getting skinny, getting skinny bitches!

"Take a chance you stupid ho, take a chance coz you might grow."

Well that's certainly what I'm saying to myself. Take a chance. I'm trying to psych myself out for my first circuit training class tomorrow. I can already see the silver platter with my arse on it. And I'm pretty damn sure it'll get handed to me a minute into the class. Why am I going? Because the hot copper will not stop asking. 

I don't get it, I don't understand why he keeps asking me to the gym. And I know it will not stop so I just have to suck it in (literally) and just go. Well fuck. I might look a fool but if I can keep it up, I'll get thin. I'm going to be so hot and sweaty, it'll be gross. Why the hell would he want to see that?

I've lost a good 6lbs since I met him because I have absolutely no appetite at all. Can't bloody eat, can't bloody sleep, can't bloody work. And that's without me trying to lose weight at all. I'm now at 118lbs, the lowest that I can remember being for a very long time. If I add the gym into that mix, well. Who knows what might happen. I want to get to 110lbs soon, and then I'm going to pick up ballet again and make a good go at going en pointe this time round. 

Trying to psych myself out by looking at celeb fitspo and thinspo. They must hard out work out to look that good. And frankly, if I go through any of the above transformations then it will all be worth it, even if he dumps me on the spot at the gym for being such an unfit slob. 

There. I said it. What I'm really afraid of. I've spent my whole life feeling like an ugly, good for nothing piece of crap. Truly believing that no man would ever want me. I spend most days feeling fat and ugly and preoccupied with using all my energy to look presentable. And now somebody has appeared to have picked me up, and not just somebody, a fucking gorgeous cop who seems to have his life sorted. He is very quickly becoming the conduit for all my greatest fears. 

I'm already scared to death that I'm too fat for him. Now I'm fucking scared I'll be too unfit for him. He's not even my boyfriend and I'm already scared that he's going to dump me for not being good enough. 

And I really don't want to lose him just yet. Just last night, when he was on duty and having his dinner break, he came to my house, picked me up, drove me to the beach where we sat in his patrol car, looking out at the city lights. And so we made out again. I'm really starting to like this whole making out thing. 

Right now it's too late to change anything. All I can do is go tomorrow and do my best. And hope that it's enough. I hate feeling so inadequate. 

the unlikeliest of thinspirations

"You will never escape from this sad, sad house. I take his hand, we sink."

I've just had the unlikeliest of thinspos pop up in my life. And before I start, here is a disclaimer that what I am about to say is sick, depraved, and an absolutely deplorable example of the awful human being that I am. I don't want any of you to take up the same example...I'm just trying to get this out of my head. 

I've often wandered how fast someone can lose weight. Often wandered how it was possible to drop several dress sizes in next to no time at all. But now that I have seen a real life example of it with my own eyes, well. 

Let's set the scene. It's an ex-patient of mine, who lost more than 20kg in 6 weeks. Okay, so here is the bad part, he has cancer. Pretty end stage too. No appetite whatsoever, lived off a few spoons of supplement every day for 6 weeks and lost 20kg. If we take the cancer out of the equation, and say the weight loss is about 12-15kg with a normal person and reduced food intake. 

So trying to tweak the equation further, and put the weight loss at 8-10kg over 6 weeks if I drink...a few coffees a day, trim at that, and eat maybe one or two pieces of fruit. And...maybe 6kg over 4 weeks if I can keep it up.

I have lost nearly 10kg in 4-6 weeks before. So it must be possible. And that was eating normally on weekends and liquid fasting. 

The reason I'm so focussed on 4-6 weeks is because in that timespan, I will be going to Australia to see my friend, during which time I will be shopping up a storm. I'd love to buy small, skinny clothes. I'd also love for her to be able to see a difference in my weight. It must be possible. I just have to set my mind to it. 

I am well aware of how sick it is to have a dying patient of mine as thinspo, but it probes to me that it's possible. And the only way I can mimic a cancer is to have absolutely rigid self control. All I can do is try really. I'll keep you updated. 

