I HATE ONLINE DATING. SERIOUSLY WTF.

"And I let it all out to find that I'm not the only person with these things in mind."

HAPPY CHRISTMAS LADIES AND GENTS!!!! Hope you are all having a good holiday season, one way or another. 

So a couple of things have been happening. SERIOUSLY, I HATE ONLINE DATING. I have no idea why I did this! It's killing me!!!!! And really, it just shows how paranoid I am as a person. I am definitely losing my grip on life though, I don't know what to do about it. I just wish I had never done it, then I would be in the midst of this self inflicted mental torture. 

So this is what I'm doing (yes, I know how mental it is. I know it's paranoid. I know it's stalker-ish. I know it is just plain wrong): I'm signing into the online dating site, just to see if the guy I'm seeing is still using his account. And what do you know, he is like, permanently on there! His account is so bloody active, which makes me feel great. 

We've been on 3 dates now. And the last date, it was so nice. We had dinner by the beach, we went for a relaxing walk along the beach, holding hands, or with his arm around me. We stopped and kissed. It was honestly probably one of the nicest dates I've ever been on. 

I admit I was a bit smitten afterwards. But now I know for sure that he's been on there since our date and it makes me want to kick my own head in. I don't ever want to check again, but I also can't stop doing it. It's a real problem! And it's all in my head. 

Part me really wants to just flat out ask him, how many other girls are you seeing. Are you interested in me at all, or are you just courting a big group of us and seeing who comes up trumps? Fuck. 

There is only one good side effect in all of this. I can't eat. At all. 

By my home scales, before I met up with him 2 weeks ago, I weighed in at 62.8kg. Now I'm weighing in at 59kg. So you know, that's reasonable. I'm happy with that! I can feel the difference, but it's not enough for anyone to notice, it's not enough to show in the way clothes fit. It's just not enough. 

But given the way my weight has been going, I'm just glad it's finally going in the right direction. Basically, I'll take what I can get. 

Today I ate...chicken noodle soup, half a bowl of that for lunch. 2 flat whites. 3 bites of salad for dinner. That's it. I don't know how many calories that is...maybe...500-600. Maybe a bit less. Every time I think about him, I want to vomit. I hope this feeling lasts forever. 

hoping for the best

"Problems have solutions. A lifetime of fucking things up fixed in one determined flash."

You know your life has problems when your hairdresser can see something is wrong when you show up for a ten minute fringe trim. Skye has been the first person in a long time to recognise how hard I'm working, and that yes, it is fucking difficult. That's what happens when all your other friends are doctors, when you're all working the same fucking job, you don't want to be the one loser to complain about it. 

I book in to see her in another 4 weeks. She looks at me, and I know that I don't need a haircut in 4 weeks time, even with my high maintenance cut. But I'm near tears at this point and she comes and gives me a hug and books me in anyway. I walk out as fast as I can, because if she hugs me again, I will cry. I feel angry and upset that I'm still fucking working. I've only got 7 days left in my marathon month of work, but I'm growing impatient. 

I feel like such a whiney ass. I just need to suck it up, box it in, man up and get on with it. This is no different from any other doctor. I hate being this frail when everyone else seems to be so strong. 

My weight is...I have no idea. I've been way too scared to weigh myself. Given that the last time was 118lbs, and I know I've gained all the weight back since then, I just know I'm going to have some sort of mental break down to see a number back in the 120s. 

I had another sort of wake up call today. My Vivienne Westwood dress has arrived. It's IT40 in size, which is my usual size. But it doesn't fit. It's too small. I can't button it up past my waist. It fucking sucks. It FUCKING SUCKS. It's an expensive dress. And maybe in 10lbs time, I will be able to fit it. I should be able to fit it. Fuck. It makes me wonder how much I actually weigh. My only hang up is that, it doesn't button up over my boobs. Now, my boobs are one of the only good things about me. 

When I say that, I mean, my boobs are the only thing about me that I think guys like. I'm not pretty or skinny, or anything. But I have a great rack. I wear a 32DD size. Which I find absolutely ridiculous, it doesn't feel like a real size at all. I do feel that I would rather be skinny, and ditch the boobs, but I'm so torn because men so obviously like them. 

That last sentence sort of makes me feel like I will end up as some serial killer's victim. Which tells me that I should stop my serial killer documentary marathons. 

