pretty hate machine

I got my heart but my heart is no good. You're the only one that's understood. I come along but I don't know where you're taking me, I shouldn't go but you're reaching back and shaking me. 

Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky. The more I give to you the more I die. 

You're the perfect drug. 

It's almost 10pm and I'm standing outside ED in the rain. I wrap my coat around me and look up and down the quiet road. There are a few patients smoking in a corner, there is a hobo lying in the bus stop, then there's me. I've not eaten all day, I've been working almost 14hours and I was shaking with the cold. Lights. Blinding. She pulls up and I clamber in. She deposits me at home and drives out and buys me fried chicken. We share it. 

I know the fried chicken was a very deliberate choice. She knows I've not eaten all day. I find it hard to be mad at her. She's one of my best friends, she's my flatmate, she's my colleague. She's been staying up, waiting for me to call her to pick me up because she won't let me walk home in the dark. In a way, I've never been cared for like this before. 

I swallow my chicken, fighting the rising bitterness. I know she's taking care of me. And I do love her for that. This is just an ED, ruining an otherwise lovely moment. 

Paediatrics. I love it, but it's not my thing. Being around kids disturbs me, and this sounds stupid, but it's because they are smaller than me. I feel some sick sense of satisfaction when I see a child who weighs more than me. I want the long, lean, boney appearance of the young girls. I want to look like that. This must be why I hate my boobs. I'd much rather be flat chested. 

I must be the only female I know to complain about having size D cups. My guy friends are apparently very fond of my boobs. Just the other day one of them told me that he and his now ex-gf had an argument over me and my boobs. 

I've been away from this blog for a while because I was PMSing and somehow my hormones convinced me to have a crack at recovery. The thought process was this: if I am this miserable when I'm trying to lose weight, so miserable that I want to die, how bad can it be if I stop trying to lose weight. How bad can it be if I just give in, do what my boss wants me to do and just stop trying and even gain some weight? I can't imagine it being worse than wanting to die. 

And I have to say, that was some solid logic. Pity it didn't really transpire like that. I upped my calorie intake. Probably not by much because I didn't have any high calorie foods in the house, maybe to 1000cal a day. Then I just worked out harder at the gym so that my net calorie intake was about 500cal a day. And I can tell that I've lost some weight doing that. I've not weighed myself yet but I can feel that there is a small change, maybe 2lbs. 

2lbs loss. And that kicks off the vicious cycle. As usual, nothing in this life will feel as good as seeing the number on the scale go down. Now I'm back to restricting. I'm going to keep my calorie intake up a bit more, because I loved the difference I felt at the gym. But the strange thing is, when I wanted to lose weight, all I wanted to do was eat. Now that I'm actually making an effort to eat more, I'm finding it extremely difficult. 

Ah well, see how it goes, I'm so far down that if I go down any more, I'll be 6 feet under. Which is fine too. 

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

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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Love is not enough. 

the hunger games

If I can change I hope I never know. 

I’m a liar and a cheat. And worse, I’m lying and cheating myself. What sort of horrible person am I? I can’t even be honest to myself. This weight loss thing. I don’t think I’m even really trying. My weight goes up, it comes down, but I’m never below 55kg. I’m sick of it. I must be 50kg at the most before I leave for the UK. Surely that’s easier said than done. 

I think that when I get back to Hamilton I’m not going to eat. I’m going to buy myself tea and coffee and V and not any food at all. I don’t need to eat. I can’t eat, not if I’m going to lose any weight. Hopefully if I don’t eat anything on weekdays for a month and control myself on weekends then I will drop some weight, hopefully 5kg in a month. It should be plausible. It really should be very plausible. I’ve got to maintain a 1500cal deficit each day. That’s more than my BMR. So if I don’t eat and lose 300cal at the gym each day, I should be able to manage it. In a month. I must keep this up for a month. I must. When I’m at 50kg, then I can re-evaluate my weight loss methods. 

I’m sick and tired of being this horrendously fat weight. I want to be a skinny weight. It's time to be honest and just front up to myself. If I don't eat, I'll lose weight. It's just that simple. 