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. 

a note on self worth

"Some fools fool themselves I guess, they're not fooling me. I know it isn't true. Love is just a lie made to make you blue."

The bitter acid rises up at the back of my throat as I check my bank account. I have thousands of pounds worth of stuff on my wishlist at net-a-porter and not even enough money to buy myself lunch. Anxiety starts to shake my body, and it seeps into every fibre of my being. I need that Miu Miu coat. I need that Proenza Schouler skirt. I need that Chloe dress. I need that Alexander McQueen bracelet. I need it all. I need more. More than just that. And I don't have enough money for one quarter of one item. 

Then it hits me, this isn't normal. Normal people don't have panic attacks about not being able to afford a horde of designer clothing. Normal people don't look on net-a-porter when they've spent 2000 pounds in the past week on clothing. Normal people wouldn't spend 2000 pounds on clothing in a week. Not that I've ever been normal, but this is too much, even for me. 

How can I explain, not so much for you, my lovely readers, how can I explain to myself what's going on. This growing desire for more clothing, more expensive clothing, more designer clothing. It is a need, a craving that bubbles and builds until I can't take it anymore. Somewhere, deep inside me, is a delusion being who thinks I'm a model. I can strut the life out of me in stilettos and a tight skirt, and in my head the corridors become catwalks. But I know I'm not a model. Even if I was thin enough, I will never, ever be tall enough. 

Some other part of me needs the clothing. It needs the expense and extravagance. It needs the extraordinary value to hang on my body. If people don't see a Miu Miu coat or a Proenza Schouler skirt or a Chloe dress, they won't see anything at all. I'm some transparent being, not worthy of being seen without it all. 500 pounds. That's a something tangible. A number for me to pin on myself. If that's what my outfit is worth, that's the worth other people see. Today, I'm wearing 500 pounds of clothing, and that's what my self worth is. If I'm only in a cheap tee and jeans, then I don't feel like very much at all. 

Recently I've not felt worth much at all. And I guess that's where this drive to buy more comes from. I guess it's just something I've got to get over, but I also think it's something I will never get over. I wish I was on holiday, maybe then I'd have some time to actually try and sort out the mess in my head. 

All my clothing, all my doubts about work, all my insecurities about the professor. But life goes on and I can't do it. I have too much to do, too many people expect something of me. I just want to be left alone for a week, to do nothing. To think. 

Of course being this fat doesn't help. Sometimes I think the professor has the amazing effect of getting into my head. Brainwashing me. "You're perfect, you're slim, you're beautiful, don't ever change, don't lose any more weight, you're too slim, please put on weight, you're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect." It gets into my head. And I start to believe it. I've spent a good portion of the past week believing it. But the hypnotic effect wears off. 

When it wears off my heart is torn. Part of me is glad it's gone, and now I can be realistic and get down to the real work of losing weight and really becoming slim. The other part of me is itching for another hit and that part of me wants to crawl back to him just to hear those words again. 

So that's what self worth means to me. Designer clothing and the words of a man who terrifies me and whom I only see once in a blue moon. 

tattoo thinspo and the dream life

"You're living in the past, it's a new generation!"

I'm absolutely inspired to get a new tattoo so I thought I would post some tattoo thinspo. I absolutely adore tattoo thinspo, there is nothing more beautiful than a boney, tattoo covered girl. I'm currently thinking of a design that I want on myself, and I will probably get it done in the next few weeks, if it looks okay, I might post a picture of it on here. 

The first one of the feather is like what I'm going to get on my back, to the left, and the top of the feather will be breaking up into little birds that fly away and curve round my flank. It's hard to explain, but I will definitely get an artist to draw it up first. I'm so excited. I feel like I've made some sort of breakthrough. Birds are always something that I wanted tattooed on me, and I love feathers but didn't want to get so many separate little ones. In a fit of peak, I realised I could just get them both in one tattoo. I can be so dumb sometimes. 

