as I formulate denials of your effect on me

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.