a note on self worth

"Some fools fool themselves I guess, they're not fooling me. I know it isn't true. Love is just a lie made to make you blue."

The bitter acid rises up at the back of my throat as I check my bank account. I have thousands of pounds worth of stuff on my wishlist at net-a-porter and not even enough money to buy myself lunch. Anxiety starts to shake my body, and it seeps into every fibre of my being. I need that Miu Miu coat. I need that Proenza Schouler skirt. I need that Chloe dress. I need that Alexander McQueen bracelet. I need it all. I need more. More than just that. And I don't have enough money for one quarter of one item. 

Then it hits me, this isn't normal. Normal people don't have panic attacks about not being able to afford a horde of designer clothing. Normal people don't look on net-a-porter when they've spent 2000 pounds in the past week on clothing. Normal people wouldn't spend 2000 pounds on clothing in a week. Not that I've ever been normal, but this is too much, even for me. 

How can I explain, not so much for you, my lovely readers, how can I explain to myself what's going on. This growing desire for more clothing, more expensive clothing, more designer clothing. It is a need, a craving that bubbles and builds until I can't take it anymore. Somewhere, deep inside me, is a delusion being who thinks I'm a model. I can strut the life out of me in stilettos and a tight skirt, and in my head the corridors become catwalks. But I know I'm not a model. Even if I was thin enough, I will never, ever be tall enough. 

Some other part of me needs the clothing. It needs the expense and extravagance. It needs the extraordinary value to hang on my body. If people don't see a Miu Miu coat or a Proenza Schouler skirt or a Chloe dress, they won't see anything at all. I'm some transparent being, not worthy of being seen without it all. 500 pounds. That's a something tangible. A number for me to pin on myself. If that's what my outfit is worth, that's the worth other people see. Today, I'm wearing 500 pounds of clothing, and that's what my self worth is. If I'm only in a cheap tee and jeans, then I don't feel like very much at all. 

Recently I've not felt worth much at all. And I guess that's where this drive to buy more comes from. I guess it's just something I've got to get over, but I also think it's something I will never get over. I wish I was on holiday, maybe then I'd have some time to actually try and sort out the mess in my head. 

All my clothing, all my doubts about work, all my insecurities about the professor. But life goes on and I can't do it. I have too much to do, too many people expect something of me. I just want to be left alone for a week, to do nothing. To think. 

Of course being this fat doesn't help. Sometimes I think the professor has the amazing effect of getting into my head. Brainwashing me. "You're perfect, you're slim, you're beautiful, don't ever change, don't lose any more weight, you're too slim, please put on weight, you're perfect, you're perfect, you're perfect." It gets into my head. And I start to believe it. I've spent a good portion of the past week believing it. But the hypnotic effect wears off. 

When it wears off my heart is torn. Part of me is glad it's gone, and now I can be realistic and get down to the real work of losing weight and really becoming slim. The other part of me is itching for another hit and that part of me wants to crawl back to him just to hear those words again. 

So that's what self worth means to me. Designer clothing and the words of a man who terrifies me and whom I only see once in a blue moon. 

battle plans 2013

"I'm a cowboy, on a steel horse I ride and I'm wanted dead or alive."

That's what it feels like working the holidays. They want me, dead or alive. When everyone else is with family and friends and enjoying the summer sun and the beach and barbecues and all the things that summer should be, I'm hidden from the sun, in a hospital. Dead or alive, sometimes I don't really feel like either. 

It's an eerie feeling, driving the motorways early in the morning without another car in sight.  But worst of all is listening to my colleagues talk about their Christmas and New Year plans. It makes me feel lonelier than ever. Never thought I would miss my family this much. So what do I do? I eat and I eat and I eat. I come home and I eat some more. I guess it's filling me up, not in the way that I need, but it does do the trick. Even if I do hate myself afterwards. 

But this can't go on. It just can't. I will balloon at an alarming rate and then I will have to go kill myself somehow. By some miracle I haven't yet resorted to cutting, but a big part of that is that it is now summer and so I have a lot of skin showing. The places that I can cut are so reduced and I really can't have anybody else knowing that about me. It is the one thing that the professor never asks me about (maybe because his wife is around all the time) and I'd like to keep it that way. 

I'm fairly sure his wife knows about my eating issues. She's noticed herself, but he got to me before she did. The look she gave him when he told me that he couldn't feel my ribs anymore was quite priceless. She probably would have hit him if she had less self control. In retrospect, that's probably why he back tracked so quickly and instead of saying that I'd gained weight, he said I was perfect. Still, everyone knows what he means. I have gotten fat. 