There is no "eat this healthy thing, you'll be okay". There is no "I can pig out today because I fasted yesterday". No more games. I will just stop eating. And yes, it is that simple. 

babe, I'm going down!

...because there is no such thing as too thin. 

Ah, after all this time, there is still no feeling that can compare to stepping on the scale and seeing a lower number than yesterday. There is no thrill, no rush, no high that can come close to seeing the number on the scales get smaller and smaller. And my skinny babes, I'm on my way down. 

In the space of this week, I've gone down from 57kg to 54kg. It's not good enough, but, it's a start. I've started restricting again. Restricting old school style, who cares about eating a million little meals of few calories, I'm not eating at all. And it's damn well working. I'm homestaying right now for a few weeks and the way my schedule works is that I can skip breakfast and lunch. I go out and walk for an hour at lunchtime instead of eating. And I have dinner, but the portions here are pretty small and pretty damn healthy as all the food comes from the garden in the back yard. 

I'm drunk on tea and chewing gum. I'm relieved to be finally going down again. I'm relieved at how easy it is. 54kg. I wanted to be 50kg by the time I left for England. If I can keep this pace up, I will be less than that. Jumping up and down in the bathroom, I'm elated. 

There is a lightness that comes with this. A mental, emotional lightness. I'm on my way home - that's what this feels like. I'm on my way to the thinness that I call home, a weight at which I will feel safe and happy. 

I rest my head on his chest and he wraps his arms around me, squeezing me tightly. "It's abnormal, say it." And I whisper these words with closed eyes. He sighs quietly and rests his chin on my head. "You're looking healthier, not healthy yet, but healthier." He can't hide his happiness at seeing my weight gain. I feel like crying. I love seeing him happy, and I know he will be upset when I lose weight again. But for now I cling to him. Sometimes it feels like he's all I've got in this world. 

There is a restlessness that is filling every cell of my body. I've started doing things that in hindsight are all steps in hiding weight loss to others, but highlighting it to myself. I'm buying large sweaters which hide my body, but I'm also buying skin tight dresses that at too small for me. I can't wait to fit them. 

I can tell my abdomen is flatter. I can tell. But not enough, I can still grab handfuls of fat. But I'm on my way babes. And you are all coming with me. 

too fat for words

The 100 Day Challenge

Stuff taking a break. It's too hard to take a break when all I can think about is losing weight and being so freaking fat. 

I was reading a blog called "Too Fat For Words" and she was talking about this 100 day challenge. 100 days to get to a set of goals. This is just what I need to keep myself motivated. It's a nice way of staying focused. I'm going to Bristol in 20 weeks. That's 140 days. And I do not want to look this fat and ugly when I go. This is awful. I will be lovely and thin for Bristol. 

So if I start on Monday, then I will have about 39 days to spare at the end of the challenge to squeeze a little bit more weight off and get myself sorted itinerary wise. Meanwhile, for the next 100 days, I can focus on my weight and finally do something that I can be proud of.

These are my goals:

1. I currently weigh 125lbs. I want to weigh 90lbs when I leave. I must lose 35lbs.

2. Finish that goddamn paper that I've been working on as long as I can remember

3. Be able to do the splits on both legs. 

4. Book hotels for the week before I start work in Bristol. 

5. GAP BETWEEN MY THIGHS EVEN IF IT KILLS ME!!!! 

6. Fit into size 6 jeans. (NZ size 6. This is the smallest size you can buy here without getting children's sizes.)

At 90lbs I want:

1. To be able to see 4 ribs without stretching up or sucking in.

2. To be able to see my spine easily when I bend over. 

3. To have my hip bones stick out.

4. For there to be an almighty gap between my thighs. 

5. To be able to see my arm muscles. 

6. Concave stomach. 

And I will do this in 100 days. In just over 14 weeks. That's 2.5lbs each week. I will do this. I will do this. 

half the calories and be still my beating heart.

Several rather different topics to rant about...please bear with my schizoaffective self. 

