Keep Your Shit Together

All right, let's make this brief, shall we? There's really no need to ramble on and on in a recap of my ED related foolishness...

I had a pretty decent day. Was exhausted yesterday after continuing my 2 lb a day weight loss...of course I'm doing it the unhealthy way. Rapidly, foolishly, slightly obsessively. Meh. The calendar keeps telling me that time is shifting from being on my side to moving on, so I don't have the 'luxury' of being Team Fit Fam (hah) and doing it "the right way" through normal - whatever that is - exercise and a well-balanced diet.

Not like I fucking care. I could die tomorrow from some freak accident and I'd still be skinny-ish, whether it was from barfing or bike riding so whatever, la! Let me do what I have to do for the time being so I can make sure my fat ass gets thin by the time I have to board that plane! Hmph.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So I'd been tired from my stupid gym obsession and I think I'm becoming dependent on coffee (gross) despite my effort to just limit my intake and only use when extremely necessary. So today/yesterday I decided to take it easy! Don't worry about work or doing a bunch of errands or being *terribly* productive! Just stay happy(ish) and make sure not to tip the scale *no pun intended* towards my freak-out state of mind where I rage and eat everything in sight. No more of that shit, right!

Right. For about 18 hours of the day. Then I met up with a friend and it went downhill from there. Despite me making it clear and she already knowing I don't eat, or at least didn't want to this time, I still managed to kind of get coerced into having just a bit of an appetizer and I *know* in hindsight, and in the rational part of my brain, that it wasn't even anything but it made me uncomfortable.

Ok, no worries. Still had an awesome time, just go home and go to the gym, right? Wrong! She immediately lost her wallet after we left the restaurant, somehow, and my stupid, over-sensitive ass felt bad and bought her a new one. Why? I don't know. I have this awful nagging feeling I'm just bad luck. Seriously. I think that I make everyone's life worse that I know. Whether this is actually true or not, who knows? But I overcompensate.

And then I felt ridiculous for being supersitioius/unfounded in my feelings (because I'm usually pragmatic) and it made me feel bad. I didn't have a meltdown or a complete hissy fit, but I did attempt to binge/purge and, like the forever failure that I am, I fell asleep after just a bowl of ramen. Score! My body went into auto-shutdown mode to prevent serious damage.

So, that's basically it. Oh yeah, I'd been giving my husband a hard time/not playing nice/not intentionally ignoring him the last few days, and then yesterday while I was out, my phone wasn't updating his emails (remember, I cut him off so he can only email me so he can't trigger me or get under my skin). I missed a few of his messages and when I finally did see them, I was in the throes of my eating mania and blurted out that I felt bad for throwing away money like that again, and surprisingly, he just said: you did a nice thing. Treat yourself to something good too and don't worry.

Hold up, who are you? And what did you do with my dense slug of a husband? *pause* I guess everyone has their moments, huh? :-| Whatever, he's leaving for China next week and just told me he'll in fact have to go to Shanghai after all, so who knows what he's up to or what's going on with that. Dunno, don't particularly care. Just come back and keep your job, dude.

Well, that wasn't a particularly short summary of my day's foolishness, but it was thorough!

Now, I can go ceremoniously and symbolically purge and finally get some sleep within the next hour. Which is stupid, cos the gym opens in 90 mins...sigh...

Snap Out of It & Get Back on Track!

Totally slipped into some depressed funk towards the end of last week - what a blur. I got a gig doing beauty promo work and just fumbled my way through the weekend. It was a welcome distraction to the the pathetic excuse of a "relationship" that I'm suffering through, but I had to have a bottle of crappy Coke during the second day, just so I wouldn't fall over. Of course, I had my nightly meal that I purged right after, but at least my nose didn't bleed.

