reverse thinspiration that looks like me

"Because I'm breaking the habit tonight."

- I don't know how I started looking at lots of reverse thinspo today. But I aside from the usual extreme reverse thinspo pics, I came across a whole series of pictures that reminds me of how my body looks and it makes me feel like dying. I feel so fucking sick. I already ate some noodles for dinner and man I really want to puke it all back. I'm texting online dating guy and fuck it, it makes me want to puke. Today my intake has been:

-2 coffees with trim milk 124cal

-1 cup of instant noodles 460cal

-1 pear 38cal

-1 cup of strawberries 49cal

-half a low fat yoghurt 42cal

That is 713cal total intake. It feels like too much. It's like I've got a gastric band and the food isn't going down. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It's too much. 

Later I am going to the gym to work it off:

-30mins running on treadmill at level 10 -286cal

-20mins elliptical -171cal

-triceps pull down and biceps curl and some squats and lunges

Net intake 256cal. 

fat and wildly confused

"You've got your reputation and your good intent."

I'm halfway through my 2 weeks of WONDERFUL leave. I cannot say how good it is just to not be at the hospital. To be able to sleep late and sleep in. I wish I had some friends on holiday too, but hey, I will take whatever I can get. Been to Melbourne, shopped up a storm. Came back. Went skiing. Fell down lots but the weather was great and I had a lot of fun. 

And at this point I should offer a sincere apology for 1. being so absent of late and 2. being such a good for nothing fatass. And I mean that. F-A-T A-S-S. 

I am too scared to weigh myself because damn, I ate like a pig pig pig pig in Melbourne, and fuck it, my clothes feel fucking tight. I can't believe I'm not willingly starving myself. I must be stress eating. Swear to God this is stress eating. The hot cop is stressing me out.

This whole thing with the cop is fucking with my head so much that I almost want to just chuck in the towel so I don't have to deal with it. The only reason I haven't done that yet is because it is so obviously the coward's way out. Giving up something that could be great just because I'm scared to deal with old demons. 

But they are seriously fucking with my head. Old demons that I never thought I would need to hear again, old demons that I thought I had buried a long, long time ago. 

(I've had this blog going for a while now, and I don't know how many of you have been with me from the very start, so apologies if I am repeating myself here.)

It's no secret that my parents and I have almost never seen eye to eye. But things were a lot worse when I was younger. I started cutting when I was about 13 or 14 years old. That was around the time thing started going wrong with dad. I can't even remember what I did, but he was always mad at me. I was never good enough. No matter how hard I studied, I was always too dumb for him, no matter what I did, I was too fat. 

Every day he would tell me that I had to study more. I needed my brains, I needed to be smart because I needed an asset. He told me that I was so fat and ugly and utterly unattractive that no man could ever want me. He told me that everyday from about the ages of 13 to 18. Wow. Didn't realise until now that it was 5 years! 

At any rate, his point was that because I was so physically repulsive, I had to be smart to get a good job so that I could support myself. Because obviously I would end up alone and hideous. Or, if I became rich enough, some man might eventually want me for my money. On some level, I believe it was a twisted joke and just his unique way of trying to motivate me to study, but it has since become my reality. 

To this day, and probably forever more, I believe that I am so hideously unattractive that no man could ever want me. It is part of me, I have come to accept it, and years ago I made peace with the fact that I will never be in a relationship. That was just a part of life that wasn't meant for me, and that is okay. 

I didn't really think about it again for a long time. But now there is the hot cop. And my brain is hard out short circuiting all of a sudden. He is by no means perfect (but who is), but he is a really, really good guy. Why the fuck does he want to spend time with me? Since we started seeing each other, I have been trying to find the loophole. He wants to be with me because...he has a short, fat, boring Asian girl fetish?...he was desperately in love with his ex and I was an easy rebound?...he is actually evil and will abuse me because I deserve it?...there must be a loophole! 

I can't reconcile that a great guy like him would want me for just me. And so I'm always on guard, and I'm always non-commital because fuck it, even though this is nothing, I will still be upset when it ends. And the more emotionally involved I am, the more unstable I will be afterwards. It's all self preservation. 

