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. 

as I formulate denials of your effect on me

To start off with, thank you to Rachel, Fat Piggy, strive4perfection and Christina for your lovely comments on my last blog post. 

It's raining outside. I'm upset but I forget exactly why. All I know is that I feel as though the world is ending. Melodramatic? Yes. 

I rush through many sets of double doors, down vomit-beige coloured corridors and I know that I'm in an unnamed hospital somewhere. I'm running and running down my vomit coloured hospital corridors and somehow it is raining inside now. The stinging icy shards of rain melt into the hot tears streaming down my face. I'm cold and tired and devastated.

In that way that can only happen in dreams, I am suddenly redirected from my Newtonian method of running to walking down carpeted floors and richly painted walls. It takes me a while to notice that I am no longer where I used to be. His arm is draped across my shoulders as we walk and then he picks me up and I am being carried through time, and I know I am going to somewhere safe. 

I find myself standing in his living room. He's sitting on his leather couch and he pats his lap. I squirm a bit and shake my head. "Why not?" I shake my head again. "Are you scared you'll be too heavy for me?" 

I sit in between his legs because no force on this earth and in the land of dreams will compel me to sit on his lap. He cradles me and softly croons to me in that deep, melodic voice of his. I slowly drift off...

...I look around my room to find what has woken me. 

My phone is buzzing. New Text Message. I curse it for waking me from such a nice cream. I look at the time and find that it's some ungodly hour of the morning. Who on earth is texting me at this time? 

The professor. The shock of seeing his name immediately after that dream causes me to fumble and drop my new iPhone. His text says that he's in Abu Dhabi. At least that explains the time difference. 

The past week has been an unmitigated disaster. I can't even bring myself to stand on the scales because I know I've gained weight and I really, REALLY don't want to know how much I've gained. And I know it is A LOT. 

I started the week off with binging. I stained my bedsheets with blood from all the cutting and I snuck around at night cleaning them. I felt so full that I was dying for some laxies. And by the time Wednesday swung round, I resolved to fast and go to the gym. Good plan. I was looking forward to getting back on track. That morning, I rush to theatre, scrub in for the first case of the day and faint within the first half hour. Fainting in theatre. I will never live down the shame. 

And this brought on an amazing amount of binging. Endless binging. More and more food. Clothes are tighter, things cease to fit me. I can see the fat piling on. And that's not a turn of phrase. I can actually see that I am fatter. I hate it. I hate it so much. But I brought it upon myself. I am so ashamed of myself. I didn't want to open this blog because I don't deserve to post here and have you lovely ladies read what I write when I am such a failure. 

I miss the professor so much. Somehow, knowing that he is in Abu Dhabi makes me miss him more. I wish he was here. I want to do what I did in my dream and sit in his embrace and tell him about how I hate everything that I have become. I can't even lose weight properly. I want to hear him to tell me that it's okay and that I am a good person and not a complete waste of space and energy. 

But that scenario is really one that only exists in dreams. 

Then I think of J, the professor's wife. She's slightly taller than me. Maybe by an inch. And she weighs 56kg. He told me this. And so it makes me think. J is like a mother to me. So if my mother is going to be 56kg, then I should be well and safely tucked in the 40s. The ideal would be for me to be 10kg smaller than her. I'm not sure why, but I feel like being smaller than her will make them both like me more. 

Flawed logic, yes. 

Next week will be better. Next week. 

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. 

queen of all vegans!!!!

I'M THE QUEEN OF ALL THE VEGANS!!! Mighty words from someone who has been vegan for 3 days. But really, the odd bit of temptation aside, it is SO EASY. I guess it helps that I'm Asian. Quite a lot of Asian dishes can easily modified to be vegan. 

It's also cut my grocery bill in half. I bought a whole lot of fruit and vege for not much money at all! I think I ended up with at least 4 times the amount of food for about half the price. It does mean I have to cook a lot more, but I'm rather enjoying the cooking. I do love cooking after all. 

My intake was around 900cal today. Which sounds awful. But it was because I finished work early and so came home for lunch. Then I went to the gym and came home and had dinner. To be honest, I didn't need to eat that much dinner. I'm so SO SO STUFFED FULL right now. 

Intake of just over 900cal and I burned 400cal at the gym today so that's roughly a net intake of 500cal. Which is awesome. I don't normally eat lunch and today's lunch was almost exactly 400cal so yeah, that figure should improve. 

