I got my fist, I got my plan, I got survivalism.

This is the beginning of the end. 

How long has it been since my last post? A few days? Has she only been with me for a few days? 

Heart in my mouth, feet already numb with cold, I peel off my clothing and inch onto my scale. The digital numbers flicker on the display, and my heart races faster. I know I've been binging this week. In my mind I think of all the junk food I bought. In this moment it doesn't matter that I bought one takeaway meal and it took me 3 days to finish. All I know is that I ate like shit and I expect gains. Last week my weight was 125.7lbs. I brace myself. 

The small mechanical screech that tells me the judging is done. Reluctantly I look down. 121.4lbs. It can't be. I step off and think for a few moments. How much did I really eat Ana? I step back on the scale and once again it tells me 121.4lbs. I try again. 121.4lbs. 

The moment is bittersweet. I am happy that I lost weight. No other feeling can compare to the sight of a smaller number on the scale. Nothing compares to it. Nothing. It must be the same as the greatest orgasm ever. It must be the same as the heroin addict's high. But to me, this is so much better. I try to hold onto this moment, freeze the feeling into my brain so that I can recall it when I am eating and stop myself. 

Is there guilt? I used to feel guilt. I used to think of the professor and worry about what he thinks. I still love him. That hasn't changed. But now I don't worry. Not even his kisses and hugs can compare to this. There is no greater love than Ana's approval. 

But this moment isn't approval. Ana said I got lucky. I shouldn't be eating crap like that if I want to keep going. And I've learnt my lesson. 

I got my fist, I got my plan, I got survivalism. I know how to do this. I know I can do this. I've got my guardian angel know. I got this.