At times like these, I wish I could quit my job and just work in the fashion industry. I'd love to be an editor or you know, a fashion blogger that gets invited to be front row at all the couture shows. Be paid good money to give my opinion, and then I could wear what I wanted, I wouldn't feel so bad for having such an effusive wardrobe and I could tattoo the shit out of myself. Or, I could be a designer, make my own clothes and shoes and bags. Now, THAT'S the dream. 

I'm dying to get a tattoo on my forearm, but in my profession, it can be seen as quite offensive and could stop me getting good jobs in the future. Sometimes I hate having to look professional. That's why I bend the rules slightly when it comes to how I dress. I'm not demure, I'm not practical. I wear tight skirts, low tops, high waisted pants. I'm a walking fashion show. Or a limping fashion show, as is sometimes the case by the end of the day. Why shouldn't I be allowed to dress well. As long as I can do the job and my boobs and ass aren't falling out, it shouldn't be a problem. 

The studded boots, leggings, rock tees are more of a problem. I'd love to look like a rock chick. I hate how people just assume I'm one of those typical, sweet, giggling, passive Asian cuties. And I get guys asking me out because of that assumption. They want a cutie on their arm, to kiss and cuddle with and take out to dinner and be cute and sweet and go to karaoke and sing K-pop and J-pop and whatever other crap exists out there.

But when they meet me, I want to go to rock concerts, I want to listen to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, ACDC, Bon Jovi, Depeche Mode, Black Sabbath, Def Leppard, The Violent Femmes and Guns'n'Roses. I want whiskey and port and I want to drive fast, to anywhere. I don't want to kiss or cuddle, I don't want to hold their hand. I would happily skip all that for a good fuck, but for some reason, the guys don't go for that. They find me pierced and tatted up and get put off. Whatever. Maybe I am a bit bipolar. 

Or maybe they find me fat and ugly and that's what puts them off fucking me. 

sugars, I'm going down!

Skinny...all the voices screaming....skinny. 

Well, I've been back here for all of one day and I'm already extremely glad that I'm back. I have so missed the support and the communication and being able to let my ED voice scream as much as it wants to. 

Wanted to let you all know that I am now 51.5kg. Going down! Going in the right direction! Faster than I had ever hoped for! 51.5kg!!!!!! I'm only 1.5kg away from 50kg which is a weight I've never been at before. In fact, what I weigh now is the lowest I've ever been. I have never been this low before and babes, I'm so not stopping here.

I couldn't sleep last night. Part of it was because of the 2 day hangover I have inflicted upon myself after drinking my own body weight in whiskey in Scotland over the weekend. The other part of it was because I was up for hours, feeling my bones. I have never been able to feel so many ribs. And even though none of my bones really stick out, I know they are closer to sticking out. 

One step closer! I'm going to keep this up, this is too good to let go. I haven't felt so happy for such a long time. Nothing, NOTHING compares to the joy of losing another pound, another kilo. 

I'm still not convinced I see much of a difference. But I have no full length mirror. Oh, and another thing. The bottom of my thighs no longer touch each other. It's not a massive step, because what really counts is when the top of your thighs don't touch. But for me, this is a sign that things are going well. The bottom of my thighs don't touch, even when my knees are touching. I'm loving this. 

For the first time in a long time I believe that I will get there one day. And now I see that when I start work at the end of this year, the weight loss will just continue. 

I love you all so much! And hold onto it, just hold on. Because even though things might seem terrible, joy will come with the promise of another pound off. I was once so down in the dumps, but now that I'm losing weight again, I'm so happy. I'm not even trying to hide it. I want people to see that I've lost weight. 

If nobody notices my weight loss when I get home, I will be seriously disappointed. But I have another 4 weeks to make it more obvious. And I will. 

Für Sammy - no hullaballoo. just chemicals. and no one looking down on you.

They want to take our light, make us fight, but never cry for the ones you love. I'll be your warrior, warrior. 

The world isn't perfect. It certainly isn't what I would wish it to be. It's not even close. For one thing, my perfect world wouldn't be inhabited by cockroaches. But that's beside the point. 

