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. 

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. 

ana driven thoughts

midnight in the city, bleary eyed and clouded mind. the fat on my body, I can feel it expanding. I know that I am getting fatter. I can feel the real me, buried under layer after layer after layer of disgusting, putrid fat. I hate it. I hate feeling it. I hate how I can pinch a layer of fat between my fingers. I hate how I can't see my bones. 


it is the witching hour and I can't sleep. My fat is keeping me awake. it's all I can think about. 


my mind is so awake. but my body is crying out for some form of rest. there is so much for me to think about, how can I possibly rest? 


binge. binge. binge. binge. that has been the theme of this week. I think my boobs are bigger. they are already DD. yes, that is how fat I am. fucking fat. some part of me says "I just need to be fat for a while." but I hate the fat. I don't feel cuter, cuddlier or healthier. I feel disgusting. 


I spend hours of each day watching diet and anorexia shows on youtube. and I can feel my grip on reality slipping more. I think that those girls in the anorexia documentaries, the ones in the inpatient centres, the ones with BMIs of 15 and 16, I think they are fat. they look fat to me. not all the bones are visible. and this makes me realise that I am fatter than ever. and it disgusts me. 


I would love to look like one of them. and when I do, I shall plan to lose more. more and more and more. I want to lose more weight. I am desperate. there is so much fat. 


purging. the magic word. I would give anything for the ability to purge. then I would spend the rest of my life locked inside, binging and purging and binging and purging. I would never keep anything down. 


midnight in the city. it's quiet. it's dark. it's cold. and all I can think about are laxatives. right now, I would kill for a packet of laxatives. I knew I did the whole laxie thing a while back and forced myself to stop. but now I want nothing more. 


there is nothing more upsetting in this world than gaining weight. 


winter is coming. it's getting colder. long sleeves are coming. finally I can cut my arms again. 


there is nothing more pure than the feeling of being empty. there is nothing that makes me feel more accomplished than restricting and fasting. there is nothing more triumphant than being the thinnest of all your friends. there is nothing more beautiful than a gap between the thighs. there is nothing uglier than fat, fat, fat everywhere. 


there is nothing in this world that I want more than to be thin and boney. there is nothing I need more in this world than Ana. 

weight gain and weight loss

This is the winter of our discontent. 

My flatmate and I are suffering in our little world. She has failed her exams and now can no longer go on her big overseas trip at the end of the year. She's usually so upbeat and witty and fun, it's such a shock to see her crying and lethargic and dull. I don't know what to do. I don't want to be too upbeat and desperately try to cheer her up. But apparently the only alternative is to ignore it. I'm trying to strike a balance between the two of them and I'm not sure how successful I am being. Maybe she just needs time. 

A couple of things. Firstly, 76 followers???? When did that happen? HELLLOOOO!!!! Also, to my new followers and my old ones, blogger is just not telling me when all your blogs update so if you want me to follow your blog or check up on it, message me in the comments. Sometimes I'll log onto a blog and find lots of posts I've somehow missed. 

Next is that my weight is swinging wildly out of control. My flatmate's depression goes hand in hand with junk food and I've been binging like some pig. And this makes me very VERY itchy for laxies. I haven't taken laxies since the end of last year and I don't have any left but I really, really do want some. I want to take a handful of them because I'm pretty sure I'm blocked up. I swore off them but I really do crave them. I guess time will tell what happens.

The cutting is coming back with quite a vengeance. I've been wanting to cut for weeks now but have refrained until today. 5 cuts on my upper outer left thigh. My usual depth and my usual sort of cutting. It felt good, but it didn't feel like it was enough. I wanted to cut deeper, longer, and I wanted more cuts. I'm trying not to cut my abdomen because I've pretty much already guaranteed I will never wear a bikini again and so that really only leaves my thighs. I am desperate to cut my arms but it's summer and I don't want others to see them. 

I know I've gained weight, probably all the weight I lost so successful and with so much grandeur when I was vegan. I don't want to weigh myself. I think I will go through next week with vegan/fasts and maybe a few laxies before I subject myself to the scale again. 

I hope you girls are doing better than me. Love you all. 

heaven is a cloud of laxies

It's 3am and I've been pretending to sleep for 2 hours now. I might have drifted off for a few minutes but the pain in my bloated and ever suffering abdomen won't let me have any peace. Suddenly a bolt of pain shoots through me and I'm jolted upright. My actions are automatic and from muscle memory. Without turning on my lights, I leap out of bed, open my door and sneak into my bathroom. 