If my net daily intake is around 200cal, then I should lose weight. It should also raise my BMR so I guess what I'm saying is that it will all help the general effort. 


Although, I must say, running at a net 500cal per day is pretty good. And that's just raw intake and output. With no BMR included. If I include BMR then I'm definitely running with a negative intake which makes me SO HAPPY! Still, I fatigue really easily so it's a big mental battle to keep working out but I have a good workout playlist and there are some pretty thin girls at my gym who I use for thinspiration and some fat ones that I use for reverse thinspiration. 


Still, I have respect for fat girls at the gym. Because at least they're doing something about their weight. 


Working out is much better than laxies or vomiting. It gives me much more of a high. And the real bonus is that it raises my BMR so I burn more calories when I'm doing nothing. Which is always, always, always a plus. I'm so proud of what I've been doing, I wish I could tell the professor. But I can't because somehow I don't think he'll be that happy about it. Oh well. For the first time in a long time I really do feel like I'm on the right track. 


Thank you to strive4perfection, Christina and loveylou for your lovely, lovely comments. You girls made my day! 

losing it COMPLETELY

Firstly, thank you to Princess perfection for your lovely comment on my last blog entry. Secondly, I deeply apologise for the hundreds and thousands of blog entries I've been doing lately. I don't normally post every day (or more often than that), but recently a LOT has been happening in my emotional world for some reason. 

It would appear that I'm sometimes seized by moments of absolute madness. Such as this morning when the professor caught me off guard with a meeting. I was just popping by his office and popped my head round to say hi. Which quickly turned into tea and a discussion about my eating. From my last post you can probably tell that my weekend didn't go that well. And I told him this. 

Which of course leads to discussion and I cried in front of him again. Apparently I'm making a habit of this and I'm not proud. I swore I would not ever cry in front of a supervisor and I've cried in front of this one twice. When my self esteem is being discussed, I just disintegrate. He tells me that several people have been talking to him about my weight. I don't see a difference at all. In my eyes, I still look exactly the same. I'm amazed that people think I've lost enough weight for them to concern themselves over it. 

He asks me if I have a boyfriend. I balk at the question. He knows the answer already. 

"You should have a boyfriend. I would have thought that someone as pretty and intelligent and caring as you would have had lots of boyfriends. Do you not think you're pretty enough to have a boyfriend?"

The question sends me reeling backwards. It's not one I expected. Also, it took my best friend a good 5 years to work out that as the reason for me not wanting a relationship so for the professor to just spit it out like that stunned me. I'm still stunned. And a bit worried about how easy I am to read. 

He is the only person I can't hold it together for. The way he looks at me just calls to some part of me and everything just comes flooding out. At some point in the conversation I feel like he's getting far too worked up about my eating. QUICK! DISTRACT HIM! is what my brain tells me to do. Without thinking, I say that my eating isn't a big deal, it's not what worries me the most. BIG MISTAKE. 

The expression on the professor's face becomes totally unreadable and he stops mid sentence. He demands to know what worries me more. The new look on his face makes me literally squirm in my seat. I'm writhing around, twisting my hands, not looking at him. Slowly, and with much trepidation, all I can manage to say is:

"Well...there is the self harm...the cutting."

Something in the professor snaps upon hearing this. I can see in his eyes that he has lost all self control and he looks at me in complete disbelief. He doesn't say anything and in my utter folly I try to fill the silence and start rambling on about it and how it's not that much of a big deal. I talk about cutting my forearm and he immediately grabs it and looks for scars. I show him the cuts on my thighs and the heart of my chest. I talk about the cuts on my abdomen that I can't show him because of my dress. 

Now there is a completely new dimension to his expression, which I'm studying with my heart in my mouth. If I didn't know better I would call it panic. 

"That's crazy. That's absolutely crazy. It's just not normal at all. What's to say that next time you won't do something stupid like cut your wrists? You need help, you need to get help now!" 

I'm scared now I've never seen him like this. He's not exactly angry, although it almost sounds like it. But his voice, his face, his manner, he's lost all self control now. If I were an outsider looking in, or if I were watching two other people in the exact same situation, I would say that he was rather scared and panicking and blurting out the frightening thoughts that raced across his mind because the shock had eliminated his ability to filter them. But I can't quite believe this of the professor. What he says next upsets me no end. It's along the lines of, my behaviour is completely mental and sick and he can't work with anyone this sick. There is so much judgement in it that I don't even bother trying to explain. 