Oh what it would be for each schoolgirl crush to be reciprocated by a tidal wave of affection, or for each cut and bruise to be showered by angel kisses, or for each kernel of pain and despair and worthless stored inside the heartwood of our souls to be seen without being seen. 

It's not easy to find joy in pain, or to find success in sorrow, sometimes it feels damned near impossible to even try. Sometimes we choose to bare our hearts to reveal the cowering, crying, love-starved child hiding inside to those who should love us the most, only to have her trampled upon with mockery and jest and words that sting more than ice rain. Sometimes we wish we hadn't. Sometimes it helps us grow. And sometimes, just sometimes, it helps us recognise who loves us the most. 

Is having an eating disorder a weakness? No. Us girls, we are some of the strongest people I've ever come across. We face each day with a smile and a joke for society, a kiss and a hug for friends and family, a good few hours of our life for work and study, all the while a voice gnaws at us and we are waging a war in our heads and hearts. The basic human desire to eat, and that voice that tells us we must be thin. But we don't crack. And when we trip, we get back up. 

It's moments of stress and conflict, not moments of joy, that define who we are, and my friends, we are strong, we will succeed. It might take a year. It might take two years. It might take ten years. But we will get there. Which is more than most people could hope for. It's this strength that binds us together. It runs to my veins. It runs through Sammy's veins. It runs through the veins of everyone reading, and every girl who is on our journey. 

Who are they to look down on us? We have something they will never have. We have power. We have support from around the world. We have a common enemy. When I fast, I feel so accomplished, I can do something they can't do. 

Sammy, if I could turn back time, I would make your family mourn for you. I would make them see what it's doing to you. I would make them see that you are not being silly, you are not being stupid and you are not being weak. I would show them how strong you are, how you function despite all the shit. I would do so much. 

But I can't Sammy, all I can do is to do all that stuff on their behalf. If you can't get your strength from them, my love, take all of mine. 

Though oceans may part us, I sometimes feel you in the room with me. And I can wipe away your tears and take away the hurt and make you understand that you're beautiful. And it doesn't matter if you don't believe the world thinks that. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I think that. If you can't feel their love, dear Sammy, take all of mine. 

What will it take to make you wake up another day feeling less empty inside? When all you've worked for your entire life ceases to hold any meaning, what happens then? Does it matter if we have a purpose? Is it not enough to go through life and try to do as much good as we can in the time we are given, to recognise the blessings, apparent or hidden, and to rest peacefully knowing that we did all we could, and that we could do no more. If you can't find a reason to live, dear Sammy, take all of mine. 

I'm sorry for all that you've gone through. I'd change it, if I could. You truly deserved better, you deserve what I have, but I was luckier, nothing more. If it was mine to give, I'd give you happiness, and everything you had ever dreamed of and more and the will to battle on, no matter who knocks you down. If you can't find strength in the world, dear Sammy, take all of mine. 

if I ever meet that dirty policeman who roughed you up...

I'll tell you things that I don't believe if it will help you sleep. Strange mercy. 

I open my email. I close it. I open it again. "New Message" - click. I stare at the blank message screen for a few moments and then give up. I close my email and resolve to write it tomorrow. A daily ritual that progresses a varying amount each day. Some days I might type a few lines, other days I won't even open a blank message. 


The idea of seeing him terrifies me. And I try to talk myself round to it. Remember all the times he's driven you to your car because he doesn't want you to walk alone in the dark. Remember how upset he gets when you tell him some guy was being lewd. Remember how much you love his hugs. Remember the good times. I smile, but no, I can't email him today. 


The professor crosses my mind every day, but more and more often when I know that I will inevitably have to meet him. A wild flutter of goals floats around my head. Should I be trying to lose more weight? Or should I try to gain a few pounds so that I'm a bit fatter when I see him? Should I talk about my weight loss? Or my cutting? Should I mention the suicidal thoughts? And what will he do if I talk about one or any of the above? 


