Tattoos are awesome.

"You have a gentle nature." Words that I will hold onto for the rest of my life. 

So. This is my awesome new tattoo. About half way through, I realise that the guy doing my tat...this is his first day on the job, and my tat is the second one he's EVER done. I did have a minor heart attack, but in the end, he did a FANTASTIC job. 

The tattoo is better than the picture I provided and that's awesome. I'm happy with it, so happy with it. I feel so complete. 

hula hoops, adrenaline and the ability to read minds.

"Flight of fancy on a windswept field, standing alone, my senses reel."

Any position is painful. My abs, my poor burning abs. I've recently taken up hula hooping and man, it's not as easy as it looks! I'll hoop on and off for an hour a day while watching TV...maybe 30mins in total. I started it because this whole Joe thing makes me incapable of sitting still for any period of time. Apparently hula hooping can burn 300cal an hour. I'm going to underestimate and say that I might have burned 100cal today. It's something!

If I'm still, I'm thinking about him, and then the adrenaline gets pumping and I can't still any longer. I have to jiggle something, I am walking up and down the length of the hospital, I have to get up and hula hoop, I just have to move. Every time I sit down to meal, I suddenly get an overwhelming urge to vomit. Today I probably had...400cal at most. I don't have an accurate count because...during the day I had a coffee with milk, 100cal. Then at dinner I cooked myself some noodles, a bowl of cabbage soup and a plateful of green vege with mushrooms. I ate the vege and mushrooms, probably half a cup in total and had  few mouthfuls of noodles and cabbage soup before I felt dangerously ill. 

I had prepared a lot of food because I know I haven't eaten a proper meal for a long time, and I wanted to binge. I really did want to. I wanted to stuff it all inside me and just feel full and bloated. But when it came down to eating it, I just couldn't do it. 

This is such a strange ill. I can't eat because I feel ill and I feel ill because I don't eat. The result is that I permanently feel ill and I just don't eat. 

Right now I am not sure what I weigh, I weighed myself this afternoon after drinking a litre of water, and with my clothes on, and not having gone to the bathroom for 2 days, and it was 121lbs. I've spent every hour since that weigh in wondering if there are 2lbs of weight on me that I can not count...how much do my clothes weigh? What if I hadn't drunk that water? What if I had taken some laxatives? Would that number have been less than 119lbs? 

I haven't been less than 119lbs in like...well, I don't remember the last time I saw a number less than 119lbs on the scale. 

This is a miserable existence, but at the end of the day, when I stand on the scale, there is no such rush comparable to finding out that my weight has gone down. God, I want it to go on though. I want to see Joe more. The more I see him, the less I want to eat. The more thin I want to be. 

Still, I had a realisation today. Joe has absolutely no idea how I feel about him. So I am officially the worst flirt in the whole wide world. I am sure he doesn't know I am currently just a wee bit mad about him. Dammit. Why can't he just fancy me and make the first move? If that happened I would never ever eat again. 

snug in size 0

"Let me be empty, oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight."

I'm losing my head. Losing it completely. I can't possibly be on my game. It's Joe. Stupid fucking Joe. No, that's not true. Joe has nothing to do with it. Stupid fucking me. Stupid, stupid fucking me. At any rate, I sought help over this matter, and my friend, who I was hoping would talk me through it and help me just get over him instead text him on my behalf and asked him to coffee. 

Fuck. Okay, so coffee isn't a big deal. It really isn't. And in the hospital, it is a total necessity. So it isn't as big a deal as it is in my head. In my head I'm making a mountain out of a mole hole. 

At any rate, me and Joe are trying to find a time to have coffee next week. I don't really believe it will really happen, but we'll see. 

Nothing about it makes sense at all. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. By all accounts, I should hate Joe. But I don't. Gah!!!! Nothing makes sense, and I absolutely hate this sense of losing control, I hate this feeling of everything spiraling out of my control, I hate that I can't even control my feelings. 

I feel so insecure that I am doing something that feels so fundamentally wrong for me. There is a reason I am 23 years old and have never had a relationship, never had a fling, never been kissed. And to step outside this comfortable little box of mine...it feels like shit. 

Can't eat, can't sleep, can't think of anything except Joe. What sucks is, even though I know I am suffering this much, I'm sure that Joe is completely unaffected. 

Ah well, every cloud and all. 