He's almost climbing over his desk to look at my cuts more clearly, pointing out parts where I have cut deeper. Slowly but surely, some of his composure returns. I start working in another city next year on Jan 4. That weekend, I am coming back and he is going to take me on a long walk to discuss how I am going to get help. He's forcing me to get therapy. 


"People look back [at suicides] and say, oh that thing they did was a cry for help and wish that they'd done something about it. Well I'm hearing your cry for help and I'm going to do something."


Man, he's going to be PISSED when I kill myself. 

I'm not entirely sure how to interpret all this. But I'm certainly beyond the point of no return now. The professor knows absolutely everything now. I don't even want to think about what he thinks of me now. He clearly thinks I'm an absolute nutcase. He can't possibly want to work with me now. I'm just waiting for him to wash his hands of me soon. He can throw me into therapy and then disown me. 

That's how I lost it completely. 

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. 

FUCK IT!!!!....I'M GOING TO LOSE WEIGHT!!!

Old habits die hard. 2 whole days have passed since I last used laxies. But I'm bloated and ugly and fat. I hate this. So I only ate dinner today. It was a binge too, but I bet it's around 1000cal. 

I have so much ugly fat on my belly. I have so much ugly fat on my thighs and my arms. 

I had to buy a new bra today. My cup size? DD. THIS FUCKING SUCKS!!! I hate my boobs. They are fucking enormous. I really wish they were smaller. 

After my talk with the professor, I was feeling super good for a few hours. I felt like I was thin, like I could do with gaining a few kilos. Everything he said, I believed. For a couple of hours. Then it all came crashing down when I looked in the mirror. I am bloated and fat and ugly and absolutely disgusting to look at. I want slender gazelle thighs with a gorgeous gap between them. I want a concave stomach with my hip bones and my ribs sticking out. I want much smaller boobs I want my arms and calves to be thin, so that I can feel the bones easily and not be able to pinch a layer of fat. 

I WANT TO BE THIN AND BONEY AND NOTHING CAN CHANGE THAT. 


I don't know how to live and not be trying to lose weight. I've been trying to lose weight for as long as I can remember. I don't know how to eat something and not think about the calories in it and feel guilty about consuming it. I don't know how to feel accomplished without fasting. I don't know any thrill equal to standing on a scale and seeing that I've lost weight. 


I also don't know how I'm going to get around the professor. All I know is that I have to keep trying to lose weight. I will not spend the rest of my life being this disgusting and vile. I will be beautiful and boney thin. 


I hate that I haven't lost any weight for a long time. I hate all the fat on my body. I hate myself for being so weak and actually for a second thinking I might not want to do this. I wish I could snap my fingers and just be a size zero. 


I went shopping with one of my best friends yesterday. She bought some size 0 jeans. I wanted to die. She's much smaller than me so I am still so far from the size 0 dream. But I will get there one day. I have to. But what do I do about the professor. 


Maybe he'll be too busy to notice. Too busy to bother with me. Too busy to remember that conversation. Too busy to notice my absence. 

recovery

"I'm sure you're busy enough without being a therapist."

"You know what, I actually am. But I care about you. And I want to work with you and I won't be able to if you're sick."

So I blurted it all to the professor today. He saw me in the student room and we chatted for a while about a paper that I'm working on. He suggested that we go to his office and go over the data with another lady that we are working with. As we walk, he tugs at my high waisted pants. 

"I love the high waisted pants. It makes you look very tall and slim." 

I smile at him and he puts an arm around my shoulders and we joke as we walk. I've never felt so cared for. D, the lady we are working with looks surprised to see us like that. After discussing work, he asked if there was anything I wanted to talk to him about. I had spent the entire day telling myself I wasn't going to say a word to him. So what do I say? I tell him I've been making myself sick all week. 

"Oh no."

And so we talk about some things. I think he thinks I'm being a bit too sensitive about them. He asks me if I think I'm fat. I say yes. He asks me why. I answer because I've always been called fat. 

"What sort of horrible people would call you fat?" 

He thinks I'm too thin and wants me to gain some weight. I tell him my dad calls me fat and has done for a long time. He gives me a look. He's surprised any father would call his daughter fat. He asks me if I'm depressed. He wants me to get treatment for it. 

