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!

it's theatre darling

Hello my lovely girls! I remember a time when I was rejoicing at having 8 followers. I blink and suddenly I'm at 42? What! Welcome new followers!! Hello!

If this post looks a bit weird it’s because I’m writing it at work and I can’t access the internet from here. I’m writing it here because I just had to tell you all, weighed myself today and I’m 119lbs!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!!!! For a long time there I was stuck at 121lbs and I was starting to feel like I would never be able to break the 120lbs barrier. Nonsense, I know. But I had almost given up and resigned myself to being fat. But all of a sudden, 119lbs!!! I can’t tell you how nice it is to be back in the 110s. I haven’t been here for a long, long time. I know I’m still at the far end of the 110s but for the purpose of lifting my morale, I will say that this counts.

It was so discouraging to start exercising and have absolutely nothing happen. Well, nothing in terms of the scale. I’m starting to see the very faint outline of abs and that makes me feel chuffed to bits. I don’t want hard out abs, but a faint outline is very nice.

Funny thing is, I’m still fat. I look at myself and I still see lots of places that need improvement and that discourages me somewhat. Still, breaking 120lbs is a huge barrier gone. Hope to hit my next goal weight of 115lbs soonish.

I’m feeling very sick so hopefully that will aid the weight loss bid. For the first time, I woke up absolutely needing to vomit. It was awful, I was in my bathroom, coughing and retching, and I didn’t want to be there. I hadn’t eaten for 18 hours and there was nothing to vomit up.

Yesterday all I had was a coffee and half a muffin which I absolutely had to eat because the professor begged me to eat something. He took me to lunch and in the end he said that he wasn’t allowed a whole muffin and if I didn’t share one with him, I would be depriving him of half a muffin. And we’d been operating for 6 hours and I was pretty buggered by then anyway. I rejected all the barley sugars in theatre because I knew he’d force me to eat something and so I didn’t want any more calories than was absolutely necessary.

Somehow at lunch we started talking about people who had committed suicide and he just looked at me and said “you’re not going to do anything that stupid are you?” I was stunned, because he was dead serious. How did he know????? Nobody knew about my suicidal intent except you ladies. I just couldn’t even look at him. I said no, but I couldn’t look at him for a long time after that.

That conversation we had over lunch, a 15min short lunch break that somehow turned into an hour long life advice session, it’s made me re-evaluate my entire life. I’m questioning absolutely everything and it’s thrown me into emotional turmoil. I don’t know what to believe anymore. But I want so much to believe him. I really do. But to believe him, I have to first accept the premise that he cares a lot for me and is mentoring me and I just can’t bring myself to do that. I am so utterly unworthy of even being in the same room as him, so undeserving of even a minute of his time.

Remember me talking about going to Bristol to work next year? This was a while back now, but I was super excited about going over to do 2 months next year. Yesterday I found out he had called the head of dept in Bristol and told him to give me the position. I was so touched, as soon as I was out of theatre and back in my car I just burst into tears. I couldn’t believe he’d do something like that for me. I still can’t believe it, but I kind of have to, because he’s done it.

I can’t deal with all that right now. For now, I’m under 120lbs, I’m closer to my goal, all my projects are moving nicely, and I’m content for now.

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.

p(urges) part 2

Every now and then I consider purging. I am thoroughly opposed to the notion, I know that it is bad on every single level. I know that if I started purging, the amount of trouble that I'd be in if people found out would multiply 100 times. (Does that sentence make sense?) I'm already being hounded for not eating enough, I'd probably be burned at the stake for purging.

However, despite all this, if I were somehow granted the ability to purge easily, without too much effort, doesn't leave me coughing and spluttering on my bathroom floor, I would do it. But until that happens, I'm unlikely to make a habit of it.

My problem with purging is really more on a moral basis. It's a bit hard to explain but I'm going to try to, and I apologise in advance if I horribly confuse anybody.

The whole point, is to lose weight by not eating and by exercising. To me, this is almost like an exercise in self control. No matter how much I want to eat, no matter how hungry I am, I don't let myself eat. And I make myself work out. It's like, learning the art of discipline.

There is something in fasting, restricting, essentially starving that I find so comforting. I might be hungry, so hungry that I'm in pain. I might be dizzy and salivating at merely hearing people talk about food but the thing is, I never feel more accomplished and powerful than when I am starving but still refusing food. I feel in total control. I'm in control, and I control what I eat. When I get into these moods, the weight loss is almost a very lovely side effect.