Only problem was, the shitty gym I was going to has shortened hours over the weekend, so I couldn't work out before/after the gig for 3 whole days. Of course, the Almighty Scale was being a cunty dick, and throwing up random numbers just to kill my spirit. Somehow, I'm still 132 despite no extra physical activity since Thursday. I really really wanted to get down to 130 by the end of the month, and I still have 3 days, technically. This morning, I was 132.4, and normally after a work out, I go down at least a pound.

Yesterday during a little basketball 1 on 1 with The Cheater, I was so dizzy I had to sit down. I had jumped rope and done 5 min of the stairmaster like it was going out of style, and then the added stress of trying to defend this 200 lb trainwreck was a little too much, I guess. At least I stepped foot inside that shithole. I'm waiting for my car to finish being worked on while it rains, and then I'm going to spend at least 2 hours today sweating my sorrow and fat out. Have another gig for tomorrow and Thursday and I really need to go all out.

If only I could lose 5 pounds from each thigh and another 5 from my fat ass, I would be so much happier. That's the only place that I really have any fat to spare. Maybe 2.5 from my stomach...anyway, June was purge month, July will be liquid cleanse month. I'm tired of wasting money on food.

Just Going through the Motions

Another day, another heartache, another meal, another purge.

I haven't lost anything in 2 days, but I haven't dragged myself to the gym either.

The only way I've maintained my weight is by crying and going to this beauty gig. Isn't that funny? I'm hired to look pretty and speak about the benefits of some shallack that doesn't do shit for your skin - if your skin is sagging, spolotchy, oily, nasty, and gross, no, spending $$$ on this shit will not make you look any better. There, I said it. - and I'm so ugly and pathetic on the inside. Not much on the outside either.

Let me please just get down to 130 by the end of the month. That will be pounds down and let's just say half way. I was going to be happy with 120 but it's not enough. I want to keep going until I can't anymore. Go big or go home, right? Or should I say small or go cry? Hah.

Feel Like I Still Look the Same

I know I'm down to 136.6 since the beginning of the month, but I feel like you really can't tell. Actually, I *know* you really can't tell. I'm still as wide as I was before, still have a pooch at my lower abdomen, still don't feel like my shirts fit any looser or that my pants look any different. Where is this supposed weight coming from/going? How much do I need to lose until I finally feel like I'm really...feminine? Like, I could actually be swept off my feet and not how I am now? Too large and heavy and ungainly for anyone but the World's Strongest Man to attempt to pick up?

While digging through my computer, I happened upon some pictures of myself in a bikini from last year was it? I was so disgusting. I barely recognize myself - my face just looked like a puffed up mess. And the thighs! Oh those goddamm thighs from hell. They seriously look like hamhocks. How the fuck did I stand myself? I feel embarrassed even seeing these pictures months later, say nothing of when they were current and I was that much heavier. Looking at my fat little self and remembering how much bigger I've always felt throughout life is totally motivation to not slip up, to not miss a moment to purge or to walk just a little bit more and try a little bit harder to shed these pounds.

I can't ever let myself get fat again and go back to how I was. I must must must not let myself down and keep this up. It's getting easier as time goes by. I binge less often and can only eat so much until I seriously feel full enough to vomit without any help. I mean, of course I have to wiggle my finger a little bit but it comes out so easily and forcefully I can't help but feel relieved and, well *good* that I got that shit out. Best of all, my stomach is still expanded and feels full, even though there's nothing really in there.

Anyway, last night, I went out to two clubs in an attempt to finally dance off some more calories and keep myself on track. The first one was jam-packed full of short, obese women. It was weird. I stood out because I am tall and obviously under 200 pounds (no exaggeration) but I felt weird. None of them were dancing anyway, so I went to another club. I fucking hate that other one - better music, but *full* of tiny, little, Asian-looking women. Wearing tube tops for dresses and heels to make their legs look longer and leaner, and they still don't even come up to my shoulders. Flipping their fucking hair and shaking their no asses and lapping up all the attention. Loud and boisterous and falling all over the place, bursting with the knowledge that they are envied and desired and loving every minute.