Nothing makes sense to me anymore. A fundamental part of my being is being questioned and I'm hating it. 

If no man could ever want me, then what the fuck does he want with me? 

And the answer isn't even sex. If we were having crazy monkey sex every night and he was booty calling me all the time I would be like, okay, I get it. I'm the rebound girl and he just wants sex. And that would be fine. I am absolutely okay with being thought of as nothing but convenience. I would just wait patiently for him to find a girl he likes and then leave me. 

But it isn't that! Why can't it just be that simple! The whole sex thing is making everything worse. I wish he was using me for sex, but he's not. I never tell him when it hurts but I must have the worst poker face in the world because he always seems to know when it does. And he'll stop, cuddle me, tell me that it'll be okay and that with time, it'll get less sore and I'll enjoy it. At this point my terrible poker face will betray the fact that I feel guilty for him stopping. To which his response is always that we'll go slow, he knows I'm not ready to do any more, and that he really doesn't want to hurt me.

After a survey of my girlfriends, I've come to the conclusion that the above reaction, stopping mid-sex to do that is just unheard of. So much so that he's probably an alien. 

He's not even getting sex out of this, so what the hell is he getting out of it! I mean, I don't have the time to properly spend time with him. I live with domineering parents so I can never stay the night at his place, no matter how much he wants me to. I work so much that I'm always tired. I can't even properly fuck him. Why the fuck does he still want to see me? 

getting skinny, getting skinny bitches!

"Take a chance you stupid ho, take a chance coz you might grow."

Well that's certainly what I'm saying to myself. Take a chance. I'm trying to psych myself out for my first circuit training class tomorrow. I can already see the silver platter with my arse on it. And I'm pretty damn sure it'll get handed to me a minute into the class. Why am I going? Because the hot copper will not stop asking. 

I don't get it, I don't understand why he keeps asking me to the gym. And I know it will not stop so I just have to suck it in (literally) and just go. Well fuck. I might look a fool but if I can keep it up, I'll get thin. I'm going to be so hot and sweaty, it'll be gross. Why the hell would he want to see that?

I've lost a good 6lbs since I met him because I have absolutely no appetite at all. Can't bloody eat, can't bloody sleep, can't bloody work. And that's without me trying to lose weight at all. I'm now at 118lbs, the lowest that I can remember being for a very long time. If I add the gym into that mix, well. Who knows what might happen. I want to get to 110lbs soon, and then I'm going to pick up ballet again and make a good go at going en pointe this time round. 

Trying to psych myself out by looking at celeb fitspo and thinspo. They must hard out work out to look that good. And frankly, if I go through any of the above transformations then it will all be worth it, even if he dumps me on the spot at the gym for being such an unfit slob. 

There. I said it. What I'm really afraid of. I've spent my whole life feeling like an ugly, good for nothing piece of crap. Truly believing that no man would ever want me. I spend most days feeling fat and ugly and preoccupied with using all my energy to look presentable. And now somebody has appeared to have picked me up, and not just somebody, a fucking gorgeous cop who seems to have his life sorted. He is very quickly becoming the conduit for all my greatest fears. 

I'm already scared to death that I'm too fat for him. Now I'm fucking scared I'll be too unfit for him. He's not even my boyfriend and I'm already scared that he's going to dump me for not being good enough. 

And I really don't want to lose him just yet. Just last night, when he was on duty and having his dinner break, he came to my house, picked me up, drove me to the beach where we sat in his patrol car, looking out at the city lights. And so we made out again. I'm really starting to like this whole making out thing. 

Right now it's too late to change anything. All I can do is go tomorrow and do my best. And hope that it's enough. I hate feeling so inadequate. 

and an old fear rises

"While Jesus is saving I'm spending all my grace on the rosy red pallor of lights on centre stage." 

So yet again I've let this blog lapse a wee bit. Work gets to me in a weird way now. I miss boys, so, so much. Cam, I miss Cam especially. It breaks my heart to know I won't see him anytime soon. And still, I'm still spending money, the only difference is that I feel more guilty for doing it. 

