I got us coffee.

Haters gonna hate. 

Well with those wise words from ASLNik on my last post, I'm going in to book my next tattoo on Monday. Need to get it drawn up first, but then I will get it done. Thanks for your comment, and you've voiced what I've often thought myself...my scars, tattoos, they are all part of my story, and are all part of what made me what I am today. 

Even though I may have changed, it's always important to remember where I came from, and to remember why I am the way I am. Fuck, you're right. If a guy is going to love me, he will love me, tattoos and all. If he can't handle a tattoo, he sure as hell won't be able to handle my other problems. 

So...my calorie count for today was...700 or 800 calories, because I have no idea if that was trim milk or regular milk in my coffee. I was stunned when I realised for the first time that in a large coffee, there was more than 100cal difference between trim milk and regular milk. 

Totally 300cal more than I needed or wanted. But what's done is done and all in all I had a good day. 

There was teaching this morning, I sat there with the junior doctors, crammed around a computer screen. All of us tired and fading away. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there is a hand, holding a cup of coffee, creeping over my shoulder, jiggling it in my face. I summon the energy that does not exist to drag myself out of the stupor and grab it. 

The warmth from the paper cup creeps up my fingers, my arms, into the core of me and suddenly I realise everyone is staring at me with a mixture of envy and amazement in their eyes. I turn around and I see my registrar Cam smiling down at me. "I was a bit late to that meeting so I decided to gap it and get us coffee." 

There is an unspoken law that the most junior member of the team gets the coffee, and he's just broken it. Everyone is dumbstruck for a moment, even me. As he sits down beside me and listens in to teaching, I feel like the cat that got the cream. With a face like a smug dog, I look around at the other house surgeons thinking, jealous bitches? Not that they notice, of course, they are too busy staring at the coffee. 

Later that day Cam calls me. Are you okay?--- What?--- You haven't called me all day so  got worried. ---I saw you 2 hours ago Cam. Everything is still okay.--- Oh. I was worried because I hadn't heard from you.--- Okay.--- I'll call you again later. 

I call him an hour later, jobs all done. He must be in the middle of clinic but we have a long chat, full of laughs and profanity. I tell him I'm going onto nights. He says he'll miss me. Gosh. I'd TOTALLY be the cat who got my pot of cream, except for the fact that Cam is very much married. Why are all the good ones married? But I suppose that questions answers itself doesn't it. 

my last message ever to the haters.

Let me be brief about this, because this is not the first time that I've left a message to haters who comment on my blog. But it will be the last time.

I've tried, time and again to reason with you all. I know that having a blog like this, and putting my opinion out like this will inevitably attract the attention of those who do not agree with me. Yes, I know this will be most of society. I'm not saying that my opinion is "correct", but it is my opinion, and it is the reality that I live in. 

I don't ask anyone to agree with me (although it is nice when you do) but I do expect common courtesy. If you disagree, do not blatantly attack me with comments. What do you think that will achieve? That calling me a selfish, senseless, ignorant bad doctor will suddenly make me think "oh gosh! they're right! I've decided not to have an ED after all!" 

If anyone thinks that, well, God help them. You may detect that I've got a hint of resentment in this, and that's because I'm sick and tired of repeating myself. Leaving me, or any pro-ana blog comments like that is not caring, it does not show compassion or empathy, it's not anything good. It's just an attack, nothing more. And it's juvenile. 

If you are clearly not pro-ana, if you do not want to lose weight, if you do not have an eating disorder, please, please, please do not waste your time on my blog, or any of the other blogs. Time is precious. I spend time here because it's a release for me. If spending time here angers you, angers you enough to leave such hateful remarks, do yourself a favour, don't waste your time here, making yourself miserable. 

Feel blessed that ED isn't one of the things that haunts you, and leave this world of ours alone. 

So let me just say this: any comment left on my blog that is derogatory, insulting, rude, aggressive will be deleted on sight. 

Yes, it still hurts me to read those comments, they were the reason I deleted my blog earlier in the year after all. But now I've learnt that if I let them get to me like that, then I will lose my only outlet. If my last attempt is any indication, I will then rapidly spiral into depression, increasingly suicidal ideation, and with a job, I may just do it this time. 

And finally this leads me to a message of thanks. 

Firstly, thank you to all my followers, I can't believe there are now 100 of you. Thank you for your continued support through all my ups and many, many downs and your kind and patient words. 

