walking slow circles around "progress".

"Don't tear me down for all I need."

And yet again I have managed another lengthy absence without meaning to. I really wish I had more to say to you all. I wish I had come on here to be like, so I've lost 8kg and now I weigh 50kg and am starting to get a thigh gap and my collarbones and ribs stick out. 

But no. I weigh 56kg. Which given the time off that I've had is frankly pathetic. 2kg is all I've managed to shift. Pathetic! All I have to do is drink water and that goes up. I pee and it comes down. I am so not satisfied. All my fat is still there as it ever was, I never really restrict enough for it to be burned away, I never really work out enough for muscle to show through. So basically my fluctuations in weight are based on how often I go to the loo. And that makes me want to give up. 

In short, I have to be honest and say that I've not been trying. I will have these piercing moments of motivation, usually in the middle of the night, where I say I will get up and go for a run and then do yoga and then go to work and then hit the gym and eat 500cal the whole day. And that never happens. I end up crawling out of bed to work, back into bed and 1500-2000cal goes in in the meantime. 

Moving hospitals, having a boyfriend, it's all lulled me into this sense of complete apathy where both stress me out in different ways and result in me being stressed out completely that I just make myself numb and feel nothing. 

I can't even begin to talk about work. It sucks. And I'm bored so I eat. The end. 

I don't want to begin to talk about the boyfriend. There are so many layers of fucked-upness in my head. But what is clear is that he is a nice, stable, caring guy and I am generating all the problems in our relationship. With my demands that stem from insecurity blah blah blah. And my selfishness which means that I have no idea what he likes but he knows exactly what to do for me. Basically I struck gold and he lucked out. I'm just waiting for him to leave me. 

And I swore I would never be one of those girls, but I am so scared of him leaving me that I've started using sex as...a tool to keep him. He's not dumb. He'll notice that soon. I have nothing to offer him, and that is not a position I ever imagined myself in. 

But the upside to all this is that I'm currently on nights which makes restricting somewhat easier. I can eat a bit of my one meal a day and then not eat again for 24 hours, slowly weaning myself off the constant eating that I have been doing. Maybe one day in the coming month I will fast. Maybe when my boyfriend goes on his 6 week business trip I will fast for 6 weeks. Maybe he won't be my boyfriend when that happens. 

Everything is just total resignation right now. 

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. 

losing weight! and fucking engaged.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep." 

Let's start on a good note. THE DRESS FITS. IT FUCKING FITS NOW. It is night number 4, I don't know how much weight I've lost but I'm now at 120lbs and the dress fits. Part of me is SO RELIEVED. That is a Vivienne Westwood dress, not cheap, so when it didn't fit, my heart just sank. I can't say it's a perfect fit, the buttons up the front are tight, and it doesn't look great when the buttons pull...but the point is, I can get it on...and I've yet to work night number 4, so I'm not even halfway there yet. 

I'm hoping by the end of 7 nights, I will be properly fitting that dress. Not just squeezing into it. And just like last night, the start of night number 4 and the nausea is setting in. Something about night shifts does that to you. I still eat my one meal a day, but the amount that I'm able to eat is steadily decreasing. 

Look down at my tummy, see rolls of fat, feel disgusted. Squeeze the fat all over my body, feel even more disgusted. I am still so fat. I am so fat that it makes me feel sick. Fat and bloated. I need to start working out but I'm so tired. So very tired. 

I've decided that with my next pay cheque, I am going to buy myself a coffee machine. It's probably not a great investment, but whatever it takes to get through right?

So some news, I've found out that Joe is FUCKING ENGAGED. I am completely and utterly mindblown at this news. When I heard, I was like...W.T.F. I guess I feel there is something in him that is so un-marriable. Well, maybe for me anyway. Even though I am in such disbelief, now that I know who is fiancee is, a lot of things make more sense. His fashion sense for one. 

See, I've always believed that the way a man dresses can be a dead giveaway to his relationship status. Joe has always puzzled me. His shirts and pants are always well ironed and he is always well groomed, but, but, his shoes! And the style of his clothes are so...off. I had written it off as him having like, an OCD complex about wrinkles or him having a really nice mum who still does it. But his wife! (future wife) Absolutely lovely girl. Delightful, I really like her, but the woman has no taste in clothes. It's a pity too. She's absolutely cute as a button, but dresses like...well, if I were to ever dress like that it would signify me completely giving up on life, but I guess fashion just doesn't matter that much to her. 