I feel like I'm on the precipice of getting my life back together though. Some old way of living is creeping up inside me. Op shopping at cheap places and getting that high off a good find, putting together outfits with a lot of thought. Saving money, working out, losing weight, studying and generally progressing. I used to be that person. And there should be no reason why I can't be that person again. 

For the past few days I've been drowning myself in thinspo and fitspo. Mostly I've been feeling increasingly weak. Less fit. Walking up stairs makes me short of breath. I want to be fit again, and skinny, with a wee bit of muscle definition. 

I'm starting to give up fatty hospital lunches for a bottle of water and a piece of fruit. I'm buying fruit to have for dinner, to eat before dinner so I eat less normal food. I'm hoping, praying, please, this time, let me get this together. I need to get my life together. 

I'm going to start working out after work. Every hour counts doesn't it. It must count for something. I'm going to travel to Melbourne in a month and a half, and by that time, I want to be visibly thinner. 

I read somewhere that it takes 4 weeks for you to notice a change yourself, 8 weeks for friends and family to notice, and 12 weeks for the world to notice. I'm hoping that with some wild restricting and bumping up exercise, in 6 weeks friends and family will notice. It's been a long time since anybody noticed me. I'd love to just be noticed. 

This all must sound so very desperate, but I really miss those comments, I miss people telling me that I look thin. Of late, I've had far too many people call me fat and ugly. 

running away in a fabulous outfit

"The best things in life are free. The second best are very expensive." - Amen to that. 

Recently I've been swapping shifts like mad. Swapping all my shifts so that I'm at clinic, and not at the hospital. My registrar Cam, is on nights, and that means Joe is my registrar for the week. Well fuck that. I've somehow managed to spend the last two days in clinic, and somehow I will manage to avoid him. I feel like whenever I see him, I am overcome with a desire to spit poison at him. And I can be hideously bitter when I want to. 

I've been bitter since coming off night shifts. When I was on nights, the night registrar called me fat. We were talking about junk food and he said to me "yeah, you are a bit fat aren't you". Well. Some part of me knows he was joking and that he was just trying to push my buttons, but those words have reverberated in my head ever since. 

I’ve got a growing fascination with Alannah Hill and Temperley London. To be frank I can’t really afford either of those brands, and as of yet I have not bought anything Temperley (except my qualification gown) but I do have half a wardrobe of Alannah Hill. It’s something that I crave more and more. Styles and ways of dressing that has never really appealed to me before. More and more I am leaving the corporate, powerful, structured styles of Cue. More and more I am leaning towards the super feminine, flowing, soft and expensive. 

I think I am doing what I have always wanted to do. Mold myself into something that all men want, but none can have. With my clothes, and my conversation I am clearly pricing myself out of their league. With the way that I act, I make it clear that I do not think they are good enough for me. I’m not sure if that’s the end result I want, or if I am waiting for one guy to step up and prove that he likes me enough to push past all that. Not that I know any of them well enough to make them like me. 

In a weird way I am cutting off my nose to spite my face. I am pushing away what I want to get what I want. It is incredibly counter intuitive to say the least. And I don’t think it’s working at all. 

Now I’m going to be perfectly honest, since this is the only place where I can be that honest. Part of me doesn’t believe Joe is engaged. I know for certain he is, but since I have not heard him directly talk about Stephanie, or their wedding, or any of that, I am somehow holding out hope. I hope that he leaves her for me. Which would be a horrible mistake for him to make since I will not marry him. 

I wish I knew what it is about Joe that I like so much. I don’t get it. I wish I could just forget about him. God, I hope that I can just forget him and just behave normally around him. 

I just. I don’t know what I want anymore. I want a break. I want a rest. I want to get away from the hospital. And go somewhere by myself and think. 

This not having a boyfriend thing, it’s really getting to my head. People are starting to honestly think that I am a lesbian, which really won’t be helping my boyfriend bid. If nobody mentioned my singledom, I may not be so bothered by it. But as person after person after person expresses surprise at me being single...I always feel compelled to tell them that I have never had a boyfriend...it gets inside my head.  I start to ask the same questions. Why am I still single. Why don’t I have a boyfriend. Why. 