"I can get you treatment, someone you can talk to. It would be discreet, nobody would know."

I refuse. But he says that if I'm not feeling better by Easter then he is going to get me help. Very quickly, ground rules are laid down. 

"Don't lose any more weight for now." 

It's a compromise. I want to lose more weight, he wants me to gain a few kilos so we settle for zero change. To be honest, I think I can lose some more before he notices. 

"I think we should meet every week to talk about this." 

It's going to be hard as I'm living in a different city next year. But he says I can go see him on weekends, especially if I'm going to be working on weekends. He tells me that work is going to be okay. That the delays aren't my fault. That work isn't something I should be killing myself over. That the big prize is mine, I'm going to get it. The big prize that guarantees a position as an ophthalmologist. I don't know what to say. 

We talk about work a little bit more. Then he says he has to get back to work. He stands up, walks around from his huge mahogany desk and comes around to me and just holds me for a while. 

What have I done. Now that he knows, I will never be able to let this go. He won't forget it. He was going to take me to the department scale to make sure I weighed how much I said I weighed. He offered to adopt me. As a joke, but semi-seriously. He wants to ask me over to his house for dinner so that he could make me eat and make sure I don't throw up afterwards. 

Part of me regrets telling him. But all of me has never felt this safe and cared for. I have never believed until now that everything is going to be okay. 

nowhere to go but up

Firstly I want to start off by saying sorry to anyone who has been reading my blog lately. It's become like some sort of super agony column and I've been nothing short of a misery on here. So I'm going to try be more positive. I feel like this must be rock bottom so I have no place to go from here but up. 

Over the past few days I've really just lost it in terms of my food control. I've spent hundreds of dollars on food and binged like mad. Then I've taken lots of laxies. Having previously sworn that I would never take more than the normal dose of laxies, I've doubled the dose and boy am I feeling the effects. 

I've not had a proper night's sleep because I'm up in the early mornings in the bathroom, then I don't really go back to sleep because I have to go to work. Which isn't going well at all. It's starting to scare me because work was all that I really excelled at and now, the machine I use keeps breaking down and I'm well behind. It's not my fault but I'm still stressed. Despite all the advice to not avoid the professor, I still am, and I can't help it. 

It's like I'm convinced he's going to immediately start hating me. That, and I'm scared I'll blurt out everything and just lose the plot. I almost cried in front of him last time so I'm trying to steel myself for future encounters. Something's gotta break here and I'm pretty sure it will be my career. To be honest, I almost hope it happens. I'm starting to think that I'll off myself before I start any sort of ophthalmology work. It's notoriously hard to get into and I'd just be being selfish  if I took the spot of someone who is more deserving. I'll just do my dues as a general doctor for a few years and that'll be me done. 

But my laxies, they have to stop. Largely because I've run out of them. I'm going to do whatever I can to not buy any more. My guts ache from all the binging and the laxies. So I guess I won't be taking any more. But I've taken so many of them that I'm just almost always needing the bathroom and I hate that. I also don't want to vomit. So it will be back to restricting. 

Today I threw away the left over food from my binge yesterday. I really wanted to eat something but as usual, my house is full of sad looking old fruit and frozen meat. So I've resolved to fast today. I might have a coffee sometime though. I've almost done a 24hour fast by now anyway. 

Yesterday my father attacked me again. I was just lying in bed, rather early, on the computer and he barged in and immediately started telling me that I never do anything properly and how I look so horrible and ugly just lying there like a fat slob. Then I felt so bad that I went for a 200km drive through really, really poor countryside. It was really tragic but beautiful scenery and I drove really fast. There were no police and so I drove the winding roads as fast as my car would go, maybe 140km/h. The roads go and up and down the mountains and are really winding and I felt like world rally champion. 

Part of me needs that. I need to be in a really dangerous position to feel alive. So for me, fruit and veges now, and fasting today. I can't ever begin to express how confused I am right now. But I'm going to try and cut out the laxies because they are terrible. Surprisingly, it's not that easy. 

I don't know. Maybe I will talk to the professor. But that scares me. I don't know. I don't know what to do. 

The binging has taken a toll. I weigh 122lbs now. 3lbs up. But I feel like I weigh 140lbs again. I feel like I look that fat again. 