I've often heard people say that eating slowly halves the number of calories that you take in. I've always thought that it was such a ridiculous notion, but even so, rather a cute thought in itself. Today I discovered that it is very much true. SO TRUE! WHY DIDN'T I LISTEN EARLIER! My calorie intake has been hovering at 800-900cal per day. Today, we had some friends over to our place and so I ate dinner slowly, and I only had about 350cal before I felt really full and decided to leave the rest for tomorrow. 

I was so surprised at how full I was. This really explains why I always eat less when I go out with my friends. I'm usually too distracted by conversation to eat properly and even though I know I'm eating less, I always feel much more full. Gosh. Who would have though that conversation would literally halve my calorie intake. Magic. Can't wait to keep utilising this. 

Also, so much for recovering from my bout of illness and eating 3 meals a day. Back to one meal a day and it feels great! I'm still pretty light headed but I don't feel so guilty anymore. Am I just incredibly stupid to be coming across this eat slowly thing now? Honestly, if you haven't tried it yet, try it. It works without you realising it is working. 

And now for something completely different!!!!!

A few days ago I cut a treble cleff into my left ankle. Today my flatmate saw it. She asked me about it. She's getting really suspicious. I passed it off as scarification and now she thinks I'm really weird and I'm not entirely sure if she believed me. 

Another issue is that we now have 4th year students and we have been doing quite a lot of teaching with them to prepare them for their surgical exams. But this is their first ever hospital rotation and they want to practice on us instead of real patients. It's actually a really reasonable request seeing as the "patients" in their exam will be final year students like us. But the surgical exam is the surgical abdomen exam and I cannot show them my abdomen. Or they will see my scars. 

Sometimes this habit is incredibly annoying and isolating. 

And now for something completely different again!!!!

My scumbag brain has decided to strike again. Yesterday, it decided that I was to have a crush on one of my surgical registrars. And I am less than pleased about it. He's a really nice guy, as most surgeons are, contrary to popular belief. And I like him because he's only a first year registrar and he's really quite playful. Spare time is spent teasing everyone in sight. Yesterday he hit me over the head with some patient notes and stuck patient labels all over me because I was using his dictation log in. 


And he's pretty damn ripped as well. It seems that I have a very specific type. Guys with totally ripped bodies but rather cute and sensible looking faces. Kind of like, he must be strong but also smart enough to make enough money to support me! Not that I'll need it though because I will hopefully be making buckets of money myself. 


Ah, he's so cute and sweet. *sigh* stupid, stupid, scumbag brain. I loathe having crushes on people! I shall stop writing about him now. Don't want to bore your ladies with my trivialities. 


Hope you are all doing well and dropping weight and dress sizes! I love you all. 

the downward spiral

Christina, Glue, Anafly: thank you lovely ladies for your kind word on my last post. It really was a devastating moment for me. But you guys helped me get through it!

There are a couple of things that have happened. 

Firstly (most importantly) my weight is now 116lbs. I am 1lb away from my next goal weight. 

BOOOOOOYAH!!!!!

I didn't lose as much weight as I wanted to, I had really hoped to surpass my goal weight this week but I haven't been this small for such a long time and so I can't help but feel really happy. I'm also planning to keep this diet up so I'm hopefully I will hit my goal weight soon. It's not so hard to not eat that much food. It's not so hard to only eat vegetables. I will have to eat normally on weekends with family, but being vegan and hitting the gym on weekends is working pretty well for me! 

I'm pleased with the numbers. I do feel thinner. But there is still fat everywhere. I've got such a long way to go. But progress is progress and considering the troubles I've had with losing weight, I don't feel qualified to complain about a loss, no matter how small. 

Next, I went to see the professor today. Handed my project to YW. Who, for those of you with amazing memories, is the freaking thinnest girl I have ever met. The professor said he would give me some case reports to write up and publish later in the year when I'm not so busy. And that does make things a bit better. 

The professor and I are getting on better than ever. We were totally teasing YW today, and I think YW felt a little weird because her boss and me (her junior) were ganging up on her. And we convinced her that we ate cats and dogs. She looked at us as if we were complete freaks. And we looked at each other like we were part of some special club and she wasn't. It was like the weirdest bonding moment with the professor ever. 