Funny thing is, when I heard the news I just felt the wave of hate crash into me. There is so much hate flowing through me that it gives me energy. I can't sleep. Which sucks because I'm on night shift. I can't eat. Which is a lie because I stuff my face every evening. (On a side note, I am losing weight despite the fact that I eat each night and haven't gone to the bathroom for days so yay.) I can't fucking do anything. All I want to do is run, but I can't because of the torrential rain outside. 

I can't work out who the hate is directed towards. Do I hate Joe? His fiancee? Or myself. I'm not sure. And I don't know how to work it out. All I know is that I hate something. And boy, do I FUCKING HATE IT. I want to fuck something up real bad....reeeeeal bad. I don't know what I want to do. I want to hit something. 

And something inside me just feels dead. 

And a voice inside is starting to scream and wail. You stupid idiot. You broke the one rule. Always presume they are taken until proven otherwise. The one time you break the rule, look at what happens. You fucking broke the rules. And what are you going to do now? Try to fill a hole inside you that you never knew you had but secretly hoped Joe would fill. Now he can never fill it. But food won't fill it either. 

Yes, yes, hope is gone and all that stupid crap. But live in the moment and the only thing that remains now is how you deal with it. Think of it this way. There is a space to fill. If you are smaller, that space will also get smaller and smaller until it goes, and then there will be no hole to fill, and then you will be okay again. Now isn't that a better, more logical solution than eating your pain away. 

PMS IS A FUCKING BITCH!!!!!!!

"I don't need a reason to hate you the way I do."

FUCKING HELL. Okay, I am absolutely sure I am PMSing, I know this, and yet I cannot stop myself becoming crazy psycho bitch cow. CRAZY PSYCHO BITCH COW!!!! RAWR!!!!!

Oh the anger that runs through my veins, you could bottle it and then hurl it at people as some sort of flash bomb. And I don't even know why I am so angry, I can't explain it. I just am. I just feel like destroying something. 

Well, I finally had the coffee date with Joe. Not exactly in the circumstances that I would have liked, him coming off two consecutive 20 hour working days and working today before doing tonight's night shift and me about to face two consecutive 20 hour working days over the weekend. We were both...not so much in a good mood, still, with a load of work on both our backs, we sat and had coffee for an hour before going to round together. 

Didn't help matters by wearing a pair of GORGEOUS (but quite tall) green suede heels. My feet were sore like all hell. Sore, like all hell! Neither of us had anything to look forward to and I think we were giggling out of sheer despair. 

I feel so confused after today. A big part of it is the PMS. I've never actually been annoyed at Joe before, despite all his short comings and faults, they've been okay. And weirdly enough, I felt annoyed because he was walking too fast. And I had to keep asking him to wait for me while I clattered behind him in my heels. 

Of all the things that should bug me, it was that that got to me the most. I felt like, I'd made such an effort to make life easier for him, most of which I don't even think he noticed, he couldn't even think to walk a tiny bit slower? I wanted to dip my stilettos in a wound full of pus and then stab him with it. 

Maybe he just needs to chill the fuck out. Go far away and forget everything. And just chill the fuck out. If I wasn't PMSing, I would say that I wanted to whisk him away for a weekend and do nothing. But since I am full of PMS, I want to knock him unconscious, stuff him into a bag and ship him off to somewhere else. Christ. SO FUCKING MAD!!! 

I think Joe's pretty aware of my crazy coming out. I was properly angry at him today. No doubt, after I bleed myself out, I will miss him and regret all this, but until that happens I will continue on my homicidal rampage. 

It's probably all a sign that Joe just isn't into me. And that's fine. If he's not into me then he's not. There's no two ways about that. Yes, it sucks somewhat. The more time I spend with him, the more I realise that he hasn't got a clue what's going on. He has no idea. He's too busy and too stressed to realise that I'm trying. I don't think he'll ever realise.

Well fuck that. 

This crazy psycho bitch cow is going to focus on weight. I should've known to venture into the fuzzy romantic side of life was a mistake. 

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. 

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. 

if it hadn't been for Cotton Eyed Joe.

"Digging to the rhythm and the echo of a solitary siren, one that pushes me along and leaves me so desperate and ravenous. I'm weak and powerless."