I felt thin for the first time today. It took me completely by surprise because at 119lbs, I still think I'm fat as fat as fat. Even though I've lost enough weight for me to be pulled aside at the airport and have 3 different people stare at my passport to see if it really is me. So I must look sort of different. 

When I look in the mirror, all I can do is pinch and pinch at all my fat and I feel like shit. But today, when I was at the bank, and feeling miserable for being at a bank...I was sitting, sort of hunched over, legs crossed with my arms over my legs and I suddenly felt a hollow. I felt like there were gaps between my limbs and a hollowed out stomach and I felt thin. 

I have NEVER felt thin before. I was shocked and stunned and absolutely delighted. So today, I have only had one chicken kebab and a bowl of cabbage soup with a few pieces of squid. I don't know how many calories that is...but certainly no more than 700-800cal. Not as good as I'd like. 

I think this Joe thing...all food seems so unappetizing. I want to eat, because I'm used to eating and binging. I haven't done this in a long time and so somewhere inside me, I feel like I should be due for a binge right about now. But faced with food, I just want to vomit. 

Do you know what the problem is? Joe is tiny. He's so small. He's a wee bit taller than me (and I'm 1.6m) and he is fucking skinny. I am so tempted to ask him he weighs just to get a rough idea of how much fatter I am because I am SURE that I weigh more. I've always wanted to date a much bigger, muscular guy, one who I would trust to catch me and pick me up than one who is smaller than me. 

Dammit, I need to be smaller than him. This is just insane. How can he be so fucking small! Why can't I be that fucking small! FUUUUUUCK. And at the root of it all, why do I have to fucking fancy him???? 

But to the title of this blog...since I have lost enough weight for me to notice, I decided to try on some of my "trial" clothes. I have quite a few size zero items tucked away in drawers and closets. I squashed into quite a few of them today. All those skirts that i never used to be able to fit are now quite snug. SNUG. So maybe another 6lbs later, they might actually be comfortable. 

It's so nice to be able to fit into some size zero clothes, so nice. So good to have some confirmation that I am going in the right direction. Come on 100lbs, come on double digits. Maybe when I'm thin, I'll feel better about Joe. 

But for now, if I can't control what is going on with Joe, then I need something to hold onto. I need the certainty of starvation and weight loss. I need some constant in my life. 

I am a monster that needs to be spayed.

"The two of us, all used and beaten up. Watching fate as it flows down the path we have chose. You and me, we're in this together now."

I LOST 6LBS ON NIGHT SHIFTS!!!! 119LBS FTW!!!!

I have just spent 10 hours over the past 2 days wondering how to write this post so I guess that's a leeway into how ravaging it has been for me. After all this thinking I still don't have an answer as to how I feel or what the hell is going on with me. I have spiraled from being deludedly happy to being tired and angry to being wistful and hopeless to finally feeling like I'm some sort of monster. 

It's Joe. It's fucking Joe's fault. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Whatever is happening, and I'm really not sure what, it's wrong. It's not supposed to happen and a part of me is very, very angry about that. 

Whatever it is, I have never felt so ill in all my life. Admittedly, some of that is probably the caffeine withdrawal and the night shifts screwing up my biological clock. I've just spent the past four nights with Joe. No, not in that sort of way, we were on night shifts together, I was the house surgeon and he was the registrar. And we were the only two doctors on for orthopaedics overnight. So it was kind of hectic to say the least. 

I spent a lot of time with him, in those nights I probably spent more time with him than with any guy I've known (bar my father). That was weird. I was supposed to spend most of my time on the wards, while he was in ED, and that's how it's been for other house surgeons.  But I was in ED for most of the night. I seriously hope that the ward patients were okay because I wasn't really there. 

Not that I did much in ED. Mostly just sat there and wrote notes for him. A bit redundant really. The smarter, more efficient thing to do would have been to split up and divide and conquer the patients but Joe was having none of that. He got in trouble for not seeing patients fast enough and I heard him on the phone, several times, telling the ED bosses that it was very important that I stay with him. 

Here is the be all and end all. I wish with all my heart that I wasn't attracted to Joe. There is nothing about him that goes along with what I've always liked in guys. But I am attracted to him. I have never flirted so much than those 4 nights with Joe. Having said that, I am probably the clumsiest, worst flirt in the entire world so he probably didn't even know. 

I can't tell you how many times I wished Joe would just put his arms around me and just hold me, or just grab my hand. Dammit. When and why did I turn into such a desperate bitch? I am hating on myself right now. The bad thing is, I can imagine myself dating him, and having a good time too. 