He said I was looking really good today. A normal enough compliment for any normal girl. But apparently not me. I was like, so offended. I don't want to look good. I want him to say, "you look too thin", "you look like you've lost weight", "I am worried about your weight." 

I've lost 8lbs since I came back from Singapore. And he hasn't noticed at all. 

Still, the taste of being skinny is just soooo good. I can't wait to actually be really skinny, l can't being able to see my bones, of being able to feel bony. I want people to feel my bones. When the professor puts his arm around me I want him to feel ribs and spine. I want him to feel cheekbones when he kisses me. I want people to be able to see my collarbones sticking out when I walk towards them. I want to be the thinnest girl that people know. I want to be the thinnest. The skinniest. I want to be known as the thin one. I want to find it hard to buy clothes because everything is too big. 

Thin is all I want. So what if things with the professor are all good. So what. None of it makes any difference while I'm fat. It's only good if I'm thin. 

I will be thin. I've been losing weight again. I will get to 115lbs next week. Then I will get to 110lbs in another few weeks. Then after that, 100lbs. Then, I will be in the double digits. DOUBLE DIGITS!!!! 

For now the scale is my friend. 

...LIKE A BOSS!!!!!

Well girls! I've got some good news for you all! I'm so happy that I can tell you something nice for once. 

I have spent a lot of time worrying my ass off about what will happen when I see the professor. Last time I saw him he wanted to get me therapy for ED and for my cutting and depression. He wanted to monitor my weight to make sure I don't lose any more. He was so worried and I was so worried that I wouldn't be able to lose any more weight with him watching me. I was worried that if he was going to do all this and I did not comply, then I would not be able to keep my job and I was also scared he would report me to the medical council. 


I said that I would try to strike some sort of balance there and try to make him less worried and continue to lose weight without him worrying or wanting to monitor me. 


AND I DID... LIKE A BOSS!!!!!!!


My skinny lovelies, your girl Judith Marie knows how to TURN IT ON when she needs to! Hell yeah! TRIUMPH IS MINE!!!!! I walked out of our encounter wanting to jump around and I drove through the rain really fast with my stereo on really loud....LIKE A BOSS!!! Celebrated by buying lots of too tight clothes that I will soon fit!!! 


When I saw the professor I totally turned it on. I was happy, cheerful, bubbly and really, really smiley. Since I only gained weight in Singapore, I didn't look any thinner and he was really, really pleased about that and seemed to think I'd turned a corner. He didn't ask about the cutting or depression or eating...I think he was really relieved by how I looked and acted that he didn't want to bring it up. 


If he had asked he'd have found out that I'm super upset about gaining weight in Singapore, that I've cut quite a few times since then, that I can't sleep because I'm always crying. And I'm more determined than ever to lose weight, especially with my qualification looming at the end of the year. 


But the point is, he didn't ask. I also told him about my flatmate, and how she's cooking lots and we're eating it. I made it sound like we were regular binging all the time. I didn't tell him my intake is around 800cal per day and I'm going to wean it down to 500cal then 300cal soon, introduce fasting days again and join the gym next week and go every day with my friend. 


God, I am so looking forward to progress again. Sammy, my love, you were so right in your advice to slowly wean down my calorie intake after the Great Singapore Binge of 2011. I really do crave food and it's really, really hard to do. 800cal might sound okay but I'm so suffering. I just want to binge all the time. But if I slowly decrease my intake, I should be back on track soon. 


I haven't felt this upbeat for a long time! Hiking my scales to my new home so that I can keep up to date all the time with my weight. I can't wait to work hard at work and work hard at my weight and get my life back on track. 


Can't wait to give you lovely girls posts with weight loss progress! Think skinny girls! 
With every bite, think: a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. 


We will thin and beautiful together!

the fat jeans

Hello my lovelies!!! I'm back from Singapore. And to find that I have 60 followers? What! I'm amazed! Hello to my followers! I missed you all when I was in Singapore, and I thought of you all at every meal. 

And let me tell you, every meal was a binge fest. I've been too scared to weigh myself but I can totally feel that I'm fatter. I ate more in those 5 days than I am allowed to eat in a whole month so I bet I've gained at lot. On the upside, I'm moving out in 3 days and task number 1 is to join the gym. And I will burn this disgusting fat off. 