Not to say that the weight loss is insignificant, it's just a cyclical process. I restrict to lose weight, then I become full of power at the being hungry but still fasting and I lose more weight. But there is no such thing as "thin enough". So I will always be in a state of being too fat. Well, I can't imagine ever feeling thin. Not until all my bones are sticking out.

For those of you who have followed this blog, you will know that I am rather into self harm. For new followers - hello! Welcome and thank you for following me. I think restricting is like a form of self harm. Refusing myself food is like punishing myself and there are so many things that I feel like I need to be punished for. I don't deserve food, I don't deserve to be fed. The way I see food has changed dramatically. I don't get any pleasure from binging anymore. I used to though. I only feel a sense of dread when I see food, oh no, what if I binge, oh no, I don't deserve that, oh no, I'm too fat.

As an aside, the self harming, is getting worse, I'm getting lots of ideas of where to cut, but now, these are places that I want to have scars. I've cut 5 lines on my right flank. Parallel, and sort of in line with the contours of my body. And I want them to scar. But the problem is, I haven't cut them deep enough to scar well so I will have to re-cut them at some point. But for now, I can see the pattern and I will go over the cuts before the marks go away. They might be deep enough for a light scar, but I want bigger, darker ones. I found a box of miscellaneous stuff at work, and this included a collection of scalpel blades, some were clearly out of date and so are not sterile but still, scalpel blades are scalpel blades.

Back to purging! I sort of feel that purging is almost like cheating. If the aim is to exercise self control, then I have lost the game the second I put food into my mouth. In saying that however, I would rather purge out what I have eaten than be in a situation where I can't fast the next day. As of yet, I feel like I am still 'with it' enough to not purge. But I can certainly foresee me purging sometime in the future if this doesn't stop. Especially when I start working properly, which won't happen until November next year. I can see myself being consumed by work and restricting.

On some level, I want this to stop. And I think this contributes to the suicidal ideas. This really is a miserable state of existence. I think that at this point in time I have enough insight left to feel like I should get help. I'm now a qualified doctor, I know that this is wrong. But I'm too scared to get help, and nobody knows how bad I am. I'm still fully functional so no one suspects that I might be deeply depressed, suicidal and have an eating disorder. If I add purging to that list, well, I'm going to be in deep trouble if this ever gets out.

I can see that one day I will purge on a daily basis, probably when I'm living by myself. And then, it won't spell the end, but it will certainly be another nail in a well nailed down coffin. By then I will be so far gone, that there will be no possible success for me post-recovery and so the only way to continue will be go on and lose as much weight as I can and then off myself.

Some people would be very distressed if they could read this. I can't possibly tell anyone in my life about this. And this is why I treasure you girls so much.

As always, thank you to:

Leonie

Alice ana

Jackie

Christina

Fat Piggy

nicoleandgwendolyn

Haley

for your lovely comments. I absolutely love your comments and you ladies make me feel so supported in this.

ghosts of the past and future

This post is inspired by Jackie, who helped me remember something I had tucked away in some safe corner of my memory. A dream, from which I awoke, disoriented and shaking and unable to function for days, how could I have ever forgotten?

Love is a word that is so easily flipped around these days that it has rather lost all meaning for me. I think that I can recognise it when I "see" it. In quotation marks because it isn't something that you can see. It's not anything really. It's an electric shock that stimulates all and none of the senses simultaneously and is almost more of an intuition than anything. For instance, I can say with certainty that the professor loves his wife, J. And that I love my dog, my beautiful German Shepherd. I'm sure that if our eyes could see UV or infrared, we would be able to see some sort of mist surrounding us in times of love, as if some little love elf was following us with a big fan and a box of dry ice.

I'm just shy of 22, and thus far I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date. That side of life has eluded me, and I have happily stayed well away from it. The emotional and social complexities of such a pass time are far too odious for my short temper but on the other side of that same coin, I do want to be part of a couple at some point.

In the past I have dreamed of things that then came to pass. I don't think I'm psychic or anything, but it's happened rather too many times for coincidence and it never ceases to creep me out and I wish it would stop. I dreamed my English teacher was present a week before she announced it to us, I dreamed of a shooting at a military camp in the US and woke up to see it as breaking news, I dreamed of seeing a cute guy by my locker and saw him there a few days later. I hate these things. And most recently, I dreamed that TS and J and the professor were trying to reverse my tag, and when I went to tell TS and J that I was tagged, they told me they were already trying to reverse it.

I am a total skeptic and I don't believe in anything divine, no religion has ever set foot in my life, and it's just not how I was brought up and it's not naturally part of my constitution. But with all this, even I am taking these dreams without the usual grain of salt. And it is with this lengthy foreword that I begin to retell my dream.