I'm hoping night shifts works its magic on me again. I'm hoping and praying. I dropped 6lbs in 4 nights last night. I'm working 7 nights this time. I'm praying I lose at least 10lbs. If I'm up for it, I might try to do some exercise at the same time, but realistically, I know that probably won't happen. 

All this, all of what is going on makes me feel like I'm more depressed than I give myself credit for. And I know I need to get some sort of help for it. But really, when do I have the time. If I had the time, I'd get enough sleep for a start. 

On top of all that. Joe. Ugh. I was going to say that I don't know where to start but the truth is that's is because I have nowhere to start. Nothing has happened. I text him a few times, no reply. Fuck. Okay then. The logic tells me he's just too busy, sees the text and forgets to reply but it doesn't feel great. 

And the more I think about it...well. I remember seeing a patient with him, one with a history of self harm. He saw her scars, she said, I used to self mutilate and his response to that was "what gives you that?". I mentally facepalmed so hard. What gives you that? Fuck. He's too unobservant to notice my scars, either that or he doesn't think I'm capable. Fuck. Makes me realise I don't think I'll be able to tell any man about this, ever. Only one of my friends knows about it. And besides her, only the professor. 

There is a whole other story about the professor. But this post is full of enough self pity already without me going that way. 

NOTHING IS GOING RIGHT. I fucking hate it. This has to change. I need something to start going well. I don't know how much longer I can carry on like this. I need something. ANYTHING. I need something to go well, I need something in my life to be right. And please god, let that be my weight. 

20kgs....for real???

"And I want to have faith to put away the dagger. But you lie, cheat and steal. And yet I tolerate you?"

Tonight is one of those hot summer nights where I'm lying in bed, sticky and sweating and exhausted but too hot to sleep. All the windows are open but there isn't a breeze and the only way for me to feel cooler is to go and sleep outside naked. So instead I start rifling around my room and I stumble across my old journals. And I mean OLD. From intermediate and high school...from 12 years ago. Makes me feel fucking old. 

They also make me feel fucking pained. The old hurt all comes back and I realise that I'm not over it, it's just been long enough ago for me to repress it. I also realised how fucked up I was, even back then. No wonder it is so hard for me to not want to cut, I was cutting myself 12 years ago. It's been 12 years. Okay, so I haven't really cut for the last year or so, and maybe 5 or 6 years ago I had a 2 year gap, but on and off, it's been 12 years now. I still haven't broken my not cutting streak...but for a week or so now I've been going to my box of blades, opening it and just looking at them. 

A part of me can't bear to throw them away. I don't even know what it is at this point in time, to be honest it feels more like an addiction that I can't quite kick. Miss Burton, you're right, it is pathetic, and I certainly thought it was during my breaks from cutting. I don't know about Mark, but when the professor found out about it he totally lost the plot. He hasn't mentioned it since then and I'm sure he hasn't forgotten. The fact that he will bring up my eating disorder but not my cutting speaks volumes. 

Maybe it's because it's been 12 years of me cutting...and cutting has become the norm. I can no longer imagine a life without it and even though I don't do it, I think about it on a daily basis. It isn't a big deal to me. It's like, get up in the morning, make toast, brush teeth, go to work. Another routine thing to do. It's just not a big deal. So I just don't get it when people make a big deal out of it. But the fact that the professor won't talk about it makes me wonder how big a deal it actually might be. 

I have no idea what Mark would think. None at all. I wouldn't dare tell him, not after how the professor reacted to it! Now that I think of it, I have 2 other friends who know about it, but they never mention it to me either. It's one of those things that people find hard to talk about...yeah, it probably is a bigger deal than I think. 

But to the crux of this post, and the reason for the title. 

I've always thought that my weight has always been stable at around 55kg. I've always told people that's my baseline weight. But I'm so wrong! As my journals prove. See, even at that age I was worried about my weight. My height hasn't changed an inch since 12 years old...isn't that sad, I haven't grown at all for the past 11 years. My height hasn't changed, but my weight has changed 20kg between my lowest weight and my highest weight. I'm stunned. 

Apparently, when I was 15 or 16 years old, I weighed 45kg! And within a few months, while I was depressed and comfort eating like mad, I gained 10kg. I mope about it an awful lot in my journals. I'm stunned. I was once 45kg???? Imagine if I hadn't started comfort eating, I might still be that size! Instead I ballooned to 65kg and then worked my way back down to 55kg and just stopped because "oh that's my baseline weight anyway so it's hard for me to get below that". 