And I'm sure Joe doesn't feel anything for me. There might be sparks flying for me but there is absolutely nothing going on from his side of things. He doesn't fancy me at all. And that just breaks my heart. 

But everything has an upside right? I can't eat, I can't sleep. I'm so numb. At least I will lose some weight. 

Damn, feeling bad because Joe feels nothing for me. Feeling like a sinner for flirting with him. I wish I could just feel something else. Dammit. 

Just let me be weightless and numb. 

the endless night.

It's 8pm, I'm tired and ready for bed, but I don't actually start work for another 2 hours. My first night shift ever. I'm scared shitless. Absolutely shitless. Suddenly I don't know how to manage anything at all. 

I haven't even started and I already feel this night is endless. 8am in the morning can't come soon enough. I miss my registrars, I want to see their faces. I want them to sit me down over coffee and tell me that everything will be okay. I feel so alone, even though I am still at home and with my family. 

I'm so scared and I can't wait for this to be over. 

I got us coffee.

Haters gonna hate. 

Well with those wise words from ASLNik on my last post, I'm going in to book my next tattoo on Monday. Need to get it drawn up first, but then I will get it done. Thanks for your comment, and you've voiced what I've often thought myself...my scars, tattoos, they are all part of my story, and are all part of what made me what I am today. 

Even though I may have changed, it's always important to remember where I came from, and to remember why I am the way I am. Fuck, you're right. If a guy is going to love me, he will love me, tattoos and all. If he can't handle a tattoo, he sure as hell won't be able to handle my other problems. 

So...my calorie count for today was...700 or 800 calories, because I have no idea if that was trim milk or regular milk in my coffee. I was stunned when I realised for the first time that in a large coffee, there was more than 100cal difference between trim milk and regular milk. 

Totally 300cal more than I needed or wanted. But what's done is done and all in all I had a good day. 

There was teaching this morning, I sat there with the junior doctors, crammed around a computer screen. All of us tired and fading away. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there is a hand, holding a cup of coffee, creeping over my shoulder, jiggling it in my face. I summon the energy that does not exist to drag myself out of the stupor and grab it. 

The warmth from the paper cup creeps up my fingers, my arms, into the core of me and suddenly I realise everyone is staring at me with a mixture of envy and amazement in their eyes. I turn around and I see my registrar Cam smiling down at me. "I was a bit late to that meeting so I decided to gap it and get us coffee." 

There is an unspoken law that the most junior member of the team gets the coffee, and he's just broken it. Everyone is dumbstruck for a moment, even me. As he sits down beside me and listens in to teaching, I feel like the cat that got the cream. With a face like a smug dog, I look around at the other house surgeons thinking, jealous bitches? Not that they notice, of course, they are too busy staring at the coffee. 

Later that day Cam calls me. Are you okay?--- What?--- You haven't called me all day so  got worried. ---I saw you 2 hours ago Cam. Everything is still okay.--- Oh. I was worried because I hadn't heard from you.--- Okay.--- I'll call you again later. 

I call him an hour later, jobs all done. He must be in the middle of clinic but we have a long chat, full of laughs and profanity. I tell him I'm going onto nights. He says he'll miss me. Gosh. I'd TOTALLY be the cat who got my pot of cream, except for the fact that Cam is very much married. Why are all the good ones married? But I suppose that questions answers itself doesn't it. 

skin tight biker pants

"A name in your recollection, down among a million same. Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed and passed over."

With some trepidation I pull out the black, faux leather, biker pants that I bought in the UK on one of my spending sprees. I didn't really fit them at the time, but it was one of those things that I bought with the hope of one day fitting them. And I do! Well, sort of. I can put them on, with a bit of unflattering tugging and pulling and for the most part I can spend the day in them. They would be a hell of a lot more comfortable if I were a few pounds less, but at least I know I'm making some sort of progress. 

It is a small success in my world that is not so much full of successes. I don't know what the matter is with me. I've been feeling incredibly down. Ancient feelings that I thought were dead and buried are stirring up inside me again. The professor has sent me a rather terse email, telling me not to pester him, he's doing much more important things than my research. And although I know it's true, and I knew I shouldn't have reminded him about my research, it's hard for me not to feel just a little bit shit. 

I worried about how it might affect my career for about half a second when something inside me corrected that track of thinking. Hang on, I'm now 23, going to be 24 at the end of the year. I have always planned to be dead by 27, which is only 3-4 years away. Why worry about a career? I'll be dead before any of that can happen. 