I can't tell if this dream is of something that has passed or of something that has yet to pass. But in this dream I am at a party. Already, this is very unlike me, I don't really do parties. I am wearing a dress, it is pink, sparkly and paired with high heeled shoes that are gold. The entire outfit stinks to the high heaven of something retro and I know that these are borrowed clothes, they don't quite fit me. It's not my style at all, which partly explains the unease that I am sensing.

I am also alone, and (here is the part that gives me hope!) I did not have a jacket and so I'm holding my arms, my very thin, very, very thin, bony arms to try to keep some warmth in. I'm quite nervous, I don't recognise anyone there and I'm quite scared. I pick up a glass of champagne, just for the sake of doing something and then I stand at the table, with my back to the room for a while, collecting my skittish nerves, telling myself to turn around and smile and socialise and make some friends. Just leap in!

Turning around abruptly, I make contact with a pair of eyes around the room and I'm thunderstruck. Of his face, all I can make out are the eyes, but I have a distinct feeling that he's brown haired. He's in trousers, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tie and (this is what takes the cake) a waistcoat. I look at the ground as he walks over to me, I dare not look him in the eye again. I'm too scared to, because I can feel it, I can feel love, and it scares me to the bone. But somewhere deep inside, I know that he is someone very special and I know that no matter how scared I may be, I will not let him go, because we were meant to meet.

I hope you can tell that I have tried to present the dream in the most unromantic way possible. I just don't hold with such romance at all. I don't believe in love at first sight, I don't believe in soul mates. And yet this dream affected me so greatly that for a few days afterwards, I firmly believed that this mystery man was out there waiting for me. Then I snapped out of that particular stupor and tucked the dream away.

Yet this feeling of love in this dream, that is something that I can't deny no matter how much I want to tell myself it wasn't there. And I know it must have been, because in my dream I couldn't look at him. I have a habit of not being able to look at people who look at me "lovingly". It's why sometimes I can't look at the professor, no matter how rude I think I'm being. And no matter how much I don't want to admit that that is the reason why I can't look at him, if I'm brutally honest, that is the truth behind it. If I do look at him, I blush madly and he immediately says "you're blushing!" and teases me for it.

Still, I hope this quite literal dream man is real and that our paths will come to cross one day. I want to see how accurate this dream is, even if it means wearing an ugly dress and shoes.

Judith Marie and the meaning of life.

An ambitious title indeed! Especially given that the time right now is 1.30am, I don't feel particularly coherent and I've been doing a strange (but productive) combination of crying and researching for the past few hours. In those hours I have learnt quite a few things and now a whole lot of things that have been floating around have all slid into place and things make a lot of sense to me.

Waaaaaaaay back near the start of this blog I wrote an entry called "attachment disorder". I've always thought that I must have some sort of attachment disorder and this is something that has become increasingly of concern to me. Well, not to me per se, but I have friends who are starting to issue me with warnings about my relationship with the professor. I'm not about to change the status quo, but it did make me think. After some digging, and some info from mum, I think I am fairly confident in saying that I have reactive attachment disorder.

It's rare and hard to diagnose, especially as I am now nearly 22 years old and this is normally picked up in young kids and then they undergo treatment. But there is no such thing as mental health care in China (which is where I was born) and my family have no understanding whatsoever of mental illness and their view is so archaic in that they think mental people should be locked up and hidden from society.

Mum had a hard pregnancy with me. And we were both very sick. And health care in China is freaking awful. So I was born by C-section at 36weeks gestation because my heart had started to fail. As soon as my umbilical cord was cut, I was taken to the theatre next to the C-section theatre and I had a 5 hour operation that included a total blood transfusion and some catheter heart thing that mum can't quite explain to me. Then I was moved to the neonatal intensive care unit which is where I stayed for the first 2 weeks of my life. During this time, no one in my family was allowed to have any contact with me. And my dad was only allowed to see my briefly, once, when I was 5 days old and they thought I was going to die.

So I spent the first 2 weeks of my life alone, not seeing my mother once, not having been touched by any of my family at all. Then I was raised in a strange way. My parents almost alternated with my grandparents in my care because of work. They were away on business trips a lot and so my grandma (who I later found out isn't my biological grandma because my dad was adopted) was my primary caregiver. The first sign of problems appeared when I was 6 months old. When both my parents went away for a week's holiday and left me at home with her. When they got back, I essentially rejected them both. I refused to look at them, I refused to be held by them and I didn't want anything to do with them for a few days.