Well turns out I'm full of bullshit. My baseline weight is 45kg and I've been too much of a fat, lazy pig to try to get back to that. I get to 55kg and start eating again. WTF brain! How could I forget the 10kg of weight I put on in one year at high school?! I'm in utter disbelief that I managed to put on 20kg of weight without even really trying. 

My brain feels like it hurts so much. I've got to rethink all my weight goals now. I thought 45kg would be quite skinny...but I remember how I looked at that age, I wasn't skinny at all! Admittedly, yes, I was skinnier than I am now, but 45kg is not a skinny weight on me. Dammit! The curses of being short! So if 45kg won't look good on me, and if when I weighed 45kg I wanted to lose weight, what should my goal weight be? 40kg? 37kg? I don't know anymore! All I know is, damn, I have to get to my baseline weight, not 55kg, but 45kg. So fucking far away. Best start now then. 

crawling back into the hole

"Head like a hole, black as your soul. I'd rather die than give you control."

I don't know what came over me. I don't know what happened but suddenly, suddenly I feel it all rushing back. 

There is an uncontrollable desire to look at thinspo, which I have been doing for hours. And all this is horribly triggering. I can't stop looking though. The bones. The collarbones, the ribs, the thigh gap. I'm drinking it all in. All of it, back into the space in my head that I've kept reserved for it. And now my whole body is itching, all of it itches to get rid of the fat. At whatever cost. 

I've got another problem. With the desire to lose weight comes the desire to self harm. Always, hand in hand, the two of them come walking. One is screaming "disgusting fatty, no more food" and the other is silent but smiling and hands me the knife. 

I need to cut, I need to cut, I need to cut. I can't sleep. I need to cut. I need to stop watching these goddamn anorexia documentaries. I need to cut it all out. 

This fucking sucks. It sucks. It's far too overwhelming, seeing how little I've progressed. It makes me hate myself even more. It makes all my flights of fancy seems stupid. Why should anyone like me. Fat, ugly me. Ugly, disgusting, fat me. 

Does anybody else get that? It's a kind or restlessness that fills you and stops you sleeping and stops you working and stops you doing anything but think about how fat and ugly you are. And what a failure you are. 

Input and output. Fucking hell. I need to stop shoving food in my gob and I need to run like the fat girl that I am. Fuck. I fucking hate myself. I need to cut. 

I need to cut and let the suicidal thoughts come and wash over me. In a strange way I've missed feeling like this. A part of me misses going to bed each night hoping to not wake up again in the morning. It misses the secret stash of blades, which I'm staring at right now, and the ability to reach out, grab one and peel open the metal packet and slice through my skin. I miss the stinging pain, the rush of warmth and the pearls of blood that bead up and up and up and then run, run, run. 

I miss the cold tears that can only be stopped by blood. I miss the fear and panic and misery and frustration that can only be put to rest by blood and thoughts of death. I miss fantasizing about stepping out in front of a train, about being in a car crash, about slitting my wrists in a bath after a bottle of benzos, about collapsing at work with a stopped heart that won't start again. 

I want to be thin. I want to die. I want to cut and bleed and die. I want to be boney and bruised and dying. 

shattered and defeated and making decisions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

preoccupations of a bored, female mind

"Hate and fear and to do what it takes to move through."

Well, it must be a sign that I'm somewhat bored. I don't think this would have happened in surgery. I'd be far too busy in surgery to think of such things. However, what remains is that I'm not in surgery, and I am bored and I have therefore started to think about boys. *sigh*

I should say first up that me thinking about boys EVER is a big waste of time. Nothing ever happens, and that's probably my fault every time. Still, the odd flight of fancy never really hurt anyone and it does keep life a bit more interesting. Generally speaking, I hate these days where I get preoccupied with a guy. It seems so frivolous. It seems so immature. At times like this, I wish I could just focus and forget that guys exist and just get on with my job. 

His name is Josh and I used to think he was a real dick. But on the job, he's just transformed. He's sensible, easy to get along with and has a certain flair of spunk, or is it an undercurrent of rebelliousness, or is it simple laid back style? I can't decide. When I think of him, I think of the first resus I ever went to as a doctor. How scared I was, and how we looked through the notes together, and how afterwards he told me how good I was to talk to the family. And that made me feel good, because I had been hating on myself for freezing in the moment. 