It has been a long time since I seriously thought about suicide. I will always have moments when I toy with the idea of death, but it has been probably years since I last seriously wanted to die and to take my own life. I don't know what changed. Maybe it's because I met all these men...Ben, Mark, Michael, all these guys who gave me a fleeting moment of hope and when I had crushes on them, I felt like I could see some sort of future. I could see marriage, and travel and a family, and a home and I wanted to perhaps be with them and spend life with them. 

Now, for some inexplicable reason, all that has disappeared. Just gone. I don't want any of that anymore. I'm back to where I've started. I don't want those flights of fancy anymore. I don't particularly care if I'm never kissed, never touched, never fucked, never loved. I just want to die, be burned and forgotten. Resources shouldn't really be wasted on me. I've wasted enough as it is and I'm trying my best to balance it out a bit before I bite the dust. 

Mark, Mark, part of me still wants him, but I know he's taken. Last night I had a dream where he was talking to me and told me he was gay. Well, I don't suppose it makes a difference, I can't have him either way. Still, when I'm with him, part of me just hopes and hopes that he will put his arm around me. 

Been thinking that I should just bite the bullet and get my next tattoo. If you look at the two pictures above, I want an anchor on my left thigh, sort of where those girls have tattoos, although not at all like the anchor tattoo she has. It might help to cover the ugly cut mark I have on my thigh. I want something more simple for my other thigh, maybe a barcode or something. 

I've been subconsciously holding back on getting a tattoo. I know not all guys like them and I've been not getting them in case I fall in love with a guy who doesn't like them. But fuck that. I'm not falling in love. I'm getting the tattoos because I want them, not to impress some guy. So fuck it. When I go on night shifts, I'm getting this done. 

I'm still debating what I want to get done on my back. When I touch my spine, I can feel the bones much more easily...I don't know, I will think on that one a bit longer. 

sliding downwards in more ways than one.

"Not enough. I need more. Nothing seems to satisfy. I said, I don't want it, I just need it to breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive."

Thanks for all the comments you've all been leaving me lately. I'm struggling at work but it will get better and things are already starting to settle down. Just a bit. And well, Mark, Mark isn't a bad guy. He really isn't. And I do need him, every doctor in this hospital needs him because we can't access certain medications without his permission. The ID registrar literally holds the key to the door of some antibiotics. I try to give him credit, it's not an easy job. Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe his phone had been ringing off the hook. I don't know. I haven't seen him since that day, and that seems fine to me. 

Something has flipped inside me, flipped out completely. I haven't felt this level of anxiety for a very long time. I'm so anxious, I can't sleep, and I can't focus at work. A lot of it is because of the stress at work, and another portion of it is the weight. Today I had the biggest freak about about eating. I had a completely normal meal. It was a slightly big one, but one that was completely normal for me to eat a few times a week. 

And I felt so ill afterwards. I wanted to throw it up, I have been absolutely riddled with anxiety for several hours now. I'm so tired, I feel like my head is falling asleep but my body wants to run around widely to burn it all off. 

I'm currently caving to cravings. I've got one of my knives out and I'm just running it back and forth across my skin. I'm not cutting but just the feel of the blade against my skin is so good. Just the feel of it is relaxing me...relaxing me. GOD, I WANT TO CUT SO BADLY. But no, for now, it's enough. 

I'm so scared of meal times now. It's really odd, how fast the fear and anxiety sets in. I've started my old habits again...not sleeping at night, trying on outfit after outfit and squinting at myself in the mirror. I'm loving skipping all the meals, and I've ever had days of nothing when I've gone home after having nothing to eat and just going straight to bed. 

This week I've lost 4lbs. Not as much as I'd like. I've gone from 127lbs to 123lbs. I know that the majority of this is food that I've just pooed out. In terms of actual weight loss, it probably is only a pound, two at most. But it's a loss, and I'll take any loss. 

I look in the mirror and I see lots and lots bumps and lumps that I want to get rid of. When I look at myself I think I look fucking pregnant. And to me (and I know just about all of you will disagree) there is nothing more ugly than a pregnant woman. There is something so absolutely grotesque about a huge belly sticking out. Do when I say I look pregnant, what I am saying is that I look disgusting and repugnant. 

I look in the mirror and I can't believe how ugly I am. Fat and ugly and fat and ugly and fat and ugly. Why can't I just be ugly.