Monday, April 23, 2012

don't care if it hurts, I want to have control.

I want a perfect body. I want a perfect soul. 

Mirror, mirror. The unscrupulous bitch that stares back at me is unrecognisable. Silk shirt tucked into high waisted pants and a lanyard with a garish name tag. In the great hullaballoo of figures and colours and ailments rushing by, her image is the one that strikes me. Breathe in. Fiery hatred floods my being as a natural instinct, everything about the way she looks is so utterly repulsive to me. The bulge of her stomach, the way her arms balloon from her short sleeves, the way her voluptuous breasts seem to be bursting past the buttons, the subtle double chin. Hideous. 

Breathe out and stop. The hullaballoo has moved on, and it is only me who remains, staring. All the hatred, the revulsion, the disgust, the torrent of emotion that flooded through me in a river of rage has been stunned into pause. In the rush I had failed to recognise my own reflection. I had directed so much hate towards someone who I thought was a stranger, only to realise I had been looking at myself. How did I become this?


I see you are back to commenting on my blog. If my posts upset you, why do you continue to read them? I think your efforts would be better employed doing something you enjoy, such as going out with friends, or undertaking whatever hobbies you may have instead of leaving abusive comments on my posts. 

Do you really expect me to change views that I have held my entire life because someone like you, who I have never met, finds me selfish and stupid (and whatever else you have called me over the years)? 

I know what I'm doing isn't normal. And I can see why you and others may see it as selfish. But you know nothing of my life and how I grew up and my motivations. Not every woman dreams of having a husband and children to cook for. Just as not every person is able to look at food normally. You can't really think that when I starve myself it is some sort of conscious effort to hurt and betray everyone who might care about me and sabotage some vague dream of an idealised family unit. It certainly isn't. Sometimes, it is a coping mechanism that I must do to make it through the day. 

Most of us who have eating disorders are highly intelligent. You obviously don't think so, as you've called me stupid many times now. But most of us get top grades and have highly paid jobs and have high functioning lives and we know more about nutrition than most people who aren't nutritionists. Nothing about ED is about getting nutrition, it's a fear of food, a fear of losing control, a fear of gaining weight that runs in our bones and it's not something that can be changed by telling us to snap out of it. 

Do I like the way I am? No. I'd change many things. And if I could look at food normally, if there was a chance of that, I would. An existence where I don't have to face my worst fear everywhere would be lovely. I would not wish this upon anybody, not even you. For you to think that this is such a simple problem is rather ignorant of you. I don't think you can understand what it's like, not unless you somehow develop an eating disorder. 

What is it that you try to achieve with your comments? Do you hope to inspire me into recovery? Do you want to shame and ridicule me until I fall into a pool of misery and kill myself? I can tell you right now that neither of those things will happen. 

Do you simply want to point out my stupidity and laugh? Feel free to laugh and jeer all you like. But you don't need to be abusive. You don't need to post those comments on my blog. You don't need to read my blog at all. I like to think I've been reasonably civil with you. And you should give me some credit and believe me when I say I'm not a silly little pre-pubescent girl who is online attention seeking. I'm an much older girl, using this as a forum for expressing my thoughts and perhaps meeting people who follow my wavelength. 

Friday, April 13, 2012

too fat for words

The 100 Day Challenge

Stuff taking a break. It's too hard to take a break when all I can think about is losing weight and being so freaking fat. 

I was reading a blog called "Too Fat For Words" and she was talking about this 100 day challenge. 100 days to get to a set of goals. This is just what I need to keep myself motivated. It's a nice way of staying focused. I'm going to Bristol in 20 weeks. That's 140 days. And I do not want to look this fat and ugly when I go. This is awful. I will be lovely and thin for Bristol. 

So if I start on Monday, then I will have about 39 days to spare at the end of the challenge to squeeze a little bit more weight off and get myself sorted itinerary wise. Meanwhile, for the next 100 days, I can focus on my weight and finally do something that I can be proud of.