With the safety net pulled out from beneath my feet I find myself medically managing all the orthopaedic patients. And it is so scary. These past few days I've been running on nothing at all. I don't know how I keep going. I've made a few silly mistakes as well. Today I was so hungry and nauseated and dizzy and deluded I had to ask a friend to come bail me out for an hour while I drank hot tea. I'm effectively breaking a 24 hour coffee and tea fast with a small meal each day.

Thinking of Mark makes me sick. I don't want to see him or speak to him. But I feel even more sick if I don't see him or speak to him because I don't know how to manage my patients' infections without him. And that thought scares me more than I dare to admit. So I call him every ten minutes until he answers his phone, and I run after him on the wards. 

Tell me what to do Mark. I don't know if this man will live without your advice. I know I'm asking dumb questions, I know I'm pissing you off, I know you want my bosses to do things that I can't get them to do. I'm only a little junior doctor and I'm doing my best, even if you don't think it's enough. I'm doing all I can. Tell me off as much as you want, if you've had a bad day, take it all out on me. Take it out on me, let it all out. All the bad things my bosses have done to you, all the unreasonable demands that they make, all the annoying patients, all the other doctors, all of us that won't leave you alone. Say what you like to me, but don't make my patients pay for my incompetences when you can cover the holes I'm leaving. 

So I say sorry over and over again, apologising for mistakes that aren't even mine. And I say thank you, over and over, and I tell him how unfair it is for him, how difficult it must be for him, and how much I appreciate him. And I eventually get what I need. Bloody long phone calls for the one sentence answer that I need. 

I'm stretched so thin. So thin. When people don't answer your calls for help, what do you do? How much longer can I battle on myself? 

But I get it done. I don't care. I don't care who I have to call, I spend all day ringing if I have to. At the end of the day, my patients are prepped for theatre, they're stable after theatre, they're discharged with a solid plan. I might be dying, but they're not. I'm so tired. I can't sleep at night. 

If it wasn't for Joe I'd be crying in the cupboards by now. He might call me every ten minutes with new jobs, he might pull me with him to see patients, but it's only because he trusts me. He's the first person in 3 months to acknowledge how hard I'm working. It makes me want to curl up cry on his shoulder because until he pointed it out, I hadn't realised how much I'd done. Until he said thank you, I didn't realise I was doing anything worthy of thanks. Such a small gesture, but it's made everything feel justified. 

If this isn't trial by fire, I don't know what is. 

well fuck. this. shit.

"A little dream of mine, a little nightmare of yours to be us to take this plunge to forgive and forget. And be a better man, and be a better man, and be a better man."

Well, fuck. Guess who has a girlfriend? 

Well, no, it's not the blonde girl, even though I still feel nauseated seeing him with any other female. So in that sense she is perfect motivation. I've been fasting for 30 hours now, more than I've fasted in about 9 months or so. And I still don't want to eat but I know I have to. Tomorrow is going to be a shit day and if I don't eat now there is a real chance I'll pass out on the ward and that's just no good at all. 

Fuck. This. Shit. 

But I am somewhat relieved that I didn't make a move before finding this out. And I owe this knowledge to the network of gay guy friends I have who know everything about everyone and can find out anything within a day if need be. I told my gay best friend about Mark and he immediately went stalking with his boyfriend the night before last, and today, another gay guy told me that he had been out having dinner with his boyfriend when he'd seen Mark at the same place with his girlfriend. 

It must be magical to live in the gay world. It certainly sounds damned enchanted. I'm lucky to have an "in" I guess, not that this was the news I wanted. Well fuck. 

This sucks. Now I get to see Mark on a daily basis, but fate is a bitch and I'm now going to have to see him and know that I can't have him. I might be a lot of bad things but I am no home wrecker so I will have to suck it in and get on with life. 

On an upside, I'm loving orthopaedics on several levels. Firstly, THESE ARE SO MY KIND OF PEOPLE!!!! Christ, I'm loving it. Everyone is so nice to everyone else, and they all have the same sense of humour as me and we joke around and have coffee and they actually care about me and what I'm into outside of work. Yes, it is a boys club, that is traditionally the environment I flourish in. 

Secondly, I'm usually by myself. I don't have a team that chase me up around meal times, but they do buy me lots of coffee. I haven't had lunch with the team once. Today I got a sandwich to make it look like I was eating, but since my team weren't there, I just walked straight out of the canteen and threw it in the bin. I did consider eating it for a second but immediately knew that the knowledge of having fasted 30 hours would be more satisfying. 