This time is worse than all the other times put together. This time it's many days of not going to the bathroom, many binges and horrendous bloating and a fast approaching department Christmas party that have me popping the laxies. 4 of them, double the highest recommended dose and boy are they working. I can't walk in straight lines. I try to move quietly, so that I don't stumble but it's hard. I've never felt so dizzy in my life. My head is spinning, spinning, the room feels like it's sailing rough seas with me clambering around desperately trying to get to the bathroom. My eyes, they can't focus on anything, not even after I turn the bathroom light on. 

As I sit on the toilet, I grab onto the towel rail in an effort to steady myself. The pain is unbearable now. I feel like I'm going to pop. The strange thing is, I also really, really want to vomit. I know there is nothing to vomit but I am nauseated as all hell, it must be because of the dizziness. 

There is no peace for the next 3 hours. Just pain and more pain and more pain with a large serving of nausea. Still, I step on the scale and what read 123lbs a few hours ago now says 120lbs. I yearn for the laxies to keep working. I want to see 119lbs again. I'm convinced my scale is fucked up. I need to get on the one in my parents' room. The analogue scale, I trust it more. Still, at this time of the morning, that's not possible. 

I crawl into bed again at 6am. Exhausted. But still in pain and still nauseous. I'm just grateful that the intensity of everything has died down. I roll into a ball and force myself to ignore the pain. I'm so tired, I feel like the only thing to make me feel better is sleep. 

When I wake up, I'm only feeling marginally better. Even so, I'm forced on a long drive with the family. It's almost Christmas, we like to drive and eat junk food and do that all day during the holiday season. Normally this is a fun time to catch up but today it's hell. I'm staring at the road like I believe that will somehow distract me from my bowels. They are squirming. They feel inflamed and angry. Every now and then pain will wash over me. I still want to vomit but I have to eat so that my parents don't suspect anything. It's a miserable day. I feel like I've given myself ulcerative colitis with all the laxies. 

I hate them so much. But I love them. They make me feel like I'm trying. They make me feel like I'm paying my dues for all my horrible binges. That whole episode was almost 12 hours ago now but I still don't feel right. I'm hoping that tomorrow is better. I have bought a lovely, expensive dress for the Christmas party and I don't want to be feeling this bad when I'm wearing it. 

I had a mini-break down while dress hunting. It's so hard to find anything that I look good in. And I have to look good. It will be in front of the department. I risk being completely overdressed but they are used to me being like that. I want people to think my dress is pretty, even if they will never be able to think that I am pretty. Ah, I am so jealous of those blessed with beauty. It's something no amount of weight loss will give me. I will always be butt ugly. 

I still look bloated. It's all fat. I've definitely put on weight and I hate it. I'm looking forward to Jan 4th when I move out of this house. I will start fasting again and going to the gym. It's always easier when I'm in another city. Then the weight loss will start! The professor will forget about me, I am sure of that. And I will be able to drop as much weight as quickly as I can muster. 

Thank you to Zapfire, Christina and Sammy for your lovely comments. Yeah, blogger is doing something weird, it doesn't always update the blogs I follow either. It's really annoying! I miss out on important news! 

This is definitely an odd place to be. I'm rather scared because if by some fluke the professor doesn't forget, and I don't get any "better", I'm scared he's going to do something about it. I know that it's probably in my best interests...but I don't want anyone to stop me trying to lose weight. 

Also, about the depression, he says that about 1/5 of medical students are depressed. When they start working, that number rises to 1/3 to 1/2 of new doctors being depressed. He doesn't want me to start my first job without sorting out the depression. Obviously, he doesn't know I'm actually suicidal and I'm actually counting on that job tipping me over the edge. The speed with which he came up with an action plan last time scares me. Why do I talk myself into these corners? At the time I was crying because I felt cared for. But now, I don't want any of it. 

spiral out, unprofessional conduct, gratitude

Things are getting worse now. The suicidal ideation is daily, hourly. I can’t stop thinking about how I want to kill myself. I have so much to finish, but even that is no longer enough. I know I will upset some people but I am sure that they will get over it with time. 

I can also see that I will soon develop a full blown eating disorder. If it’s not next year, it will definitely be the year after. And it will be anorexia with a binge/purge subtype. I know that already. I hate the feeling of having food in my stomach. It makes me feel like such a failure. I only feel accomplished when I’m hungry. My desktop background says it all: I only feel beautiful when I’m hungry. 