People in Asia are tiny as. TINY. I'm a size XS at home, but in Singapore, I am a size L. It was a thoroughly demoralising experience. But at least I know that I have the genetic potential to be very small. It's not like it's impossible for me to be thin, I just have to work hard for it. I was TOTALLY one of the fattest people there and I was so ashamed of myself. 

While I was there I threw away my fat jeans. They're my big, comfortable jeans that always fit just right when I'm at my highest weight. I threw them away because I don't ever want to get to the stage where I'm able to fit them well again. I bought myself some new jeans that are too tight. They are going to look fabulous when they are a little bit loose. And I swear, in a month's time, they will be loose. 

Just a short post for now. I sincerely hope that you are all having a good holiday and that you are all doing better than I am on the weight loss front. I will catch up with your blogs as soon as I can and also post a longer entry. I'm sort of feeling lost with the new year approaching and me moving soon, and me trying to avoid contacting the professor but also needing to contact him for work...I'm so confused. I need to sort out my head and work out what I'm going to do next. I'm scared. 

I really missed you all, and to my new followers, or to anyone really. If you want me to follow your blog, just message me. I can't work out who I am following because blogger doesn't seem to tell me of all the blog updates. 

I hope to have some good news for you all on the weight loss front soon! 

breaking my resolve

There is an uncontrollable bitterness rising in my chest, an unbelievable pettiness laced with sour shots of jealousy and revulsion and hate. I want to vomit it out but I've only had a mini strawberry tart today and that was many hours ago. It took me an hour to eat and everyone was staring at me. Thank God the professor wasn't there. 

If find myself leaving the room when Alex and YW walk in. I can't look at them anymore. I can't deal with that right now. I've got a much more bitter pill to swallow. 

Her name is Izzy. Izzy, baby girl, why did it have to be you? She's older than me, BMI of 17 something. Thin, beautiful, witty, cynical, intelligent, ambitious. She's one of my best friends at work. Together with Steph, we are the dream team. We are sitting at her desk, chatting, laughing, being stupid. 

I wonder what the professor and his wife got me? I don't even understand the question. Not until I see her gesture to a Christmas present. She opens it and peers inside. The rest of that conversation is not something that I recall. 

How can I have been so stupid? How did I not see what I was really doing? How did I get so desperate? How did I break my own resolve?

I presented myself to a doctor. To my boss. To the head of department. To the one person in this whole world who has any power over my future. I said, look at me, poor little me, look at how sick I am, look at how I'm hurting. I asked him to fix me. And now he is going to try. 

How did I not put myself in his shoes? If I was looking at a patient who was exactly like me, I'd do everything I possibly could to try and heal her. To help her. I would work all the extra hours, I would bully all the other departments, I'd do what I could to get her what she needed. It doesn't mean I feel anything for her. She is my patient, I'm doing my job. 

Now I realise I was being stupid. I was ignorant, running away with my daydreams, floating around on clouds of hope and love and all those things that don't really exist. How did I not see that I am a patient? I am a patient and nothing more. I am a patient and I've stupidly checked myself into the hospital that is the mind of the professor and I don't know how to discharge myself. 

I know why I've done it. For a brief moment I felt special. I felt like I mattered to someone. I felt like I made an impact on someone's life. What folly. I'm not usually this dumb. People see what they want to see. And I saw what I have so badly yearned for for so long. 

Izzy loves her Christmas present. It's such a good present, I almost wish I'd thought of it and bought it for her. Am I just jealous that I didn't get one too? Maybe. But the truth hits me like a wrecking ball. I smile weakly at her but I'm not really seeing her. I see reality. 

I see myself standing before my own eyes in a hospital gown, hair disheveled, skin broken and bruised, walking around with a drip in my arm down the hospital corridor. There stands the professor, with my chart in his hand, checking my vitals and my weight. Another patient on a very long list of patients. That's all I am, another person on a long list of people who need help. How could any doctor refuse me? 