I will have to see him next weekend. If not next weekend, then the week after that when I am on holiday. I'm so, so scared of it. The past few times have been okay, but things have changed a lot since then. My mindset has changed since then and I'm terrified that he'll notice. 


The conversation falters and he's giving me a strange look. If it wasn't for that look, I wouldn't have noticed that I've stopped talking. The effort of keeping up the conversation is almost too much. When our lunch arrives, it's all that matters in this world. I eat the salad, that part is easy. Lettuce and tomatoes, easy to eat, so guilt free. It's the panini that trips me up. Carbs. One of the roots of evil. I nibble at it, unable to think about much else. 


He can see my struggle, but he also sees that I've gained weight and his mind is put to rest.  He doesn't mention anything during lunch but he grabs me before I get into his car. "It's abnormal. Tell yourself that. Repeat after me. It's abnormal." 


That was last time. This time, I'll have to use all my willpower just to force myself to eat. I don't know if I can hold things together. I'll have to try. I don't want to do anything that will perk his concern, and this isn't the concern of a normal person, this is the concern of someone who is acutely aware of eating disorders. 


I open my email. I close it again. Maybe tomorrow. 


Meanwhile I'm mentally preparing for a harrowing week. I intend to tackle my weight head on starting tomorrow. Gym. Many sessions. And almost no food. I want to be eating around 300cal each day, and burning off at least 450cal. If I can stand it, I will be fasting for several days. I want to lose weight this week, and I want to get below 120lbs. I want to lose a lot of weight. Get this journey started. I will be 100lbs by the end of August, even if it kills me. 

prying open my third eye.

A child's rhyme stuck in my head, it said that life is but a dream. I've spent so many years in question to find I've known this all along. 

What if everything that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. Old friend that I've known so long, have I been calling you the wrong name? But a rose by any other name would smell as sweet and you filled my bitter emptiness with your tar-like sludge. You filled me to the brim and flowed over into the world I share with everyone else. Even now I dare not whisper your dark name, your real name, the one you hid from me for so long. You are not my Ana, nor are you Mia, but you have masqueraded as both. 

But now I know you. Now I can smell your festering scent, I see the hideous wounds you have inflicted on the lives of others, I see that you dwell inside me, and have done for years now. Fiend, I do not expect you to leave me now, but to stay with me to whatever end. 

The past few years of my life stretch in my mind, a brilliant whiteness, filled with nothingness, no meaning, no content, no hope. Nothing but you. I don't love you. Certainly not the same way that I have love for Ana. But I accept you. 

Sitting in a familiar classroom, surrounded by familiar faces that I have no attachment to, a new sensation grips me. Reunions, filled with celebrations, filled with food, filled with calories. I had no company that day, all those people were nothing to me. I can't feel joy, not when I know there is food involved. 

Back in the same flat, with the same friend, the same habits threaten to slip back into place, so comfortably. Today, it was somehow different. Each time I eat now, an unquiet fills my body, an agitation shakes my bones. It's now all for show. That new sensation grips me again. It's a voice in my ear. It's a face in my head. It's filling my soul, it swirls around in the air I breathe. 

Fat, ugly, unworthy, you fucking stupid bitch. Fat and ugly. You stupid ugly pig. You're so fat that no man could ever find you attractive. You fat and ugly pig. 

Those same haunting words, yet the voice is different this time. It does not sound the same. It is just as callous, yet softer, and offering hope. 

You fat, ugly pig. Come here and let me embrace you. You don't need those who hate you, I am here to love you. I will love you for the rest of time, all you have to do is do what I ask of you. All you have to do is follow one simple rule. 
Don't eat. It's really not that hard. Don't eat and you will never be alone. Don't eat and you will always be loved. Don't eat and you will always be part of a family. Don't eat and you will be beautiful. Don't eat and you will be worthy. I will tuck you into bed each night. I will be there when you wake. I will make you all that you have ever wanted to be. 

Dear Ana. Hello. It's nice to meet you at last. I've been waiting for you for so long. Now that I've heard your voice, and tasted your bittersweet promises, I will never let you go. 