Both my parents thought I was being spiteful, but apparently this behaviour is rather indicative of attachment disorders. Then as I got a bit older I started exhibiting another symptom, which is getting comfort from adults, any adult, often complete strangers. I remember mum would take me out shopping, and for some reason I would always, always lose her in the supermarket or mall or wherever we were. And when I had lost her, I would grab hold the hand of the nearest adult and just walk around with them. Most of the time they would look for her and return me, but one time mum had to chase down a man who had walked me out of the store and was basically kidnapping me.

Up until 6 years old I had my grandma as a caregiver. But at 6 years old, we emigrated and left her in China and so I was separated from her. I didn't see her for a few years, during this time my parents were busy working multiple jobs to make ends meet in this new country, in this brave new world, they couldn't speak English, they didn't know anybody and sometimes I went without lunch and dinner because we couldn't afford the food. I distinctly remember that mum would go and buy those bones that they sell for next to nothing in the supermarket as dog food and boil those up and that would be dinner.

So I didn't see much of them, we lived with this family, and I didn't speak English and I remember being very scared at home, when their children would try to talk to me and I couldn't understand what they were saying to me. But I was young, I picked up English fast, and by the time my grandparents arrived here a few years later, I didn't speak enough Chinese to communicate with them. It's like I can't win!

By this time my parents were relatively stable, but I wasn't allowed to go out after school to play, I had to come home immediately and study. I was never allowed to go to birthday parties, or any party, and when I was a teenager I was never allowed to just go hang out with friends. And a boyfriend? Out of the question! When I was 12 I had basically finished the entire high school curriculum for maths, biology, chemistry and physics and had a private English tutor and had started on calculus.

Is it any wonder I have an attachment disorder? Then I go and get depression and an eating disorder on top of that. Great. No wonder I'm suicidal.

I've learnt from the second I popped out of the womb that there wasn't a single soul on this earth that I could depend on, there was nobody to protect me from anything and there was nobody that I could trust. And my dad did always say to me, for as long as I can remember, he would get me to repeat after him "trust no one, trust no one." Well dad, it worked a treat, better than you could have hoped for.

When I needed people, on the odd occasions that I wanted my parents, they were never there. And so now I think no one will ever be there. I learned to depend on me. I have total control over my own life and that is the only way I know how to do it. But with everyone around me happy and in love, I'm seeing that I'm missing something. Yet at the same time I know that I can't possibly function in any relationship because I don't know how to function in one. It's always been me against the world, what does the word ally even mean? I want to be in a relationship, but I know I can't be in one...but the sheer fact that I got this far in life without anyone being remotely interested in me makes me think that I'm severely defective in some way.

I've seen some awful girls get guys. What exactly is so unacceptably repugnant about me?

I've told you all that I've been tagged. I'm not taking it very well. I'm crying an awful lot about it. One of my biggest fears was TS and J and the professor finding out and rejecting me about it. I still don't know if the professor knows, but today I found out that TS and J knew about it before I did and have been trying to get it reversed since then. I was so touched that I almost broke down in tears in front of them. Never did it occur to me that they would be angry at the medical school for doing that to me and even go as far as to try and reverse it. I was so scared they would think less of me because of it.

When I told a friend about this she said to me, sometimes it sounds like you don't really know these people or understand what they're like. And I guess it's true. Because I would never expect anyone to try and do anything for me, or to hold an unshakable good opinion of me. I'm just not worth that. And yet, despite what TS and J are doing, despite them being incredibly angry at the medical school (I've never seen J so angry, ever), I am still terrified of the professor finding out and what he will think. Funny thing is, he probably already knows, seeing as he's married to J and all.

This depressing, ED, suicidal thing is getting harder and harder to hide. I've hidden it very well so far, but with my depression spiralling a bit and the added stress of the evil tag, I'm finding it hard to cope. It's starting to show. Not much, only ever in little gaps, little gaps of a few seconds at work. If this keeps going, someone will see. Chances are, they will all see it, but he will do something. If he sees it, he will do something.

And all I can envisage nowadays is me, being thin, very thin indeed, with a lovely gap between my thighs, a happy concave abdomen and arms that aren't so fat that they flap about, a small me, a better, prettier me, sitting on the professor's lap, and him rocking me back and forth. No wonder my friends are issuing me warnings. They're worried I like him too much, that I'm going to get very hurt. And I'm worried too. Because if he hurts me again, it will be the end of my days and I will have to bid goodbye to you lovely ladies and go and catch my train.

Wow, I've typed for over an hour and this is faaaar too long a post for any of you to read.

I commend and deeply thank anybody who actually reads the whole thing. Love you all, I don't think I could carry on without you girls.