Oh well, nowhere to go but up! Gotta do my best. Thanks for all the comments and all the support. 

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. 

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. 

24/7 - chocolate cake, lies and suicide notes

Well I was going to go through everything that I listed in my last post but something has got in the way and I feel like I must write about this. This isn't something that I talk about with my friends and so I will write about it here! You girls have become some of my best friends anyway. I know I've turned this blog into a sort of agony column, but I hope that some of you get some sort of entertain value from it. 

Most of these are about the professor, and this is another one. Don't worry, it's weight related too. I've written him a suicide note. I cry every time I read it. But I owe him a thousand apologies for being such a space occupying lesion and I can't bring myself to speak the words. So I will whisper them from beyond the grave. I'm not going to kill myself now, but when the time comes I want to just do it and not have to delay it by writing many goodbye notes.

I've now got 24/7 access to the labs at work. This is how dedicated I am to work! So dedicated that even the professor is pricking his ears about it a bit. I ended up chatting to him today. He's a real gem to me sometimes. And he told me I look too thin! Which always makes my day. It's been a while. He asked me how much I weighed and how tall I was and I accidentally spat out my BMI immediately afterwards. 

I said it to calm him because my BMI is 21 which is perfectly normal. But later I realised that most people don't really know their BMI off the top of their head. It's little things like that that will give me away. Or, what I really mean by that is that it's things like that that will give me away to the professor. He kept asking me if I'm okay and I said yes, and I almost said that I'm doing better because I'm not taking laxies. He is the main reason I stopped taking them and I had temporarily forgotten that he never knew about them in the first place. Still, I'm lucky that I didn't let it slip. It would have been awful if I had accidentally said that I was better and had to explain why. No laxies for a week! I'm proud. 

I thought he had forgotten about the weight loss thing. It's been a long time since he last mentioned it. But he's watching. Always watching. He actually embarrassed me in front of the entire department today. 

We were having cake to celebrate the promotion of some of the staff members and I was eating mine very slowly. It wasn't anything conscious, I just do that out of habit now. I was staring at the dense brown chocolate that was the cake. The mousse layers called to me, called to a part of me that I buried a long time ago. I looked over to J, the professor's wife, the only person in the department who had refused a piece. Why hadn't I done the same? Just last week a whole bunch at them beat me for not eating breakfast or lunch. Refusing cake seemed to be too risky. What if someone suspects something? Then an icy grip tightens around the core of me. Nobody is allowed to find out. 

So I take the cake with a smile. And I have an animated conversation, hoping that good company will distract me from what I'm spooning into my mouth. But it doesn't. Laughter and happy words that spill from my own mouth seem like muffled sounds in the background. The mousse, the brownie base, that is the only thing in my reality. How many calories are in this? I have no idea. But I keep spooning it into my mouth, slowly, slowly, as if that somehow lessens the calories. The very core of me is screaming for me to stop but the action is totally automatic and mechanical. This is what happens when the professor is near me. He's sitting one seat away from me. I have to eat or he might find out. 

I slowly work on it during speeches and when they had finished there was this silence and I was still slowly picking at my cake. So there is this silence and I'm just staring at my cake because the silence is an awkward one for me. I'm the only one still eating my piece. I've barely made it through half of it. Are you playing with your food? I look at him, confused. Yes, I am talking to you. The entire department is staring at me. I can feel the redness rising in my face. 

I'm just eating it slowly, I reply, unable to look him in the eye. TS leaps in to save me. He's the man who saves me from the professor, my saviour from my saviour. It has half the number of calories if you eat it slowly! People laugh and start their own conversations. I can't look at the professor again. 

Later that night I tell the professor about Fat Piggy. Her suicide attempt weighs heavily on me. Every suicide attempt does but she means so much to me. I don't say much. But I tell him. It's why my work is so overdue. I can't focus. I tell him about my friend who has just had a car accident. I don't tell him I'm restricting again, but he suspects it. I'm sure that's why he keeps asking me to clinic and theatre. That way he can feed me and he knows he can make me eat. You're not going to do anything like that are you? It's the second time he's asked me about suicide. This time I'm more prepared. I look him in the eyes. No. But I can't tell if he believes me or not. 