Secondly, thank you to faithandmeow. I know that we do not see eye to eye on this whole issue. But I really do appreciate the fact that you show me respect in your comments, you have never attacked me in them, and have yet been able to make your point clear, standing on the opposing side. I wish all the hecklers were as mature as you. 

with a heavy heart (update and responses to comments)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

the fat blonde bird.

Thank you Deuce, Alice ana, Christina and Outside in to thin for your lovely comments. As always, I love reading them, I love your thoughts and I deeply appreciate your support. You help me get through the day, you really do.

Recently I've taken up running. I did my first half marathon and let me tell you, I thought I was going to die for the last 6km. I don't know why I did it. The longest I've ever run was 8km and suddenly I was like 22km? Easy! So I stupidly worked out a 22km course and just ran it after work yesterday. Foolish! But it did prove that I can do a hell of a lot more than I think I can. I did run the whole 22km, albeit slowly at times and I finished in 2hr 20mins which is slow, but not as slow as I thought I'd be.

Running is an amazing feeling, I think I'm slightly hooked. I've been running nearly every day now and I can feel myself getting better. Usually it's only 8km a day, which I worked out to be roughly 400cal. Not much! But still, it raises my BMR and it's better than the big fat NOTHING that I used to do. Once I get used to this, I will somehow drag myself out of bed earlier to do boxing or yoga.

But finally, onto the subject matter of this post, the fat blonde bird. I go for my run at around the same time every night, and every night, I run into the fat blonde bird. She walks with her husband/partner/boyfriend and a dog.

I look into the face of the fat blonde bird and I see a Caucasian version of myself. It's easy to see that she was once beautiful. Maybe that's how she got her husband in the first place. We are of similar height, similar bone structure, when I see her, I see me. She is always dressed in a track suit, sometimes with a polar fleece jacket. The sort of outfit that you wear when you've all but given up on life and given up on hoping that there might be something good in this world. Her hair falls just past her shoulders in strange dirty blonde limp strands. Nothing that a quick visit to a hair stylist wouldn't fix. It has no shape, no purpose, it's trying so hard to not try at all. Not a single dime has been spent on that head of hair for the last 5 years, yet it is parted perfectly straight down the middle; a sight that makes me sadder than if it had been a complete mess.

That perfect parting is resonates so much desperation, a woman who hates what she sees in the mirror but somewhere deep inside her, a woman who she used to be is bursting to get out. And it is this woman who makes her pick up the comb and part her hair like that. "Do the best with what you've got honey, it ain't great but we gotta try and salvage something." Words that she'll never speak, words that she might not even know she's thinking, yet the action is automatic and the parting is perfect.

The little rosebud that is her mouth is smothered in bright red lipstick, applied perfectly but unfortunately draws attention to the fact that her cheeks are so fat that her lips can no longer sit properly. They protude outwards, in a permanent little fish pout. Her full face of make up does not go with the old, shabby polar fleece track suits that she always wears. I want to stop my run and say to her, honey, no amount of make up can cover the fat. You know it's there, I know it's there so let's all just stop pretending.

Her body shape is hard to describe. One only has to glance, but it is obvious that she has a shape. She's not one of those people who is rotund naturally. Even at her size, she has a waist, boobs and a butt, all clearly defined. Yet she is expanding so much that these features are all ballooning to the extent that these separate balloons threaten to merge into one big one, upon which she will become rotund. She gives one the impression that she is literally bursting at the seams. Her small frame shouldn't be supporting this sort of size. When I see her, I can feel her skin stretching to accommodate the ever increasing fat cells. The bits of her that stay reasonable the same size (like her knees or wrists) are the last bastions of hope in a body that has gone to the dogs. Bits of skin tagged down so that they can't expand outwards like the rest of her.

And so she strolls, with her husband and dog in complete silence, along the same road that I run down. And she'll look at me, she will sometimes move out of the way to let me pass. She's always got that strange look on her face, and I think that she can see in me what I see in her. We are almost the same person. When I see her the same message always flashes across my mind "run fat bird, run". And it's not a message for her, it's for me. She's like my mirror. I tell myself, look how disgusting you look to other people. Run fat bird, run. How can you be tired when you have that much fat to burn. Burn it off, run fat bird, run. Look how pathetic you are, how drab and frumpy and sad and unattractive. Burn it off, run fat bird, run.

responsiveness

Andrea, you left me some comments on my last blog entry. I guess I must thank you for taking the time out of your day to do it. But really, calling me stupid and saying that you hope I die, well. If you don't like my blog posts and you don't like what I'm doing, why are you bothering to read my posts and comment? It's not the first time you've done it. If you think I'm really that stupid, don't waste your time reading what I write, I'm sure you'd rather spend your time reading/doing things you actually like and enjoy. And don't waste your energy telling me that you hope I die. I'm doing pretty well at thinking of those things by myself already without your help. I don't think I've ever been malicious towards anyone online, because whatever they think or say, that's their own business, and I'd appreciate it if you'd extend the same courtesy to me and my followers.