I got my lashes put on. And I am still fucking ugly. Only surgery will fix me now. Only facial reconstruction will make me pretty. And I’m seriously considering it. 

snug in size 0

"Let me be empty, oh and weightless and maybe I'll find some peace tonight."

I'm losing my head. Losing it completely. I can't possibly be on my game. It's Joe. Stupid fucking Joe. No, that's not true. Joe has nothing to do with it. Stupid fucking me. Stupid, stupid fucking me. At any rate, I sought help over this matter, and my friend, who I was hoping would talk me through it and help me just get over him instead text him on my behalf and asked him to coffee. 

Fuck. Okay, so coffee isn't a big deal. It really isn't. And in the hospital, it is a total necessity. So it isn't as big a deal as it is in my head. In my head I'm making a mountain out of a mole hole. 

At any rate, me and Joe are trying to find a time to have coffee next week. I don't really believe it will really happen, but we'll see. 

Nothing about it makes sense at all. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. By all accounts, I should hate Joe. But I don't. Gah!!!! Nothing makes sense, and I absolutely hate this sense of losing control, I hate this feeling of everything spiraling out of my control, I hate that I can't even control my feelings. 

I feel so insecure that I am doing something that feels so fundamentally wrong for me. There is a reason I am 23 years old and have never had a relationship, never had a fling, never been kissed. And to step outside this comfortable little box of mine...it feels like shit. 

Can't eat, can't sleep, can't think of anything except Joe. What sucks is, even though I know I am suffering this much, I'm sure that Joe is completely unaffected. 

Ah well, every cloud and all. 

I felt thin for the first time today. It took me completely by surprise because at 119lbs, I still think I'm fat as fat as fat. Even though I've lost enough weight for me to be pulled aside at the airport and have 3 different people stare at my passport to see if it really is me. So I must look sort of different. 

When I look in the mirror, all I can do is pinch and pinch at all my fat and I feel like shit. But today, when I was at the bank, and feeling miserable for being at a bank...I was sitting, sort of hunched over, legs crossed with my arms over my legs and I suddenly felt a hollow. I felt like there were gaps between my limbs and a hollowed out stomach and I felt thin. 

I have NEVER felt thin before. I was shocked and stunned and absolutely delighted. So today, I have only had one chicken kebab and a bowl of cabbage soup with a few pieces of squid. I don't know how many calories that is...but certainly no more than 700-800cal. Not as good as I'd like. 

I think this Joe thing...all food seems so unappetizing. I want to eat, because I'm used to eating and binging. I haven't done this in a long time and so somewhere inside me, I feel like I should be due for a binge right about now. But faced with food, I just want to vomit. 

Do you know what the problem is? Joe is tiny. He's so small. He's a wee bit taller than me (and I'm 1.6m) and he is fucking skinny. I am so tempted to ask him he weighs just to get a rough idea of how much fatter I am because I am SURE that I weigh more. I've always wanted to date a much bigger, muscular guy, one who I would trust to catch me and pick me up than one who is smaller than me. 

Dammit, I need to be smaller than him. This is just insane. How can he be so fucking small! Why can't I be that fucking small! FUUUUUUCK. And at the root of it all, why do I have to fucking fancy him???? 

But to the title of this blog...since I have lost enough weight for me to notice, I decided to try on some of my "trial" clothes. I have quite a few size zero items tucked away in drawers and closets. I squashed into quite a few of them today. All those skirts that i never used to be able to fit are now quite snug. SNUG. So maybe another 6lbs later, they might actually be comfortable. 

It's so nice to be able to fit into some size zero clothes, so nice. So good to have some confirmation that I am going in the right direction. Come on 100lbs, come on double digits. Maybe when I'm thin, I'll feel better about Joe. 

But for now, if I can't control what is going on with Joe, then I need something to hold onto. I need the certainty of starvation and weight loss. I need some constant in my life. 

sliding downwards in more ways than one.

"Not enough. I need more. Nothing seems to satisfy. I said, I don't want it, I just need it to breathe, to feel, to know I'm alive."