Each day is filled with a new kind of torment, one that never really existed before now. I have made the conscious decision not to eat for a long time now. This is the first time I've been unable to eat. I cannot binge. I hate the idea of food. There is no joy in eating. There is no pleasure in being full. I am afraid now, afraid that people will make me eat. 

Now it is not a choice. Now it is a need. 

professional opinions of suspicion

Thank you to all you lovely ladies who commented on my last few posts. I really can't emphasize enough how much it means to me and how much less alone I feel for it. 

And I'm glad you liked the tattoo thinspo. I adore tattoos, I hope to get another one sometime soon...like the next few weeks, on my back probably, haven't really decided on the design, but I am playing with the idea of getting vertebrae. 

Here is the story of what happened last night...

...I sit at the table, 100% of my concentration fixated on my etiquette. This is the next fork to use, elbows off the table, smile, nod, reply to conversation. Any effort to keep my mind off the fact that I have sat down to a 6 course degustation. Thank god the courses are tiny. If I only think about one course at a time, then I can feel like I'm only eating that small portion and I will get through this meal in one piece. 

And for the most part, I did get through that meal okay. I was so fit to burst afterwards that I felt like throwing up. We walked to a gelato shop, where I toyed with my gelato. Pity I was having dinner with an old friend who is also a psychologist. She didn't notice anything during dinner, but I could not hide my gelato OCD from her. 

I have this way of fiddling with dessert, I have to smooth out the gelato as much as I can, trying to make a perfect sphere. This takes up so much time that I can barely eat any of it before it melts. She was talking as I was sculpting my gelato and I didn't notice her looking. 

"You're playing with your food. That's what anorexics do."

I try to explain it away as OCD. She nods a bit. 

"But you're barely eating it at all. That's what anorexics do." 

And the conversation goes on like that. I can tell she's suspicious. And that's really not good. The last thing I need is to have a qualified clinical psychologist on my case. With that, I was suddenly glad she was moving to another country at the start of next year. She's section my ass without a second thought if she knew. 

Hearing her talk about her plans for the future makes me realise that I do not have any of my own. I'm just planning to train, work, get skinny. That is all. All my plans for the future revolve around restricting and losing weight and doing ophthalmology. There are no friends in my future. I want to live alone so that I can starve without people noticing. And then I just want to be thin. And alone. And thinner. And I guess that's when I'm going to kill myself. 

thinspiration: tattoo

Quite a few of you have said that you like tattooed thinspo. I've been thinking of posting a purely thinspo post for a while now, so here are some beautiful tattooed girls to keep us all movtivated! 

didn't want a day without you but somehow I've lived through another one

And the heart she feared frozen still beats and marches on. 

Each night I sit and listen to the old brag of my heart. I am. I am. I am. The dullness echoes through me and once again it is the only thing to fill me. How can I feel so empty when I am chock full of food. It seems ironic. The more I eat, the more empty I feel. The more I starve, the more full I get. 

Like a tsunami tide that chills to the very core of me, it bursts forth from the pits of my stomach and sweeps through to my extremities and it makes me hyperextend everything. Then it becomes so cold that it all starts to burn and I coil into a ball. Coil into a ball and savour the warmth. 

Pain and nuture mixing together, mingling into a cacophony of sensation, a weird LSD trip of a soundtrack to the flood of images flickering behind my eyes. Ribs showing, hip bones sticking out, a waist small enough to wrap my hands around, a gap between the thighs, slender gazelle legs, collarbones as sharp as razor blades and concavities everywhere. 

I don't want the touch or love of another person. I don't want the success of a medical career. I don't want anything anymore. Just thinness. That's all I want. Surely it's not too much to ask for. 

I hate myself for wanting food. I hate myself when I feel faint. I just want to lock myself in a room with a set of scales and a computer and be by myself to get thin. Wallow in my own bell jar. 

Then I think of the professor. And the warmth that I find in his embrace. The safety I find in his voice. The joy I find in his company. Is it enough? 

No. Love is not enough.