He's actually worried about patients, he hands them over so well. He seems like such a pro already. Today, when he was showing me a computer trick, he came right over and leant on me. I didn't want him to leave. 

I want him to do so many things with me/ for me/ to me. And then I run my hand across my stomach, and I feel the lumpy scar that spells out "THIN" cut onto my skin and then I don't want it anymore. 

All my demons come laughing out again. How can I even let him near me when I'm really so very foul. It makes me feel like a little brat who wants it all and needs to be put in her place. At least my calorie count today was pretty good. All in all, I don't think I exceded 800cal, maybe even around 700cal. And you know what, I don't even feel that hungry. 

Dinner time is definitely the worst time for me. When I get home, I just want to collapse and drown in pasta and cheese and fried chicken and cake and everything that is a hundred calories per bite. But resisting it is the key. I've decided to go for quantity over quality. So for dinner I had a HUGE plate of cabbage. Filled me right up. But it was just cabbage. Was doing so well, until I ate some bread, and avocado and some egg. 

Still, this is one of the best calorie intakes I've had for a while. Water works so well. I drank like 3 bottles of water today, not once did I feel hungry. I'm going to keep the water up. Let's see how this change up works for me. 

The best way to lose weight for me has always been to have a crush. And if today has been any indication, then I shall be hitting my goals soon. Ah Josh, useful after all. 

and then we came to the end of all things. (and a message to haters who comment)

PRIMUM NON NOCERE

6 years of blood, sweat and tears (all literal) boiled down to one moment that was over in a flash, but also seemed to last a lifetime. I almost cried when I took the Hippocratic Oath. I blew my family a kiss as I walked across the stage. My feet felt like death on daggers in my heels, but I felt amazing. 

It got me thinking, what does this mean for me? I have been heckled, time and again online for writing this blog, with my background. Does it mean I cannot be a good doctor? Does it mean I am a danger? Does it mean I should know better? No, no and yes. Yes. I should know better. But then again, none of us wandered down this path thinking that we would be glamazons. We all know what lies ahead of us or with us. 

And, to make it clear to any of my harshest and most vocal critics, DO NOT THINK I CHOOSE TO BE HERE. I found myself here. Maybe it didn't creep up on me, and maybe I did see it coming but I didn't wish for it and when I saw it coming, I feared it. And now that I am here, I will do everything in my power to prevent another girl from ending up here. This is not somewhere anyone should be. It's the 7th level in Dante's Inferno, we're down here, freezing with the devils in our heads who tell us every second, of every day that we are fat, ugly and totally undesirable. 

Maybe I should have done something about it sooner. But in the same way that deer freeze in headlights, I froze. I was too ashamed to go for help, and now I am too ashamed to go because I don't look thin enough to need help, and I am far too old. You may say that I am resigned to my fate. I see it as embracing the inevitable and trying to do the most good with whatever time I have left. 

Having an eating disorder doesn't make me a bad doctor, nor does it make me a danger. Surrounded by other doctors, they would drag me kicking and screaming to recovery before I became either of those things. 

I hate it when I am judged online by people who have only read one post of mine, and already think I will be a bad doctor. 

There are people in my class with substance abuse issues, there are people in my class who have attempted suicide (and one who succeeded), there are people who are alcoholics, there are people who sleep around like you wouldn't believe, there are others with eating disorders, anger issues and relationship issues, people who are racist, sexist and worst of all, people who are only in it for the money. So don't tell me I'm going to be a bad doctor. We all have our demons, but they are ours, and I'd like to think that most of us would rather take a bullet than let it interfere with patient care. 

All it means is that I can probably spot an eating disorder before most, and it gives me patience. I understand when patients don't listen to advice because it stops them getting what they want. I understand when they try their best but can't seem to succeed. I can spot the lies, but I do not hate them for lying to me. I totally get it. 

Yes, I know I am expected to be super human. I am not supposed to have problems, I am not supposed to have issues, I am not supposed to forget things, I am supposed to be always happy, cheerful, full of wisdom and I am supposed to take all the racist and sexist abuse that patients hurl at me with a large tub of salt and smile and love them like all the other patients. I am supposed to have a wonderful boyfriend, a perfect family, no debt and perfect teeth. I am supposed to be an angel of life. I am none of those things. I'm just a normal girl, with my own demons, trying to do my best. 