Christina and Pixie, thank you, as usual, for your lovely comments. I appreciate everything that you say. Love you lots ladies!

I listen for the whisper of your sweet insanity while I formulate denials of your effect on me.

Thank you to Jackie, Gracereturnsslowly, Christina and Fat Piggy for your lovely comments on my last post. It's so nice to find that there are people who completely understand how I feel about the purging. When I feel down and alone, I come on my blog and then I see that there are people who understand and support me and I don't feel quite so isolated.

And thank you to all the lovely ladies who wished me a good day. Because today I had a good day! For once!!!!!!! All those wishes must have added up to one good day and I tell you, I've not been this happy for a long time. You ladies have become a second family for me, so my glorious skinny sisterhood, let me share my happiness with you! Let me rant my joy for one post, normal self loathing and restricting posts will resume shortly.

I finally bought myself a white dress. A nice white, casual, comfy dress. I purposely bought it in a large size, it's suppose to be quite tight but it sits loose on me and is amazingly comfortable. I wore it with my pink sequin shoes, the ones I got from a children's store (as I have very small feet) and a light pink blazer. I felt like a 6 year old but it was very, very cute.

I went to work in this outfit and was talking to TS and my friend Steph when the professor showed up. He made fun of me for a full 15 minutes. About how my outfit was so cutesy and girly, how they've never had a student quite as girly as me. Then he moved onto how short I am. He told them about how he ran into me last week and gave me a kiss and a cuddle, how he had forgotten how small I was and so I almost fell through his arms and how he apologised to me because he ended up crushing my spectacles against his cheek. By this point TS and Steph are howling with laughter and I'm hiding my face with embarrassment.

To make things worse, at this exact point the professor points at me and says "you're blushing!" and everyone just laughs so much harder. Then there is more teasing from the professor about my height and outfit and eventually he says that he means it in a nice way, that I look cute and attractive. And he calls me "bijoux". Which is not a word I've ever heard used before. He explains that it means "small jewel", I say "oh, that's really quite sweet" and immediately blush again.

I've just realised that there was a lot of laughing at my expense. By this point, after being called Bijoux several times by the professor, I must have been quite an alarming shade of red, and I notice that TS has the most amazed look on his face and he says to the professor "I think you're the only person to make her blush". Which of course makes me blush more, and makes the professor look very smug.

Later at night, I pop into the professor's office to ask him a question, he tells me that the white makes me look very innocent and "what is your question, little innocent thing?" I'm making myself another theatre hat and I ask him, if I made him a theatre hat, would he wear it? He seems absolutely delighted at the idea. And asks me if I'd like to go to theatre with him tomorrow morning, he'll have no assistants tomorrow morning and so he'd like me to go.

By the by, here is a picture of a theatre hat. By that I mean, a hat that we wear when in the operating theatre to keep our hair out of the way. And yes, that is me in the picture. Feast your eyes on my fat ugly face. the hat is black with white polka dots held on with a pink ribbon that ties into a bow.

I ADORE theatre, so much. I love going to theatre, ophthal theatre especially. The professor's theatre is amazing because he does the most intricate surgeries. And to assist means I get to view the whole thing down the operating microscope which is special. And to be asked to go to theatre with the professor, is amazing. I don't know if that has ever happened to a student. I think sometimes his masters students to theatre, but as a medical student, really, I'm just there to keep him company.

Today was a good day. I got invited to theatre, which I'm so excited about. And the bijoux thing. And, and, and, this last thing will sound utterly ridiculous, but when the professor walks past me, he always just touches me in the small of my back. For some reason, I really like that.

So there we are ladies, a GREAT day. God, if my friends could read this, they would be even more suspicious about me and the professor having an affair. A ridiculous notion indeed, but there are quite a few raised eyebrows.