I don't feel any lighter, after 3 days of restricting, I can't have lost any weight, but the feeling of being empty, and knowing that I had enough self control to fast makes me feel accomplished. 

If I keep this up, surely, surely I will lose weight. And if I keep seeing Mark everyday, knowing he's taken, will make me want to vomit everything. 

I know the pieces fit.

"Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion. Disintegrating as it goes, testing our communication. "

Fuckity fuck fuck. I know the pieces fit, I just know it. Sammy baby and Miss Burton, fueled by your opinions, I thought I might try to make a move on Mark. I'm not exactly smooth, but hey, I thought I'd give it a go. So it is only when we try that we find the problems we would have never seen. Mark is always with his boss. ALWAYS. He's never alone. And I cannot bring myself to keep smiling at him in the middle of a busy orthopaedic ward while he stands with his boss, smiling back at me. 

You girls are probably a whole lot smoother than me...but I seriously cannot think of how I can do anything when he's always with his boss. Also, now, he's got a beautiful blonde tailing him everywhere. I think she's a student, but damn, she's beautiful. I'm not a lesbian, but I would so consider going gay for her. That's how pretty she is. And wow, I have never stayed so far away from him. 

Stayed so far away. I just don't know. But on that note, she's working wonders for my motivation. I ate one piece of white fish for lunch. And that's all I've had all day. I cannot bring myself to eat, not when I think of that gorgeous blonde with Mark. It honestly makes me want to vomit. Dammit. This is one of those times when I wish I could binge and purge. Binge and purge. But I can't. I'm really more of a restricting person. I'm so glad that I've barely eaten today. I really don't want to eat anything. God, when I think of that girl, part of me just wants to die. 

But part of me is so happy with my intake today, I'm thinking it was 250cal max. So good! The best intake I've had in ages really. Come on weight, time for you to fuck off. I swear, if I keep seeing Mark with that girl, I will never eat again. 

Day 2: I want to fuck you like an animal.

"You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you."

So here is the start of day 2 and I've decided that a neat way to keep track of dinner calories is just to have a bag of noodles. Let them sit in water for extra long so that they puff up and take up more room. Makes me feel like I'm eating heaps. Still too much, but I feel like I'm making progress just by getting into the right frame of mind for losing weight. And doesn't that come easily. 

They say you never forget how to ride a bike. Well, I never knew how to, but I sure as hell know how to restrict. I've been thinking, and going on a fluid diet shouldn't be that difficult. I can tell my parents that I ate dinner at work so that I could work out as soon as I get home. I could tell my colleagues that I eat dinner and a big breakfast so I don't want to have lunch. I could just drink bottle upon bottle of coke zero and cup after cup of coffee. 

Really, when I think about, it's not that hard. Frightening, how quickly it all comes back. The planning, the desire the execution. Frightening. How the fear comes back. Anything with a calorie count in the triple digits feels like far too much. It scares me because it is such a big number. In the hundreds! It seems ludicrous to eat that much! But I've been eating in the thousands and that fact makes me feel slightly giddy. 

And then there's Mark. "I've come to see your patient." And I smile at him as he approaches me and he smiles right back. I'm literally on my knees in front of him (because there are no chairs left and my back hurts too much for me to bend over and write) and in a really perverted way it feels kind of right. 

Mark is probably the least "dirty" looking guy that I've ever had a crush on, and for some reason, he's the one who makes me think the most dirty thoughts. There is something about the way he smiles, and the way he looks, and the way he talks that just does SOMETHING to me. He's older, although I have no idea by how much. And someone once told me that besides being incredibly intelligent, he is also a rocker at heart. When he was younger, he had long hair and dressed all in black. There is something about that that just drives me mad. 

It's like I think somewhere inside the neat and calm facade is that rocker, lying in wait and that would make him a great fuck. Don't get me wrong, I really do like him as a person too. He's amazing, amazing and I would dearly love to date him. But it really is the sexual magnetism that hits me first. I want to jump on him. Or I want him to jump on me. Or for us to jump on each other and collide and smash into a thousand little shards. 

I've never had sex, I have no idea what it might feel like, but damn, he sure makes me want to find out. 

the inverse of everything

"It's hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain."