I will probably battle my eating disorder until I die. But why should I be greeted with such hate and disgust, why me and not the patient with heart disease because they ate too much? Why me and not the patient with lung cancer because they wouldn't quit smoking? Why me and not the schizophrenic who stabbed his own father? Why does my profession mean that I am not allowed to have a disease?

I wish people would remember that while being in hospital might be a once in a lifetime thing for them, I have 60 patients, 60 patients that change every day. Much as I would love to, I cannot devote a full day to one patient, and all I can do is my best. I am only human, but I shall, like all my colleagues, do my best to be more than that.

They say that you are not a real physician until you have killed a few patients. And that is what they told us on the first day of medical school. So I will enter the killing fields on Monday. Hope to never see you on the frontline, my friends. 

thank you and goodbye

Hello there my lovely followers!

I write to you for the last time. After a week of long and careful thought I've decided that I need to delete this blog and end my blogging days. So in a few days, I will delete this blog and I will not be starting a new one. 

Now I don't think any of you will know this, because I've been deleting these comments as soon as I see them, but recently I've had quite a number of abusive comments left here. All of them take offence to everything I say and the fact that I am a medical student is just more cannon fodder. I've had this plenty of times in the past, and I've dealt with it every time, but this time, there are so many of them, and they are so upsetting that I just don't feel like it's worth it anymore. 

If this blog isn't a safe place for me to express how I feel, what I think and for me to feel less alone in this, then it has no purpose at all. I've found myself getting more and more depressed as the abuse mounts up and I've felt increasingly suicidal. It makes me sad to realise that this blog, once a place of comfort and support for me, is now a driving force that propels me closer and closer to suicide. So I feel that the best thing to do is to just delete this blog, remove that force, and carry on the best I can by myself. 

I don't feel any need to say what those comments contained, and I don't feel any need to respond to any of them. All I will say is that I wish I had never seen them. 

I'm writing this post to say a big thank you to all my lovely followers who have been with me through the years. I've shared my heart and soul with you and you have lifted me up when I was down and wiped away the tears that no one else saw. At times I've felt so close to all of you. 

It was always my intention to say goodbye to you lovely people before I killed myself. And while I do not plan to kill myself immediately after I delete my blog, that day is certainly coming and I don't want to go without saying goodbye. I think this blog kept me alive for so much longer than I would have otherwise lasted. The support I feel here is amazing. Now there is something that has taken that feel away. 

Thank you, thank you and thank you again for following me, helping me, keeping me company. I will think of you all until the day I die. 

I love you all dearly and I wish you all the very best for your futures. I hope you get everything that you have ever hoped and dreamed of and more. 

Yours ever,

- Judith Marie

prying open my third eye.

A child's rhyme stuck in my head, it said that life is but a dream. I've spent so many years in question to find I've known this all along. 

What if everything that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. Old friend that I've known so long, have I been calling you the wrong name? But a rose by any other name would smell as sweet and you filled my bitter emptiness with your tar-like sludge. You filled me to the brim and flowed over into the world I share with everyone else. Even now I dare not whisper your dark name, your real name, the one you hid from me for so long. You are not my Ana, nor are you Mia, but you have masqueraded as both. 

But now I know you. Now I can smell your festering scent, I see the hideous wounds you have inflicted on the lives of others, I see that you dwell inside me, and have done for years now. Fiend, I do not expect you to leave me now, but to stay with me to whatever end. 

The past few years of my life stretch in my mind, a brilliant whiteness, filled with nothingness, no meaning, no content, no hope. Nothing but you. I don't love you. Certainly not the same way that I have love for Ana. But I accept you. 

Sitting in a familiar classroom, surrounded by familiar faces that I have no attachment to, a new sensation grips me. Reunions, filled with celebrations, filled with food, filled with calories. I had no company that day, all those people were nothing to me. I can't feel joy, not when I know there is food involved. 

Back in the same flat, with the same friend, the same habits threaten to slip back into place, so comfortably. Today, it was somehow different. Each time I eat now, an unquiet fills my body, an agitation shakes my bones. It's now all for show. That new sensation grips me again. It's a voice in my ear. It's a face in my head. It's filling my soul, it swirls around in the air I breathe. 