The laxatives aren’t enough. I don’t want to put food in my mouth and recently I’ve started losing control resulting in some epic binges. I will walk down the road and buy food from every food place and eat as much as I can. Then I will wander around work aimlessly, restlessly. A part of me is thrashing around, wanting to vomit, another part of me is desperately holding onto common sense. So I settle for laxatives. I know it doesn’t do anything about the calories but the misery of the pain and the running to the bathroom makes me feel like I’m repenting. 

But none of it is enough. When I have food in my stomach all I can think about is purging. I feel like I’m lucky. The doctor in me says that I have caught an eating disorder in the early stages. There is so much hope. Now is the time to turn back. Now is the time to catch it. Now is the time to do something about it. It would be so easy. I have people who would help me in a heartbeat and not bat an eye. I have people who would make sure that I succeed and probably not think any less of me despite all my failures. I have everything a person could need to recover. Almost. 

If I were one of my patients I know I would try to get some sort of referral, something to prevent this getting worse. I'm teetering at the edge of a cliff and I want to step out into free fall. I have all the tools for recovery, except the will. I don't want to recover. I want to spiral into my ED. I want to get smaller and smaller, I want to feel pretty for once in my life. 

Yes there are side effects. Yes I've spent many ungodly hours clinging to my toilet. Yes I've spent many sleepless nights crying and willing away the pain in my stomach. Yes I've worried people I care about. But it's just not fair. Every little girl deserves to feel pretty. Every little girl deserves to feel like a princess at some point in her life. If life won't give that to me then I will work hard to get it for myself. I will starve and purge and binge my way to what is rightfully mine, a moment when I can look at myself and think that I am pretty. 

The email was only a line long but it almost brought tears to my eyes. I love it when this happens, when a perfectly professional exchange deteriorates into something completely different. In a strange way it makes me feel so cared about. And although there are times when I can see it in his eyes, I have trouble believing what my see. For all I know my eyes could be deceiving me.  

He calls me F******. The first real nickname I've ever had. He calls me F****** so often that there are people who think my real name is F******. Some people take this as a sign that the notoriously tough professor is fond of me. I wish I could think that way. I remember that once we were in theatre and he was transplanting the inside layer of the front of the eye. To make sure that he had it the right way up, he wrote an F on it. That way, if it is the wrong way up, the F will look back to front. Why do I use the letter F? he asks and the other students in the room look around. Everyone looks at me. Finally he looks at me. It stands for F******. He smiles sweetly and the other students stare at me. I know it doesn't stand for my nickname. He's used that letter for years, long before he met me. It's still a sweet thing to say. 

I call him BB. He always jokes to other people that it means Big Bastard. It's his way of saying, hey, I've got a cute nickname. It does make other people stare at me a bit though. 

F******, I'm sure I can find time for you, BB. 

It's only a sentence long, but it still almost brought tears to my eyes. It's unprofessional conduct and it makes me feel cared for. 

Thank you to Fat Piggy for your lovely comment on my last blog post. It's absolutely wonderful to have you back with us!!!! Thank you also to Anafly, my Aussie neighbour. I'm sure we will become great friends on here! And thank you to wonderful Jackie. You keep me strong! I shall keep on resisting the temptation to purge, although it's getting harder and harder. 

Darling Mia

As usual, thank you to Jackie, Christina, Anafly and Fiandshalimer for your lovely comments on my blog! I love you girls!

In my darkest hours when my phone is silent because all my friends are too busy with their own lives to answer my texts, when I can't sleep because of the tears, when my abdomen is aching for my binging or my fasting, Mia comes to me like an avenging angel. She holds and rocks me and smiles at me with love. Everything will be okay. She hands me the laxies. As soon as you take these. 

Sometimes Ana goes on holiday. But I'm never alone, when Ana is off keeping someone else company, Mia comes and takes my hand. Darling Mia, she whispers to me, she holds me when no one else will, she gives me hope when there is none. I swore I'd be off the laxies. Judith Marie doesn't like them. 

Judith Marie remember being at work, sitting in her room with her eyes shut, riding out the waves of pain coursing through her body, waiting for silence in the corridor so that she can run to the bathroom. The paranoia, hoping that nobody realises she is going to the bathroom every few minutes. Then she sits in the bathroom, in yet more pain, waiting for the person in the next stall to leave so that nobody sees her in there. 

