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. 

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. 

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. 

skinny and the negative plus

"Skinny..." all my voices singing..."skinny..."

She's aloof. She bites her tongue but when she does speak, her voice is too loud, too judgmental, scathing, loathing. And when she looks at people, she looks down her nose. I would hate her, I would hate everything about her but I'm forced to respect her because she is so thin. Her thigh gap makes me drool with jealousy and longing. 

She has long, thin, gazelle legs. And a pretty, thin face. She's everything I want to be, minus the attitude. She's my thinspiration. I want to look like her. I want to be that pretty. I want to be that thin. I want all that. She looks good in everything. She looks like a guy could easily lift her. 

She makes me feel awful. Ugly. Unattractive. Invisible. 

And so I run. I run till I feel like I'm going to faint but I only manage to work off 300cal at the gym. My intake for the day is 500cal. So my net intake is 200cal. Which makes me feel like shit. 

I've failed. I always want to have a negative calorie balance. To be in a positive balance makes me feel terribly insecure. It makes me feel like I'm not going to lose any weight at all. And I just have to lose weight this week. I am going to be distraught if I don't lose any weight. After all this effort, I just need to see some results. I want to be lower than 120lbs. Surely that's not too much to ask. 

8 is a lucky number

Today I took one of those online depression tests. At the end, instead of giving me a score or something that said mild or moderate or severe depression, it just gave me the number of the crisis helpline and said that if I should call it immediately if I was having thoughts about hurting or killing myself. 

After a horrendous day at work, I went on the most amazing binge fest ever. I don't think I've ever eaten this much in my life. Then, on my way back to my room, I found myself automatically going to purge. Which is odd before I've never vomited before and yet here I was going to purge as if it was the normal routine. I didn't do it. I'm not going to purge, I'm going to fight the urge as long as I can. It's getting harder. But I have to try. 

Still, even though I'm not vomiting and I've taken 8 laxies in the past 24 hours. So much for not taking more than the recommended dose. 

I find myself avoiding the professor. I know all you girls tell me not to, and I agree with you, but I'm doing it subconsciously. It's only later that I realise I slipped away so quickly to avoid talking to him. I don't want to see him, but I so do. I want to march up to his door and give him all my laxies and ask him to take them all away. And give him all my scalpel blades. And ask him to fix me. But that's not how it works. He can't fix me. Only I can. But I don't want to. 

Alex still haunts me. But now there is a new girl in town. YW. Just as beautiful. Just as wonderful. And I get along terribly well with her. She's great. We could be great friends. But like Alex, YW reminds me of everything that I am not. She's so clever, so good at writing papers, never delays projects. Everything that I'm not. 

I can't even be eating disordered properly. I wish I'd just be full out mia and vomit my heart out. But I can't. I can't do anything. 

As usual, thank you to Fat Piggy, Christina and xXzapxfireXx for your lovely comments on my last entry. I'm sorry that I've been down so much lately. Things must pick up from here though. 

alex.

As always, thank you to Fat Piggy and Miss Burton for your lovely comments. Yay for running! And yay for thinspo!

It's rare for me to meet someone who is everything I want to be and leave the encounter/encounters not hating them. This is why I feel I should blog about Alex. I'm hoping this post will also be a bit therapeutic for me because I've been unable to deal with her existence for a long time.

Alex is a walking talking embodiment of everything that I wish to be and so much more. She is so perfect that she far exceeds anything I had previously thought of as perfect. Perfect in ways and areas that I had never thought of before. This is why I want to hate her. She's like an angel walking among us. No. She is an angel walking among us.

I find it hard to describe Alex. I don't know where to start. She's just a little taller than me, but model thin. Naturally. She's half Asian, and so she has that look about her that only half Asians seem to have. That exotic, yet familiar, the ethereal, the strange quality that you can't put your finger on but you know damn sure is there. There is something magical about her Asian shaped eyes with the subtle double lids and the strange shade of green that shines out. Or is it yellow. Or is it blue. Or is it brown. I swear it changes all the time.

Alex has a beauty that is striking to say the least. But striking because it is so odd. There isn't another person in this world who comes close to her look. She is the sweetest person anyone will ever meet. I don't think she is capable of thinking bad thoughts. I don't think she knows what it means to find fault in someone. Somehow she has achieved what I thought was impossible; she is aware of all the dark sides of life yet is sheltered from it at the same time and can see through it all to the good in someone's soul. The state in which she exists must be enlightenment.

This must all sound like I'm madly in love with her. I'm not. Like I said, I would dearly love to hate her. She makes my life a misery by being so perfect. I look at her and see no hope for myself.

Alex is the professor's masters student. That is how I came to meet her. Clearly, he adores her, but then so does everyone else. Hell, even I adore her. I can't help it. I don't think any of us can. She seems so pure and untainted and eager to help and compassionate and all those adjectives that we apply to people we like. Alex is all of them. You know when she's in the room. With her quiet charm, she oozes goodness from every pore, so much goodness that it seems to coat everything in the room. She can do no wrong.

But I can. And therein lies the problem. Normally, I would deal with this by nitpicking and then finding something I don't like about her and cutting Alex the tall poppy down. But I can't do it, because there is nothing I dislike about her. When faced with perfection, all I can see is how far I am from it.

I can't even begin to think about how superior she is in terms of intelligence and personality and charm and wit and all those things. Just on a physical level, she is so much better than me. She's beautiful, she's super thin, she's got a wardrobe I would murder for. As long as Alex exists in this world, I will never understand why anybody would ever bother with me. Especially the professor.

This is how I talk myself out of every single instance when I think he might like me. As long as Alex exists, he'd be a fool to bother with me. I'm not beautiful or thin. I'm not even pretty or cute. I might be presentable at times, but that's because I work very hard to be. I'm not clever or witty or funny. Come to think of it, I don't really know what I am. But looking at Alex, I know everything that I'm not.

Reading what I've written, I'm understanding why the cutting is getting worse. This is the worst it's ever been. I started cutting at 15 and I think at 18 I had a very long hiatus away from it. I really only started it again a few months ago at 21 years old. And very quickly it became a necessity. I've learned not to do my arms, although I want to, for decorative purposes. My abdomen and thighs have become the areas of choice. Right now I have 50 scalpel blades stashed away, including 2 scalpel handles and 2 15degrees, which are super fine ophthalmic operating blades, great for that intricate design.

And at the next possible chance, I will get more blades. Oh Alex, it has been an absolute privilege and honour to be able to cross you in my life. You make me more insecure than you'll ever know. By your very existence you make me too afraid to enter the professor's office or even speak in front of him. You make me feel utterly unworthy of ophthalmology and medicine. You make me feel utterly unworthy of existence.

I will think you in the moment before my death, Alex, and then you will be a comfort to me. At long last I will get what I've wanted my whole life; confirmation that what I am doing is right.