Everything in my life is turning out to be the inverse. It seems so unreasonable but there is no point in moping about it. If you're unhappy about something, then do something to make it different. 

I wish I didn't have this fucking ED. My life would be half a miserable if it was gone. It's so distracting and demands attention, though I don't want to give it any. Still, persistently, it floats up behind every moment of every day and I can't help but notice. As soon as I get home, I'm in front of my mirror, trying on clothes that are too small, tugging and pull at myself, looking at how fat I am. After a busy and stressful day at work, this is hardly ideal. 

I just don't understand it. I don't understand why my ED should rear its head now. The busier I get at work, the louder it seems to get. I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, work would help me to forget about it, and that the longer I forgot about it, the more it would just melt away. I just can't get the balance right in my head. I'm busy at work. So I somehow need to regularly eat otherwise by mid-afternoon, everything in my body just halts and I'm incapable of continuing. 

I don't feel like I'm eating too much, but I'm obviously doing something wrong because I'm very slowly, but surely gaining weight. I need to cut back somehow...maybe my dinners. Maybe I can have smaller dinners at home. And also start to work out. I have to be honest, I'm already at the point of physical exhaustion after work, the thought of working out as well makes me want to cry. But if something has to be done, then it has to be done. 

Another problem is the professor. The happier he gets, the more miserable I get. Over the years I've somehow associated him being happy with me with gaining weight. Now that he's super pleased with me, I know that must mean I'm fat. Fat and fat and fat. The more he tells me that I look "well", the more upset I get. I don't want to hear it anymore. It's not quite the compliment he thinks it is. 

I have a question for you girls, what is your most hated body part? I've always hated my stomach and thighs, and relatively speaking, I've not had much of a problem with my bum. But today, I met a girl who hated her bum and also talked about her arm fat. I've never really thought about my arms before, but it's like inception, now I can't stop thinking about them. Now that I'm thinking about my arms and legs and stomach and bum, I just feel like I'm bulging at the seams! 

Yuck. Yuck. 

I'm choosing my confessions (happy holidays to you all)

"Trying to keep an eye on you like a lost, hurt and blinded fool. Oh no, I've said too much. I've set it up." 

200 posts, 104 followers and I'm still going. It's hard to believe, but it's the current state of affairs. I can't say enough thank yous to everyone who reads this, to everyone who comments, to everyone who has shown me so much support, concern, loyalty and companionship throughout the times. 

You've shared my highs and my lows, my fears, hopes, dreams, suicidal thoughts. You've been there through the shedding of blood and tears and one way or another, you've held my head above water and here we are, at the start of all things. 

I apologise if I sound a tad too poetic today. There are several reasons for that. The most crucial of which is probably the fact that I got a bottle of 20 year old Portugese port today and I've had a fair few glasses of it already. The second reason is that I'm managing to squeeze into some of my size 6 clothes (I believe this is comparable to a UK6, and a US 2) and even though it is a SQUEEZE, it's definitely better than not being able to squeeze at all. The last reason is that I am still buoyed by my last meeting with the professor. 

There have been quite a few occasions where I have waxed lyrical about him, and part of me can't help it. Now, after several glasses of port and a good dose of Joan Jett and Pink Floyd and Depeche Mode, there practically isn't anything holding me back. 

One aspect is that it is terribly flattering to be so petted by such a powerful man. It feeds some sort of hungry little girl inside me who just wants a daddy to come along and take her hand and make everything okay. And that's what he does, literally. The last time that I saw him, he kissed me more times in half an hour than my own father has in 5 years. When my head isn't clouded by my ED and my self esteem issues, it is so clear that he cares. He's been my most trusted friend, least judging, and most supportive. He tells me I'm perfect, beautiful, and after a few drinks, I start to believe that he actually means it. 

Another point is that I just feel so safe with him. In a strange way, we get each other. We are uncannily similar, sometimes to an extent where I will try and change myself to make myself seem a bit more different. Wouldn't want him, or anyone else for that matter, to think that I was trying to be like him in every possible way. 

At any rate, I'm glad he likes me, likes me enough to get me a Christmas present. I'm glad he's still trying to help me and wants to see me more. 

