speaks to me. You fat cow. You fat cow. You fat and ugly cow. Look at you, you pathetic mess. You can't even stay away from gelato. You don't deserve to be thin. Look at her, she's beautiful. She's the picture of perfection. Look at how beautiful she is with her bones. You don't deserve to be that beautiful. You fat cow. You fat cow. You fat cow.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Sometimes you have to just pick your battles. Sometimes it's not that easy but sometimes it really is just black and white.
Sometimes nothing goes your way. Sometimes nothing is how you planned it. Sometimes you need something to hold onto and if that thing is something terrible but it keeps you from ending it all, then it's not so terrible.
Sometimes you are so full of nervous energy that you can't do anything at all. Other times you are so tired that you are too tired to sleep.
Sometimes no matter how much weight you lose, you still think you look the same. There is never a time when you think you are losing weight fast enough.
Sometimes it is just so discouraging to never feel good enough and never feel beautiful. And sometimes all the compliments in the world won't make that better.
BMI of 20.6. I'm getting close to getting out of the 20s. I can't remember the last time I was out of the 20s, I think it was probably when I was at intermediate school.
But with every pound lost I feel guilt. Guilt and triumph.
Let's play a game. How low can you go?
How low can I go without getting in trouble? How well can I hide it?
Each pound lost brings unspeakable joy. Absolutely unspeakable joy. Nothing makes me feel more accomplished. The thrill of being hungry, of feeling thinner, of being able to starve, of turning down a meal...sometimes that's the only thing that makes me feel like I'm worth anything at all.
That feeling lasts maybe a minute.
Each cut and each blood stained tissue brings unspeakable relief. That tension that stops me from sleeping and stops me from studying and stops me from doing anything at all just melts away. It keeps me sane. It keeps me from jumping off high buildings and from jumping off bridges and from jumping in front of trains. Sometimes it's the only think that keeps me alive and I feel pure and justified and holy.
That feeling lasts maybe a minute.
Then the guilt floods in. I can never ever wear a bikini again. Even if I manage to lose all the fat, I won't lose all the scars. And what if anyone ever found out. I can only ever explain some of the cuts. Some of the other ones are clearly self harm.
"Are you behaving yourself?" the professor looks at me with special emphasis. Clever move indeed. Everyone else thinks he's being sweet and making sure that I'm not partying madly or whatever.
"Of course I am." I meet his gaze and smile sweetly. I made that mistake once, I'm not making it again. He does not need to know that I'm still losing weight and cutting myself. He does not need to know that I have absolutely no intention of ever telling him anything like that ever again.
I hate lying to him. But he is going to find out one day. He will know, when I am dead, he will know that nothing ever changed. And that I have been lying to him for years.
But I will do what I want this time. I'm not going to fight with him over this. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Christina, Glue, Anafly: thank you lovely ladies for your kind word on my last post. It really was a devastating moment for me. But you guys helped me get through it!
There are a couple of things that have happened.
Firstly (most importantly) my weight is now 116lbs. I am 1lb away from my next goal weight.
I didn't lose as much weight as I wanted to, I had really hoped to surpass my goal weight this week but I haven't been this small for such a long time and so I can't help but feel really happy. I'm also planning to keep this diet up so I'm hopefully I will hit my goal weight soon. It's not so hard to not eat that much food. It's not so hard to only eat vegetables. I will have to eat normally on weekends with family, but being vegan and hitting the gym on weekends is working pretty well for me!
I'm pleased with the numbers. I do feel thinner. But there is still fat everywhere. I've got such a long way to go. But progress is progress and considering the troubles I've had with losing weight, I don't feel qualified to complain about a loss, no matter how small.
Next, I went to see the professor today. Handed my project to YW. Who, for those of you with amazing memories, is the freaking thinnest girl I have ever met. The professor said he would give me some case reports to write up and publish later in the year when I'm not so busy. And that does make things a bit better.
The professor and I are getting on better than ever. We were totally teasing YW today, and I think YW felt a little weird because her boss and me (her junior) were ganging up on her. And we convinced her that we ate cats and dogs. She looked at us as if we were complete freaks. And we looked at each other like we were part of some special club and she wasn't. It was like the weirdest bonding moment with the professor ever.
He said I was looking really good today. A normal enough compliment for any normal girl. But apparently not me. I was like, so offended. I don't want to look good. I want him to say, "you look too thin", "you look like you've lost weight", "I am worried about your weight."
I've lost 8lbs since I came back from Singapore. And he hasn't noticed at all.
Still, the taste of being skinny is just soooo good. I can't wait to actually be really skinny, l can't being able to see my bones, of being able to feel bony. I want people to feel my bones. When the professor puts his arm around me I want him to feel ribs and spine. I want him to feel cheekbones when he kisses me. I want people to be able to see my collarbones sticking out when I walk towards them. I want to be the thinnest girl that people know. I want to be the thinnest. The skinniest. I want to be known as the thin one. I want to find it hard to buy clothes because everything is too big.
Thin is all I want. So what if things with the professor are all good. So what. None of it makes any difference while I'm fat. It's only good if I'm thin.
I will be thin. I've been losing weight again. I will get to 115lbs next week. Then I will get to 110lbs in another few weeks. Then after that, 100lbs. Then, I will be in the double digits. DOUBLE DIGITS!!!!
For now the scale is my friend.