But those moments are Mia's little triumphs. During my pain she points out to me that my abdomen is flatter now, and isn't that empty feeling just second to none? 

Recently I've been binging like mad. LIKE MAD. And Mia is with me during each binge, silent but watching. Immediately afterwards she tries to drag me to the bathroom. Vomit it up again. But Judith Marie refuses. She knows that it's bad. She knows it's really bad. She knows that if she does, she'll be letting a lot of people down. She knows that if anyone finds out it will be a one way ticket to the mental health ward. 

If you are wondering why everything seems to be so much in third person, it's because right now, I don't really understand my identity. I thought I was very Ana, now I seem to be much more Mia, and somewhere in there is Judith, desperate for an Ed free life. 

Never before now have I ever lost control while eating. I will eat and eat and there is an unbelievably strong urge to continue. There are no thoughts in my head. In a strange way it's really peaceful. No stress, no depression, just nothing. It's like a compulsion, I just do it. But immediately afterwards, I want to vomit. So far I haven't yet. And I really don't want to. But I will one day. 

Recently I've gone from one tiredness to another. I used to be fully exhausted and breathless from the restricting, now I'm exhausted by the binging. I hate this. Sometimes I want nothing more than to walk into the professor's office and tell him everything and ask for help. That's probably why I've been avoiding him lately. I'm scared somehow that bit of me that wants recovery will break through and blurt it out. 

The professor. I don't want to see him again. I'm scared. I'm scared of being found out and of giving myself away. I'm scared that he'll call me out for being so late with my work. I'm just scared. I don't want to see him. I care about him so much. I don't think I can face being rejected by him. I'll finish the work, I'll hand it in. Then I'll think about if I want to see him again. Seems stupid doesn't it, me burning the bridge between myself and the one person in my life who is even vaguely supportive. 

I counted my blades. I have nearly 100. I keep getting more of them. I am feeling that it's probably nearly time to cut something else into myself. 

noticing.

Fiandshalimer, jackie, Christina, aliceana and Bella. Thank you lovely ladies for your lovely, lovely comments. It's very lovely. Lovely. As you see, I'm demonstrating my vast vocabulary for you there.

HELLO BELLA!!! Follower number 50. WHAT! I can't believe I have 50 followers. That's just crazy. And you were saying how smart I sounded. Lol. Because so far in this post I haven't sounded very smart at all. Job no. 2 is killing me so normal mental status will resume after today. Which is my deadline for finishing the job.

Well I just weighed in at 119lbs. *breathes huge sigh of relief* When I started I was 124lbs and so I'm 5lbs down and hugely relieved. You may remember that I had a fit of joy when I hit 119lbs last time, but it didn't last long because I gained weight. I'm so glad I'm back here. 115lbs here I come! However, I don't know how I'm going to lose 2lbs with the weekend coming up. Not to mention my birthday next Monday. Just a nightmare because my family celebrates everything with a feast.

But onto the theme of today's post...I feel like Sesame St...you know, today's post was brought to you by the letter N. N for noticing.

I'm noticing that I'm smaller. Even after I eat, my abdomen doesn't pouch out as much as it used to, which is something that I'm really, really enjoying. I'm loving trying on my old clothes and seeing that they don't get stretched as much as they used to. There is progress!!!!!

As long as I'm moving in the right direction. Yesterday I sat down and suddenly noticed how huge my thighs are. They're smaller than they used to be, but omg, they are still enormous. I feel so ashamed of them! Still, take what you can get, as I always say. One day I will have the thin, lithe gazelle legs that I've always wanted. Granted, I'll have a shorter version because my legs are so short.

I've decided to just not have the laxies, unless I seriously can't stop myself. My bowels are now back to their usual irritable self. Fiandshalimer, thanks for reminding me. I mean, I knew all that, all the stuff laxies do, I knew all that but for some reason it didn't click. Then the colostomy thing, that's what finally made me think I should stop entirely. I did my time in general surgery (loved it!) and I've seen patients with colostomies and failed anastamoses and rectal prolapses, I've even done a few colostomies. I remember thinking that that truly was a fate worse than death. I would rather die than have a permanent colostomy.