I go to say goodbye to the professor. And I say goodbye. It's a word I never use because it sounds so final. But I mean it. He tells me to be good and to contact him when I'm back from my holiday. I nod, but I'm not going to do it. I don't want to see him unless I must for work. I refuse to be another name on a patient list. I don't want help. I know what I want to do, I don't need someone to hold my hand. 

I see 2012 stretch before me. Long work hours, no food and a gym membership. I can see the perfect me. Ribs and spine and hips. Doctor. 

I step on my scale. 119.2lbs. The lowest I've been this year. I leap off, jumping in happiness. A lot has happened but little has changed. Still, nothing compares to the feeling of losing weight. My abdomen hurts from the hunger but I have no appetite. Maybe I will see 118lbs soon. 

On Christmas day I fly to Singapore. To binge on food and clothing. Then I'm back for work, gym, fasting. I will lose the weight. I will lose the weight. I will lose the weight. How could I be so stupid. Nothing can break my resolve. 90lbs. What wouldn't I give to see you now? Still, one step at a time. As long as the scale goes down, that's all that matters. 

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. 

the weigh in

It's quiet. Everyone is busy with their own little parts in this scripted world. I feel a little bit safer, a little bit less paranoid about them hearing the voices in my head that are constantly screaming at me. In a movement that is by far the most agile of the day, I whip into my bathroom and close the door behind me in one motion. There I stay for a few seconds, with my back to the door, barricading myself in, I cherish the wild beating of my heart and the adrenalin that is already seeping into my veins.

Not daring to look at the door again, I reach behind myself and click the lock, twisting it all the way, to be sure, to be sure, to be sure again. A few more seconds pass. Now I can hear my heart in my ears and the screaming in my head is beginning to throb. Before I can lose courage I strip off. I rip of my clothes as if they somehow burn my skin. Standing naked before my scale, I can feel myself trembling inside. Very quickly I step on and the digital face begins to toy with my resolve.

The first number is always small, 80lbs or something near that but sadly it does not stop there and as certain as the sun will rise, it begins to spiral upwards. 90lbs, 112lbs, 118lbs, 122lbs. And that is where it stops. It flashes at me, taunting me. 122lbs. I step off and on again. 122lbs. And off and on again. 122lbs. I must do this three times, to make sure that the number I'm seeing is correct. And when I'm sure, that's when the sickness sets in.

My legs feel like jelly. The running that I've started is hammering home how unfit I am. They ache and I can't bend them without pain, but I don't deserve a life without pain so this is fine. The room sways as if somebody has picked it up and is carrying it around. I hold onto my bathroom sink. I'd vomit into it if I had anything to vomit up. I've been fasting since 9am and now it is 9pm. I think I'll skip dinner.

There is so much disgust in my body that I'm sure it is radiating from me in the form of heat. I dare not look my parents in the eye as I mumble that I've already eaten and I'm not hungry. I can't face food right now. Not after gaining 1lb. Maybe it's because I've weighed myself at night instead of in the morning. But that is no excuse.

I think I'll fast tomorrow as well. I'll fast and come home late and face my scale again. Yes, that's what I'll do, I decide as I stare at the 122lbs again. That will teach me for being such a fat pig. And now I look in the mirror to see what 122lbs looks like. I can cradle my tummy, there is so much fat there that I look like I'm pregnant, yup, side on, I look like I'm an expectant mother. My thighs are touching, disgusting, I feel like vomiting on them. When I run I can feel them slide past each other with each step. Though I'm so tired and sore I feel like falling over, that squish and slide of my thighs forces me onwards. My arms, the wings that hand from my arms are putrid. Absolutely putrid. There is nothing I like.

And I try to superimpose the image of a thin person over my gruesome body. I know it is hiding under the fat. I know I can get it out. I know I must. It is the real me. I am hiding under the fat. And now is the time to sit quietly in my room and reprimand myself for letting myself become such a repulsive blob. As I do each night, I sit here and force myself to feel all the fat on my body. I think of all the people who I want to impress. The fat isn't impressing anyone. Fat is keeping me back from my real potential. Fat needs to go away so that Bones can show her beauty.