So this must stop. I've been skimming blogs recently and I found one where the girl has started on Jillian Michael's 30 day shred. I have that DVD somewhere in my house. So I think I will start it. On Tuesday, because I am working till 11pm on Monday and so that's not a good time to start anything. And I need to tone down what I'm eating at work. The amounts that I'm eating are so stupid. So stupid. I need to eat less, work out more. There is no secret to weight loss, that's it. 

I don't know anymore girls, I just don't know. Failure isn't a strong enough word to sum up how I feel right now. I'm so down in every single way and my new found fatness is just the buttercream icing on a big ass cake. I must improve. 

Seriously, I've been all talk, all year and achieved nothing. Time to lose weight. Time for this BMI to finally drop below 20, time for some bones to start sticking out and some clothes to start hanging off them. 

Come on girls, let's make 2013 our year. 

tattoo thinspo and the dream life

"You're living in the past, it's a new generation!"

I'm absolutely inspired to get a new tattoo so I thought I would post some tattoo thinspo. I absolutely adore tattoo thinspo, there is nothing more beautiful than a boney, tattoo covered girl. I'm currently thinking of a design that I want on myself, and I will probably get it done in the next few weeks, if it looks okay, I might post a picture of it on here. 

The first one of the feather is like what I'm going to get on my back, to the left, and the top of the feather will be breaking up into little birds that fly away and curve round my flank. It's hard to explain, but I will definitely get an artist to draw it up first. I'm so excited. I feel like I've made some sort of breakthrough. Birds are always something that I wanted tattooed on me, and I love feathers but didn't want to get so many separate little ones. In a fit of peak, I realised I could just get them both in one tattoo. I can be so dumb sometimes. 

At times like these, I wish I could quit my job and just work in the fashion industry. I'd love to be an editor or you know, a fashion blogger that gets invited to be front row at all the couture shows. Be paid good money to give my opinion, and then I could wear what I wanted, I wouldn't feel so bad for having such an effusive wardrobe and I could tattoo the shit out of myself. Or, I could be a designer, make my own clothes and shoes and bags. Now, THAT'S the dream. 

I'm dying to get a tattoo on my forearm, but in my profession, it can be seen as quite offensive and could stop me getting good jobs in the future. Sometimes I hate having to look professional. That's why I bend the rules slightly when it comes to how I dress. I'm not demure, I'm not practical. I wear tight skirts, low tops, high waisted pants. I'm a walking fashion show. Or a limping fashion show, as is sometimes the case by the end of the day. Why shouldn't I be allowed to dress well. As long as I can do the job and my boobs and ass aren't falling out, it shouldn't be a problem. 

The studded boots, leggings, rock tees are more of a problem. I'd love to look like a rock chick. I hate how people just assume I'm one of those typical, sweet, giggling, passive Asian cuties. And I get guys asking me out because of that assumption. They want a cutie on their arm, to kiss and cuddle with and take out to dinner and be cute and sweet and go to karaoke and sing K-pop and J-pop and whatever other crap exists out there.

But when they meet me, I want to go to rock concerts, I want to listen to Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, ACDC, Bon Jovi, Depeche Mode, Black Sabbath, Def Leppard, The Violent Femmes and Guns'n'Roses. I want whiskey and port and I want to drive fast, to anywhere. I don't want to kiss or cuddle, I don't want to hold their hand. I would happily skip all that for a good fuck, but for some reason, the guys don't go for that. They find me pierced and tatted up and get put off. Whatever. Maybe I am a bit bipolar. 

Or maybe they find me fat and ugly and that's what puts them off fucking me. 

I'm choosing my confessions (happy holidays to you all)

"Trying to keep an eye on you like a lost, hurt and blinded fool. Oh no, I've said too much. I've set it up." 

200 posts, 104 followers and I'm still going. It's hard to believe, but it's the current state of affairs. I can't say enough thank yous to everyone who reads this, to everyone who comments, to everyone who has shown me so much support, concern, loyalty and companionship throughout the times. 

You've shared my highs and my lows, my fears, hopes, dreams, suicidal thoughts. You've been there through the shedding of blood and tears and one way or another, you've held my head above water and here we are, at the start of all things. 