On the downside, I did notice something yesterday that makes me a little worried. I went for a run and I just couldn't do it. I was so tired and I had to walk every now and then. I got breathless so easily. It probably means I'm getting anaemic again. From the restricting and mostly eating vegetables, I'm probably anaemic. I'm going to have to think about how to proceed from here...

On a completely different note, met a really good looking guy yesterday. Don't go getting excited though, he's Australian and is going back to Australia on Monday. He was in theatre with me and the professor. Really smart guy and he was also SO BIG. Like, really tall and quite well built, even if I say so myself. He made me feel really small, which is probably why I liked him. A nice, smart, tall, hunky Aussie guy. And now, I apply my rule that I use for all medical students and doctors: taken until proven otherwise. Not that it matters, I won't see him again.

with a heavy heart (update and responses to comments)

Firstly, I start this post with saying much love to Fat Piggy, my pretty lady. All my love to you, I'm utterly distraught over you, please take care. I look forward to having a more cheerful you back with us.

Update, I don't know what to say. I feel like my weight is not right. Having stopped taking the laxies, I've just not gone to the bathroom and so now I'm bloated and I'm sure I'd weigh less if I would just go to the loo. I hate not going to the loo. I hate that my weight hasn't shifted an ounce, even though I know it should've gone down. FUCK I REALLY WANT SOME LAXIES!!! But I swore not to take them during the week and I won't.

Today went better than yesterday. As of now, I went for a 8km run/walk which burns around 400cal for me. I fasted all day, and ate around 500cal for dinner. 500cal is a heavy estimate, it might be as little as 300cal. I plan to do more exercise later, burn maybe another 400cal.

This way, I feel like I'm doing something to lose weight. And even if the scales and my bowels don't cooperate, I feel like I'm going in the right direction. Damn I want those laxies, I want to feel more empty than this.

There is a lot of work to do, and I'm so very tired. So very tired. Fat Piggy's misadventure has made me think. Today I saw TS, who I adore. And he said to me, "You're my favourite student, I rank you alongside JF." JF is a past student who is now a fully qualified doctor. TS talks about her a lot, he clearly really adores her. Even though she is sort of marked by a horrible thing that she did in the past that made everyone really angry at her, she is still his favourite student. To have him say he likes me just as much as her, I can't really even understand that. "You're my favourite student." he says again, deadly serious, looking into my eyes. And he says this right in front of his honours student. I feel a bit awkward for her.

It makes me think. So many things lately have made me think. And they're all making me a bit less suicidal. If I killed myself, TS would be upset. And I don't want to upset him.

I feel like that I should say here, since there was some confusion over my last post...those comments and compliments, that conversation, that was with the professor. There is absolutely no romance going on here! I love him dearly, but not in that way. I hadn't realised that at no point in that entire post did I mention that it was the professor. I think I can sort of see why some of my classmates and some hospital staff are raising eyebrows over our relationship. There is a bit of speculation over there being some sort of sexual undertone between us. I've never seen it that way, but if some of you thought I was talking about a boyfriend after reading that post, well. I can see what some other people are worried about then.

Thank you to Princess Perfection, strive4perfection, Christina, Jackie and Lolo for your lovely comments. I always love reading them and I really can't thank you enough for them.

Jackie and strive4perfection: I agree that cutting down the laxies is a good thing to do. It's extremely hard, all I can think about is want to take more laxies to get rid of this weight.

Christina: you read ALL my posts???? I feel like I should apologise for the sheer number of them! Oh my goodness, I can't believe you read them all. I hope they weren't boring or anything. And thank you so much for reading them! And I don't think we'll ever be happy with our size, but all we can do is keep chasing perfection I suppose. And the laxies. Far more addictive than I ever thought they could be. My advice, heed all the advice that I refused to take. Don't take laxies.

Princess Perfection and Lolo: hey girls, thanks for following me! I hope I entertain you somewhat. It means a lot to me, so thank you again.

because just what I've been through is nothing like where I'm going to...

...give me some sign to pursue a promise. And you're unhappy - this is only a guess. Do you know what it's like to hate when it's way down deep inside? Oh God, I hate what's been done to my life. I could rule the pain, I could rule the night, or would I ruin my salvation?

It's some ungodly hour of the morning and I've done some unknown hours of transcription. I can't really remember the last time I slept properly, I can't remember the last person I talked to, I can't remember what the hell I've just transcribed. But I know exactly when I ate, I know when I took the laxies and I know that they should be working soon.

With the Violent Femmes playing softly along with the howling wind and my howling dog, I can't help but think about how I got to here.