Fat, ugly, unworthy, you fucking stupid bitch. Fat and ugly. You stupid ugly pig. You're so fat that no man could ever find you attractive. You fat and ugly pig. 

Those same haunting words, yet the voice is different this time. It does not sound the same. It is just as callous, yet softer, and offering hope. 

You fat, ugly pig. Come here and let me embrace you. You don't need those who hate you, I am here to love you. I will love you for the rest of time, all you have to do is do what I ask of you. All you have to do is follow one simple rule. 
Don't eat. It's really not that hard. Don't eat and you will never be alone. Don't eat and you will always be loved. Don't eat and you will always be part of a family. Don't eat and you will be beautiful. Don't eat and you will be worthy. I will tuck you into bed each night. I will be there when you wake. I will make you all that you have ever wanted to be. 

Dear Ana. Hello. It's nice to meet you at last. I've been waiting for you for so long. Now that I've heard your voice, and tasted your bittersweet promises, I will never let you go. 

Each day is filled with a new kind of torment, one that never really existed before now. I have made the conscious decision not to eat for a long time now. This is the first time I've been unable to eat. I cannot binge. I hate the idea of food. There is no joy in eating. There is no pleasure in being full. I am afraid now, afraid that people will make me eat. 

Now it is not a choice. Now it is a need. 

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. 

you and me. we're in this together now. none of them can stop us now.

...we will make it through somehow. 

Before I launch into this post I want to start off by tying up a few ends. 

Firstly, I want to say hello to any new followers! I looked today and suddenly realised that I have 91 followers now. I'm stunned. Hello, thank you so much for following my blog, please leave a comment and I will follow your blog right back. 

Secondly, I want to say a big thank you to everybody. I really do. I must admit that Andrea's comments threw me wildly. I went to a really low place for a while after reading them. I felt so useless. Reading what she said, well, I'm already miserable, and I know that what I am doing is bad, but if getting a boyfriend and perking up would be enough to snap me out of this, then why wasn't I good enough to do just that? I felt like such a worthless, useless, incompetent mess that I would be better off not existing. I have never known such strong suicidal urges. 

I can't say I'm over it, I can't say I'm not still suicidal. I've been cutting more and more and I can feel the old grip of depression creeping in. But. I've also made myself a plan to lose weight. For now, if I can get a grip on my weight, then I can start to get a grip on other things. For now, I need to focus on one small thing at a time to drag myself through thiss. 

Thirdly, I want to say sorry for my absence. For a while there I really did think I was going to end my life and I didn't want to come here and be talked out of it by anyone. I didn't want to post any sort of message that some people might think to be attention seeking. When I end my life, it will be my choice, and there will be no apologies to anyone. 

At any rate, I return to you all with renewed vigor and determination. Just like the way I've titled this post. This is you and me. We're in this together now. None of them can stop us now. We will make it through somehow. We're fighting a battle that no one can see. That doesn't make it any less real. We are all doing it together. Though we are apart physically, we are all striving for the same thing, we live and breath for the same thing. We are linked together by a common thread that separates us from the rest of the world. And I know for sure that I cannot do this without the knowledge that you are all out there, sending me love, wishing me the best. And I do the same for you all, every second of every day. 

In a strange way, this blog has prolonged my life significantly. This knowledge makes me want to wake up in the morning and give it all another go. And I can't thank you all enough for that. I hope that you all can appreciate that. 

I think this is all I can say for now. I am still struggling with the cutting, and the can of worms that comes with that. I am still somewhat scared and wary of posting anything on this blog because I don't want to read comments like that again. I'm scared by how they affected me and I'm scared of how I may react in the future. When you can no longer trust your one outlet of self expression, everything gets thrown up in the air. 

So I bid you goodbye from this post, with the promise that I will post again, and that like you, each fibre of my being longs to be thin and fears food and the consequences of eating. 

suicidal fantasies

"I want you to know I'm not through the night. Sometimes I'm still fighting to walk towards the light."

There is a deep, primal grumbling beneath me. The jagged rocks cut into my bare feet, I can barely feel them due to the cold. It's a bitter wind, it's a biting wind, it's a bracing wind. It is one last kiss from life. An icy kiss to farewell me from a life that never loved me. 