These are my goals:

1. I currently weigh 125lbs. I want to weigh 90lbs when I leave. I must lose 35lbs.

2. Finish that goddamn paper that I've been working on as long as I can remember

3. Be able to do the splits on both legs. 

4. Book hotels for the week before I start work in Bristol. 


6. Fit into size 6 jeans. (NZ size 6. This is the smallest size you can buy here without getting children's sizes.)

At 90lbs I want:

1. To be able to see 4 ribs without stretching up or sucking in.

2. To be able to see my spine easily when I bend over. 

3. To have my hip bones stick out.

4. For there to be an almighty gap between my thighs. 

5. To be able to see my arm muscles. 

6. Concave stomach. 

And I will do this in 100 days. In just over 14 weeks. That's 2.5lbs each week. I will do this. I will do this. 

Thursday, April 12, 2012

suicidal fantasies

"I want you to know I'm not through the night. Sometimes I'm still fighting to walk towards the light."

There is a deep, primal grumbling beneath me. The jagged rocks cut into my bare feet, I can barely feel them due to the cold. It's a bitter wind, it's a biting wind, it's a bracing wind. It is one last kiss from life. An icy kiss to farewell me from a life that never loved me. 

It's my hometown. It's the place where I grew up. And here I recall a childhood of ignorant bliss, muddy football stained t-shirts and cream cakes and scraped knees. A time where size and weight were irrelevant and calories were still mysteries held by the universe. And here I recall leaving that behind and entering a different world that was not so kind and not so forgiving. 

School balls and Valentines and boyfriends and shopping malls. Those were never meant for a girl like me. They were not part of my world of textbooks and calculators and tutors and exams. I'm not sure if I ever lusted after them. 

Years of trouble. Taunting. Teasing. Loathing. Hatred. Self-harm. Now I am old enough to recognise it as abuse. At the hands of my classmates, my so-called friends, my family. One day I'm stupid. One day I'm fat. One day I'm ugly. One day I'm unworthy. Everyday I am something that I wish I was not. This is what became my reality. 

If my reality is a cage from which I cannot escape then I care not to know what the general populus knows as reality. Because it is irrelevant. 

The grumbling beneath me grows, the stones I stand on start to tremble, my heart begins to race, my body begins to shake with the adrenalin that pumps through me. Automatic and accurate, one foot moves in front of the other and I wriggle them once I am balancing on the smooth metal railings of salvation. 

I want to dance. I have never felt so full of anticipation, so powerful. Now I understand that none of it ever mattered. In this moment in time, none of it ever mattered and I am happy. There is no doubt. There is no regret. There is no shame or sorrow. I am finally getting what I want. 

It's so close. I can hear it now. The vibration down the line is like electricity coursing through my veins. Under my breath I hum that dear old tune that's kept me comfortable for years "she's got a ticket to ride and she don't care". 

I can't see. The light is too bright. I can't hear anything but my heartbeat above the roar fast approaching. The dense night air rushes towards me, carrying with it the promise of resolution. 

I spread my arms to embrace whatever may come. 

I think of all those I love. 

The one promise I did keep - I loved them till whatever end. 

I am engulfed by the light and the noise. 

One big hum. 

The cold becomes warmth. 

The light becomes darkness. 

The heartbeat slows. 

This is freedom of choice. 

I have never been so happy. 

Thursday, April 5, 2012

plan for tomorrow, I promise you, you're going to be okay

"We're right here beside you, and right here we will stay. Plan for tomorrow, because I swear to you, you're going to be okay." 

I apologise for my absence. The truth is, I'm thinking of taking a wee break from blogging, and from everything. I don't really understand what's happened. Or how. 

Well, that's not true. I think the truth is more like, there is a huge battle going on in my head right now and it makes me utterly incapable of doing anything, including doing this blog. 

The small part of me that wants recovery is rearing it's head again. It's ugly, ugly head. I've been feeling this way since I saw the professor. 

He asked me how many ribs I could see. I told him that right now I could only see 2 of them.  Down from 4 ribs. How I have failed in life. The look he gives me is one that I have trouble reading, and trouble believing. It's a strange mix of concern, amusement and sadness. 