I don't really remember a time when I was happy. I don't think I really understand what that means. That doesn't really bother me. But sometimes it's hard to see how I got from a high achieving, scholarship winning, perfectly content girl to how I am now: severely depressed, suicidal, self harming, personality and eating disordered, intellectually challenged person who swings wildly from restricting to binging to taking 4 doses of laxies in 24 hours.

What happened? I thought I was in control. I thought I had it all under control. I said that I wouldn't cut myself again. Now I can't sleep until I've cut myself. I said that I would never starve myself but of course I started restricting and fasting. Then I said I would never binge or purge and I've been doing nothing but binging and purging for the past few days. I said I would never use laxatives. I've taken 8 of them in the past 24 hours, one dose after each meal. I said I would only use them if I needed to. Now I have to take some each time solid food passes my lips.

I'm not in control at all.

...you know that I want your loving but my logic tells me that it ain't never gonna happen. And my defenses say that I didn't want it anyway. But you know sometimes I'm a liar...

The Violent Femmes continue to croon to me. Every now and then the music will speak straight to my soul. And this song is doing that... Good feeling, won't you stay with me just a little longer?...

My alarm sounds, that annoying bell. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. It's 3am. That means that I should go to sleep now in order to get up in 3 hours time. But I can't sleep. I haven't cut anything into myself yet... it always seems like you're leaving when I need you here just a little longer...

I give up, I reach for my little box of love and pic out a blade and etch a little heart below my left clavicle. The angle is so strange that it makes me cross eyed. Gently, very gently, I sway to the music. Who told me to listen to the Violent Femmes anyway? Oh yes, of course, it was the professor.

The professor. In theatre, a nurse walked by and said "I don't do love". He laughed at her and turned to me and said "that's something you'd say because you're wedded to success and ophthalmology". I don't make any reply. I don't need to. He already knows the words that I can't allow myself to say. But that's okay. It has to be.

Laxatives. I look at my little red purse. It's full of laxatives. I never have any coins to put in it anyway. All I need are laxatives. I know this is a one way track to tolerance. Then I will have to teach myself to throw up. But that's later. For now I still have hope that I will go back to restricting.

I wash the little heart under my clavicle with alcohol. It burns. I'm tired. My thoughts float around the place. I can't think straight. I have work to do. I have people to please. I have scars to create. I have misery to wallow in. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

As usual, thank you to aliceana and strive4perfection and fat piggy for your lovely comments.

binge and purge: the circle of life.

I should have somehow known that it was too good to last. This has been one of the worst binges ever. I've always been honest on here but right now, I'm way too ashamed to say how much I ate on here. Apparently life is all or nothing for me in all respects, including binging. When I binge, I do it good, honey *snaps fingers*. So I've taken more laxies and it makes me feel a bit better. I've only just started taking laxies (as you probably know already) and now I understand why people say it gets so addictive. Why don't I ever listen????? The human race would be doomed to fail if everyone was like me.

I've gone through an embarrassing amount of laxatives since I bought them and I need to cut back, simply because I can't afford to keep buying them at this rate. At first, I took some just to see if it worked and how quickly. Then I was nothing short of delighted at the flatness of my stomach and how un-bloated I felt. Well, really, I was more surprised because it really brought home how bloated I was normally.

Laxies really, are only good in retrospect. Because at the time, it is absolutely miserable. I took some last night, ended up having an all nighter watching movies and found out that they work faster if you're awake. So at about 3 am I was chained to my bathroom. And for the next 2 hours I was back and forth and even now, 11hours later I'm still running back and forth to the bathroom. For this reason I don't think I will be taking more than the normal dose, or I will actually just have to move my life into the bathroom.

I've just had another binge at lunch and taken more laxies. And so the circle of life continues. Binge then purge then binge then purge then binge then purge. And all the warnings people have given me about laxies go unheeded. I'm not really losing any weight because yeah, all I'm doing is gaining food weight then losing food weight. But somehow I almost prefer this because it allows me the chance to binge and I have to say that I get some sort of satisfaction in binging.

Now I almost don't have to deal with the guilt of it. Because, for now, the discomfort and pain of the laxies makes me feel like I've repented enough for a binge.

When I started my weight loss bid, I never thought I would ever flirt with Mia. Never. I'm not sure if I am right now. But I can suddenly see the possibility of going down that path. We'll just have to wait and see.