It's my hometown. It's the place where I grew up. And here I recall a childhood of ignorant bliss, muddy football stained t-shirts and cream cakes and scraped knees. A time where size and weight were irrelevant and calories were still mysteries held by the universe. And here I recall leaving that behind and entering a different world that was not so kind and not so forgiving. 

School balls and Valentines and boyfriends and shopping malls. Those were never meant for a girl like me. They were not part of my world of textbooks and calculators and tutors and exams. I'm not sure if I ever lusted after them. 

Years of trouble. Taunting. Teasing. Loathing. Hatred. Self-harm. Now I am old enough to recognise it as abuse. At the hands of my classmates, my so-called friends, my family. One day I'm stupid. One day I'm fat. One day I'm ugly. One day I'm unworthy. Everyday I am something that I wish I was not. This is what became my reality. 

If my reality is a cage from which I cannot escape then I care not to know what the general populus knows as reality. Because it is irrelevant. 

The grumbling beneath me grows, the stones I stand on start to tremble, my heart begins to race, my body begins to shake with the adrenalin that pumps through me. Automatic and accurate, one foot moves in front of the other and I wriggle them once I am balancing on the smooth metal railings of salvation. 

I want to dance. I have never felt so full of anticipation, so powerful. Now I understand that none of it ever mattered. In this moment in time, none of it ever mattered and I am happy. There is no doubt. There is no regret. There is no shame or sorrow. I am finally getting what I want. 

It's so close. I can hear it now. The vibration down the line is like electricity coursing through my veins. Under my breath I hum that dear old tune that's kept me comfortable for years "she's got a ticket to ride and she don't care". 

I can't see. The light is too bright. I can't hear anything but my heartbeat above the roar fast approaching. The dense night air rushes towards me, carrying with it the promise of resolution. 

I spread my arms to embrace whatever may come. 

I think of all those I love. 

The one promise I did keep - I loved them till whatever end. 

I am engulfed by the light and the noise. 

One big hum. 

The cold becomes warmth. 

The light becomes darkness. 

The heartbeat slows. 

This is freedom of choice. 

I have never been so happy. 

H-E-L-P help me, help me

I wish I had a gentle mind and a spine made of iron. 

Oh my fellow skinny-lovers, you have guided me thus far in my journey and have not lead me astray. Lead me not into temptation! 

I need help. Muscle connects to the bone and bone to the marrow and ire. I wish I had a gentle mind and a spine made of iron. H-E-L-P. Help me. Help me. 

It's currently one of my favourite songs and the mantra the defines how I feel about my current situation. 

A recent change in circumstance has sent me spiraling into a world of confusion and I can't even begin to think straight. I don't know what to do. Help me. 

Today, one of my friends, let's call him Ben, asked me out. I don't quite understand what this means. I thought he was joking for the longest time, but then he just flat out told me that he's interested and that now it's just up for me to respond however I want to. I don't quite understand what that means either. 

All I know is that I am filled with a sense of dread. For the first time in a very long time, I have absolutely no idea what is going on. I don't even know what to think of it. 

My first instinct is of course to say NOOOOOOOOOO. But then again, I think a bit more about the situation. Ben is a really nice guy. A REALLY nice guy. And we get along quite well. And he's kind of cute, in a little boy sort of way. It's not as if I haven't thought about dating him. On the more boring moments on the ward round, when he is joking with me and standing really close, I can imagine him wrapping an arm around me and giving me a quick hug. 

But I also know that Ben is the sort of guy who falls for girls really easily. REALLY easily. I also know that he really wants a girlfriend. And out of the people that he sees most often, in our rotation group, there are a few couples, the only single girls are me and my flatmate and I know she isn't his type. So he almost has to like me by default. 

I don't trust that he likes me for me. I think that he likes me because there is no one else to like. I don't want to hurt him because he is my friend and a really nice guy, but I also don't want to lead him on and then upset him later. 

Yet at the same time some crazy part of me is in a frenzy. I'd love to know what it feels like to have a boyfriend. I know Ben would be a great boyfriend. He would be so caring and supportive. I'd love to know what it feels like to be cuddled and kissed. 

I would not be so cruel as to drop him in the middle of my weight loss attempts and the cutting and the depression and the suicidal ideation. I don't know. 

H-E-L-P. 

Help me. Help me. 

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.