I apologise if I sound a tad too poetic today. There are several reasons for that. The most crucial of which is probably the fact that I got a bottle of 20 year old Portugese port today and I've had a fair few glasses of it already. The second reason is that I'm managing to squeeze into some of my size 6 clothes (I believe this is comparable to a UK6, and a US 2) and even though it is a SQUEEZE, it's definitely better than not being able to squeeze at all. The last reason is that I am still buoyed by my last meeting with the professor. 

There have been quite a few occasions where I have waxed lyrical about him, and part of me can't help it. Now, after several glasses of port and a good dose of Joan Jett and Pink Floyd and Depeche Mode, there practically isn't anything holding me back. 

One aspect is that it is terribly flattering to be so petted by such a powerful man. It feeds some sort of hungry little girl inside me who just wants a daddy to come along and take her hand and make everything okay. And that's what he does, literally. The last time that I saw him, he kissed me more times in half an hour than my own father has in 5 years. When my head isn't clouded by my ED and my self esteem issues, it is so clear that he cares. He's been my most trusted friend, least judging, and most supportive. He tells me I'm perfect, beautiful, and after a few drinks, I start to believe that he actually means it. 

Another point is that I just feel so safe with him. In a strange way, we get each other. We are uncannily similar, sometimes to an extent where I will try and change myself to make myself seem a bit more different. Wouldn't want him, or anyone else for that matter, to think that I was trying to be like him in every possible way. 

At any rate, I'm glad he likes me, likes me enough to get me a Christmas present. I'm glad he's still trying to help me and wants to see me more. 

This time of year always brings out the best and worst in me. I won't lie, the food temptations are hell. HELL. All the foods I love, but all the foods I'm not allowed to eat. At the same time that I'm stuffing my face, I'm also making endless resolutions about losing weight. It's around this time that I start doing the work out videos and popping the laxatives and the odd day of fasting. The end result of all this is that I get through the holidays relatively unscathed. Staying the same, no net gain or loss. 

Being realistic, I aim to do the same this year. Get through, stay the same, don't gain, and any loss is a bonus. 

So here's me, wishing all your girls a wonderful festive season. I hope nobody derails too much and that any damage is easily controlled. I hope everyone has a good time with friends and family, do things that you enjoy before it's nose to the grindstone again. Each little step is a step closer, and if anybody takes a step back, don't despair. We all step backwards sometimes. Just recognise it, and try not to do it again. 

I'm here if anyone is having trouble coping. My family are going away so I'm pretty much alone and always happy to give out advice/company/TLC. 

Happy holidays and look forward to a skinny 2013!!!

Every yours, 

Judith Marie. 

I don't give a damn about my bad reputation

"Breaking little twigs with my feet and underneath is a road that's so steep." 

"You're looking well, I can't feel your ribs anymore." He smiles and I shrink away slightly. Suddenly, his mind clicks and he back tracks. "You look perfect. Perfect and slim. Please don't misinterpret that." He pulls me close, kisses me and walks me to my car while holding my hand. 

He kisses me again at my car. I can see how happy he is. He is so happy to see me "so well". Which only means one thing to me, I'm fat. I'm thinner than I was, but that's about the same size as when I last saw the professor, so in his head, I haven't changed weight at all. I still want to lose another 20lbs, at least, but I'm now fighting that same battle in my head, I don't want him to get upset with me. But I don't want to be upset with myself. At any rate, I'm only losing at the speed of about 1-2lbs a week, so it's very slow progress. Progress. But slow. 

Driving home, I clutch a tiny little box in my hand. A present from the professor and I'm dying to open it. Still, best to wait until Christmas. Wind in my hair, rain coming through the window, music blaring. It's been a long time since my heart has felt so much at rest. From the past turmoil of all my self doubt and all the pain after I had convinced myself that the professor hated me personally and professionally, this little meeting has settled everything, if only for the moment. 

For the moment, everything is okay. It was apparent that he was very worried about how I'd cope with starting work. He's relieved I haven't dropped a tonne of weight, he's relieved I don't look tired, he's relieved I seem cheerful. And I guess he's right. I'm handling it. I'm scared. I'm tired. I'm struggling, but I'm handling it.

That pretty much sums up everything. I'm handling it all. Not handling any one particular thing that well, but doing it all at an okay level. So that sums me up. Handling it all. Okay. 

I will update again soon to wish you lovely ladies merry Christmas...but that's for the next post! Want to say a big thank you, to all those who take the time to read this blog, and especially those who take the extra time to comment. 

I don't say it often enough, but I really do appreciate it, and reading your comments usually is the best part of my day. 

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.