This time of year always brings out the best and worst in me. I won't lie, the food temptations are hell. HELL. All the foods I love, but all the foods I'm not allowed to eat. At the same time that I'm stuffing my face, I'm also making endless resolutions about losing weight. It's around this time that I start doing the work out videos and popping the laxatives and the odd day of fasting. The end result of all this is that I get through the holidays relatively unscathed. Staying the same, no net gain or loss. 

Being realistic, I aim to do the same this year. Get through, stay the same, don't gain, and any loss is a bonus. 

So here's me, wishing all your girls a wonderful festive season. I hope nobody derails too much and that any damage is easily controlled. I hope everyone has a good time with friends and family, do things that you enjoy before it's nose to the grindstone again. Each little step is a step closer, and if anybody takes a step back, don't despair. We all step backwards sometimes. Just recognise it, and try not to do it again. 

I'm here if anyone is having trouble coping. My family are going away so I'm pretty much alone and always happy to give out advice/company/TLC. 

Happy holidays and look forward to a skinny 2013!!!

Every yours, 

Judith Marie. 

shattered and defeated and making decisions

"So make all your last demands for I will forsake you and I'll meet your eyes for the very first time, for the very last." 

NB: I apologise if I've not been commenting on your blogs of late. Blogger is doing that weird thing again where it doesn't tell me when the blogs I follow update. I comment on the posts that I see pop up!

I've worked too long, too many long days, too many long hours. I've been afraid, too many moments of insecurity, of panic, of feeling shattered and defeated. Too many thoughts run through my head, my patients, my boss, my future, my body. Yes, I've lost weight, but only about 4lbs, and only the weight that I had put on when I was eating like some freak. So now I am back to my baseline 122lbs. I haven't moved forwards at all and I hate it.

The flurry of clothes that I had bought for myself, all a few sizes too small, hoping I'd fit into them by now still sit on hangers, taunting me and reminding me that I have failed in another aspect of my life. I must try harder. I must eat less. I must just buckled down and do what I need to do. From deep down inside me an old desire is rising, the desire to cut. I swore so many times that I would never go back there. I swore that no matter what, I would handle it and I would not take myself back there. But let's face it, it's an easy way out and right now, that's all I'm looking for. 

A gush of blood and I can sleep. A gush of blood and I can focus and study. A gush of blood and I am no longer hungry. All I need is to bleed out my anger and frustration and fears and anxiety and insecurity and hatred. Bleed it all out, then I can be just me. Calm. 

But I swore I wouldn't go back there. But I swore. 

It's not the only aspect of me that is being questioned. Every aspect of me is being questioned. I don't know what I want to do anymore. So much for wanting to do ophthalmology. The more I think about it, the more I feel like I can't do it. The intake is too low, 2 per year. With the amount of stress that I feel just working an ordinary job, I can't imagine what it would be to live for 5-7 years desperately trying to get onto a training scheme. And then I think of Alex. Perfect Alex. Thin, beautiful, talented, not a bad molecule in her body. She speaks fluent French and is half Japanese and is femininity personified. She's a warm spring morning in Paris with a black coffee and croissant. I try so hard to be like her, but I just can't. 

I'm not that person. I'm fat and bitchy. I'm spontaneous shopping and designer labels and consumerism with all the letters capitalised and italicised. I'm wobbly cellulite and a lazy slob and a liar and an absolute cow with a bad attitude. I'm full of badness and rock and roll and whiskey and port. I'm full Chinese and I only speak English. I'm a cold, wet morning in the Scottish highlands with black pudding and a fried egg. 

How can I pretend anymore. I can't do it anymore. I think of the professor, and how much I adore him and how much I've let him down. I can't possibly face him again. I can't do it. I can't spend the next decade or more of my life with someone who hates me as he must hate me. I can't be with someone who knows all my problems and wants to solve them. I can't spend my doing something that constantly reminds me of how inadequate and unworthy I am, no matter how much I love it. 

I will do general surgery and be worked to the bone. And be yelled at by my bosses and sleep 2 hours a night in my car and slice my own body to pieces and feel like I'm finally in my place. 

Time to do what I must. Book another tattoo, cut as deep as I want to, eat nothing at all and buy the biggest bottle of port and whiskey I can get my hands on. Fuck what other people think. Fuck "taking care of myself". Fuck it all. I don't care if I'm self destructive, maybe that's how I've always been. But it's the only way I know how to get by and right now, all I want to do is get by, one day at a time. 

If that means being hungry but thin, drunk but calm, put together but cut up then so be it.