Thanks for all the comments you've all been leaving me lately. I'm struggling at work but it will get better and things are already starting to settle down. Just a bit. And well, Mark, Mark isn't a bad guy. He really isn't. And I do need him, every doctor in this hospital needs him because we can't access certain medications without his permission. The ID registrar literally holds the key to the door of some antibiotics. I try to give him credit, it's not an easy job. Maybe he was having a bad day. Maybe his phone had been ringing off the hook. I don't know. I haven't seen him since that day, and that seems fine to me. 

Something has flipped inside me, flipped out completely. I haven't felt this level of anxiety for a very long time. I'm so anxious, I can't sleep, and I can't focus at work. A lot of it is because of the stress at work, and another portion of it is the weight. Today I had the biggest freak about about eating. I had a completely normal meal. It was a slightly big one, but one that was completely normal for me to eat a few times a week. 

And I felt so ill afterwards. I wanted to throw it up, I have been absolutely riddled with anxiety for several hours now. I'm so tired, I feel like my head is falling asleep but my body wants to run around widely to burn it all off. 

I'm currently caving to cravings. I've got one of my knives out and I'm just running it back and forth across my skin. I'm not cutting but just the feel of the blade against my skin is so good. Just the feel of it is relaxing me...relaxing me. GOD, I WANT TO CUT SO BADLY. But no, for now, it's enough. 

I'm so scared of meal times now. It's really odd, how fast the fear and anxiety sets in. I've started my old habits again...not sleeping at night, trying on outfit after outfit and squinting at myself in the mirror. I'm loving skipping all the meals, and I've ever had days of nothing when I've gone home after having nothing to eat and just going straight to bed. 

This week I've lost 4lbs. Not as much as I'd like. I've gone from 127lbs to 123lbs. I know that the majority of this is food that I've just pooed out. In terms of actual weight loss, it probably is only a pound, two at most. But it's a loss, and I'll take any loss. 

I look in the mirror and I see lots and lots bumps and lumps that I want to get rid of. When I look at myself I think I look fucking pregnant. And to me (and I know just about all of you will disagree) there is nothing more ugly than a pregnant woman. There is something so absolutely grotesque about a huge belly sticking out. Do when I say I look pregnant, what I am saying is that I look disgusting and repugnant. 

I look in the mirror and I can't believe how ugly I am. Fat and ugly and fat and ugly and fat and ugly. Why can't I just be ugly. 

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. 

Day 9: another brick in the wall

"Threw you the obvious and you flew with it on your back."

To be honest, I had suspected her all along. I can smell Ana's stench from a mile away. I know just what she's like. I wanted to do nothing more than to leap out from behind the curtains around the bed, point my finger at her and shout "I know all of this is Ana, don't you keep telling me it's something else!" 

Nobody else knew what was going on, not until the episodes started to coincide with meals and with certain foods. But I knew. I knew all along. I knew exactly what I wanted to say to her. 

You may think she's gone but she's always with you. You may have gone to an inpatient unit, you may not have restricted for years, you may think you've left that side of you in the distant past but you have not. I know her tricks, I know where she hides, I know when she likes to come out and play. You may be able to fool your mother, you may be able to fool all the other doctors but you cannot fool me. I may be fat, I may be binge eating, but she's in my head every second of every day and I see her in you too. 

So I talked and talked and talked. I talked to her every day, I talked to her in lots of different ways. And she fought me and fought me until one day she just got it. She got it. She saw what Ana was doing, the weird ways that she was coming out, and now she's all better again. But that made me think. Do we ever shake her off? 

Sorry for being so fatalistic/nihilistic today. Sometimes I feel like we are all the same, all just another brick in the wall, the big, big wall that is ED and that is all we will ever be. 

Sometimes I think all my patients that are annoying and demanding and frustrating are just bricks in a wall that I keep running into. That's how I feel about my job sometimes. I have to get up in the morning, every morning and keep running into the same wall. 

Run, hit, bleed and binge. That's the cycle I'm in. I don't know what to do anymore. I'm so stuck. I'm stuck professionally, I'm stuck personally and I'm so stuck with my ever increasing weight. 

I want to die every time I see Mark because he's just so perfect. And now, to add insult to injury, there is a surgeon who makes me all hot and bothered as well. I don't even know what his name is. But I want to just jump on him. Dammit. I need a break from life. A permanent break from life. 

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. 

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.