"I know you can still see your ribs because I can feel them when I hug you." 
In my head I celebrate this sentence. 

This must be what it feels like to be loved. 
Part of me is sad. Because now I realise that in all my 22 years of life, this is the first time I've felt loved. 
It's an unspeakable security, an unfaltering tenderness, a place I belong. 
That warmth that spreads throughout a body when one swallows hot soup. That's how I feel all the time. Always warm. Filled with the assurance of safety. 
Filled with the vulnerability that I have been sheltering for so long. 

In a way it feels good to let some of that go. 
So much of what I have worried over for so long is now leaving me. And all it took was for one person to show that they care. 
A new kind of restlessness has filled my bones.
The agitation of joy. Of having motivation. And the relief of not constantly questioning myself and all that I do. 

I feel so blessed.

How did I find the professor?
A man with no children, who can never have children of his own, but desperately wants a daughter. 

How did he find me?
A girl who has spent most of her life wanting the love and approval of a father who can't ever give it to her. 

I know that he hides his affection for me from his wife.
She has her own set of problems. If she knew mine, she'd fall apart. I am a daughter to her. And following in her ED footsteps. 

When it's just the professor, things are somehow calmer. Open.
He reaches for me. Pulls me into his chest. Wraps his arms around me and squeezes. 
"It's so good to see you."
Peck on the cheek. I crinkle my nose and giggle.

In those moments I feel perfect. 
Not a thing that I would change. Not one thing.
Pity it never lasts long.

As I sit and I feel my thighs touch, I imagine getting liposuction in my head. 
I imagine having a gap between them.
I feel so unhappy with how fat I am. Desperately so. 

I hate lying to him. Really I do.
I hate upsetting him, a better daughter would just obey. 
But I'm not a better daughter. And I can't obey this one thing.

Plan for tomorrow. Those three words mean different things to the two of us.
For him it means me getting over this. Looking at food normally. No more cutting. Gaining some weight. And just a little confidence. Then the two of us moving forwards along the same path.

For me it means thin. And thin. And blood and thin. And thin.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

I'm a fat pig (who is simultaneously too thin)

"Tell me your secrets and ask me your questions. Let's go back to the start." 

For those of you who have followed my blog for some time now (firstly, thank you so much for following me for so long) may have guessed by the title of this post and by the opening line that I have seen the professor. I was supposed to see him on a weekly basis, but managed to convince him that I didn't need to. But if I'm honest, then I'd say that I love seeing him and his wife. I absolutely adore them. I love being with him.

You don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart.

That's how he makes me feel. He's not actually quoted those lyrics, although I do think he's said "you don't know how lovely you are" or something along those lines. When I'm with him, and I'm too distracted by him to get into my own head, in those moments, I feel so special. 

He knows just what advice to give me. He knows what I want to say, but am too scared to say, and he knows how to ask me about it. He knows how to make me feel better about myself. He knows not to push me too far. 

It's so odd. He's never said it, but I feel so loved by him. Maybe it's how he always understands what I'm trying to do, even when neither of us verbalises it. Maybe it's how he will give me a big hug and kiss when we say hello or goodbye. Maybe it's how he will randomly hug me as we are walking and tell me how good it is to see me and how good I'm looking. Maybe it's how he will fluff my hair or tuck loose strands behind my ear. Maybe it's how he gives my cheek a little pinch when I blush. Maybe. 

I've not seen him for a long time, maybe 2 months. He tells me that I look very thin. And we spend some time talking about ED. I tell him that I never notice it when I lose weight, but I can feel every ounce of weight that I gain. I tell him that I hate having curves. He says that every man loves curves and prefers curvy women. I tell him that I hate the feeling of having curves, it feels horrible. He looks at me in a sad way. 

The three of us have lunch and spend the afternoon wandering through art galleries. It's almost a surreal experience. Conversation and banter flows so naturally with them. I have absolutely no qualms about asking them for advice about Ben. I love hearing the stories they have. He teaches me about art. And she will roll her eyes at me when he cracks a dry joke. I feel like I belong there, with them, even though I don't.