Why are you so defensive? See how I'm sitting? I'm relaxed. You are looking very defensive and you are quieter than usual. I try to consciously force my body into a different posture. It immediately reverts back to my "defensive" stance though. It's been a hard week but I'll be okay. He looks at me, I know the face. You don't believe me do you? I ask him and I know I've just made a mistake. Believe you about what? We both know that he knows what I'm talking about. He's just using a nifty trick, one that I use to lure more information out of patients. But I know every trick in the book and I'm not about to fall for it. 

I can tell he wants me to say more but I stop. You can come talk to me whenever you want, about whatever you want. You can talk to me as a doctor, or a boss or a friend. I wear many different hats. I say thank you politely. I think he knows I'll never talk to him. He asks if I confide in any friends. No I don't. Not even on here to I put all my twisted thoughts. I'd be writing forever if I did. He stands up and walks around from behind his huge mahogany desk. You look like you need a hug. 

I've discovered the underline button.

I think I'm reaching that stage where I'm so old and tired, too tired to be paranoid and be in denial and to get in my own way. This is probably the first time I've been able to see my situation clearly. 

Firstly, I'd like to say thank you to Christina. LOVE YA GIRL!!! Don't you EVER apologise for leaving long comments. I LOVE your long comments, especially since you always agree with me! It's a very egotistical thing, but I love it when people agree with me. Leave as many long comments as you want! Hell, leave even longer comments! Have you seen how long some of my comments are? Freaking long! 

Secondly, I'm really starting to get more of an idea of how I look. I don't think I'm ever going to think that I'm pretty or thin enough, but I know that some of my outfits are a bit...well, a little...tarty. Not that I ever show that much skin. I have a strict rule, I'm it's low cut, then I either wear pants or the skirt will be just above my knees, no higher. But I seem to...gravitate towards, super professional tarty clothes. 

It got me in a bit of trouble today. Which is probably the only reason I noticed. My access card to campus stopped working and I needed security to show me up to the department. The entire way there the security man was telling me how good I looked and how beautiful I was and insisted on taking me the entire way. It wasn't flattering in the slightest. It creeped me out like mad. 

I went straight to ask for my access card to be extended. I'm also probably going to ask the professor to give me after hours access so I can work some weekends too. So I never have to ask security to show me up. I was really, really scared although I'm not sure why. 

I remember saying that I would be flattered if a complete stranger told me I was beautiful. No, I was so wrong. I'm not flattered at all. Just scared. 

Today I wore a dress that I've not been able to wear for 5 years because I was too fat. It's made of that sort of material that shows off every single lump and bump. I still had lumps and bumps today, but far fewer than before and I sort of felt like I deserved to wear that dress again. 

The professor was very nice to me. He said that I looked great and tres chic. Then continued to refer to yesterday's patients that we operated on as my patients and then presented them to them as if he was the student and I was his boss and then introduced me to another doctor who is on the board that chooses who gets onto the training scheme. It was most bizarre. I did not know what to say. Sometimes he acts as if I'm his boss and then lets people know that he's doing EXACTLY what I want him to do. 

Honestly, with professors like that, who needs boyfriends. He compliments me and tells me that I look good, he buys me coffee, he does what I want him to do. AND he also pays me, gives me publications to speed up my career path, introduces me to people who matter, mentors me and even gave me my first proper nickname. That's like, so much better than any boyfriend I could ever imagine. 

And one other thing I realised...how bad my eating disorder really is. I always knew I had some form of EDNOS. But then, now, when I do eat, it's one meal a day. And almost always vegetables only. I found myself getting really upset when there weren't any vegetables and today, after a dinner of vegetables only, when my parents were out of the house, I went around looking for food. I wanted to go sit and cry in a corner when I couldn't find any food. 

But I've come a long way. Yes I binged. But then again. My binges now are VERY different to how they used to be. My binge today was probably a 400cal dinner and then 500cal of noodles. That's still less than my BMR. And not even a quarter of what I would normally binge. Normally I can sit and eat thousands worth of KFC and miscellaneous other fried stuff.  Not to mention potato and gravy. Oh, and pasta. And if there is ice cream or cake...oh that would be trouble. God I miss those binges. But I haven't binged like that for a long time. And I've been pretty good at restricting this week. Even though these binges have been getting better. I still feel bad about them. GOD I MISS LAXIES!!!!

Now I'm way too scared to go near any of that. I only eat it if I'm with a good friend, to stop them suspecting anything. I don't really go out with friends and so when I do, I have to appear normal.