Meanwhile, I'm as tall as all the other midget men in this town, ignored and feeling out of place. Approached only by the crazy, cock-eyed bathroom attendant who would probably have tried to dance with the potted plant if it was on wheels. Of course I wanted to binge when I got back to the room (bought some funky, flat "cracker" things that are really just over-priced pressed styrofoam for the weight-conscious. 19 equal 1 serving for only 130 calories - how is that possible? What the heck?) but wouldn't you know it? The Laughing Cow cheese wedge I bought had something stuck in it. If that wasn't a sign from the universe telling me to roll my fat ass over and go to sleep, I don't know what would be. So that's exactly what I did - empty stomach, empty heart, full of self-loathing.

At least I woke up early enough to drag myself to walk and appease the Almighty Scale. I just have to stay strong!

The Road to Where I Am Now

 I remember when I first purged consistently because of severe depression - about 5 years ago when I was alone in China and literally had no one around me who could understand what I was going through. I had always had weird eating habit and was generally unhappy but that winter was beyond control - and that's exactly how I got some by restricting and purging. I didn't even know about eating disorders beyond that sad white girls had them and I was obviously too fat and too brown to even have that cross my mind. I was just disgusted with food and tired of being so obviously bigger than everyone else.

I also hated the stares I would get on the street and the comments about my hair and skin. It was like all the behind-closed-doors judging - even racism to an extent - that I had been struggling with in America (subtle things like "I don't like black girls" to "You're OK for a black girl" to "Why's your hair like that?" to "You're not small but it's ok because you're tall") all that shit was just dumped on me out in the open. Shouted across the street on wide-grinning smiles and gap-toothed faces, with nudges and whispers, pointing and stares, crying children and parents that didn't even describe me as a person, just telling the children to look away. I was never warned or even mentally prepared for the excruciating zoo effect in that country and it triggered a downward spiral and self-realization that has changed my outlook on life and the way I see the world forever.

Yes, this was when I started to eat only plain egg-fried rice (really, the Chinese kind that is nothing but day-old white rice, egg, scallions, and a little oil) and drink strawberry milk. I left my apartment once a day, if even, would bring the food back to my room, eat alone and then violently vomit back out alone as well. If I lost weight, I don't know. I didn't have a scale and had limited contact with anyone. This was between semesters and I saw one old classmate several weeks after the 1st semester had ended in passing in the lobby of our hotel. I remember her saying "you lost so much weight!" but I don't remember ever looking or feeling noticeably thinner. I smiled a tight-lipped smile, hugged her petite self and returned  to my room to cry or sleep. Probably both.

But that was a brief period of purging in my life. I came back to the States and started binge eating and felt serious guilt. Always under the recommended caloric amount but damn, I was such a fat pig anyway, did I need that much? I wasn't running marathons or on a sports team, I should be able to eat so much less, right? Why was I even eating at all? I could have a bowl of cereal all day and be good. Why eat any more? I had unknowingly been restricting all my life and now that I wasn't, I was out of whack. With my depression getting worse and being forced to take pills with a list of side-effects longer than the Illiyad, my weight went up. I was still "healthy" but was so disappointed that I was no longer comfortably underweight. Meanwhile, my depression had come to define me and I was losing control of my life...

Now I'm pretty much at rock bottom, I guess. My lifetime nemesis - the Thunder-Thigh Twins - have become unbearable. I can't wear anything without seeing them taunting me and ruining an outfit and protruding everywhere. They've cost me so many jobs that I wanted and ruin my chances at ever being small or light or slender. Each one alone has 5 pounds of fat and that seriously disgusts me. So, I began to purge again. This last week has been exhausting, a cycle of fasting, minimal eating, repetitive purging, and the weakness that follows. I've moved the scale enough to where I wanted to be, but of course it's not enough. I need to keep going because I'm too close to the edge - it can always creep back up and my hard work will be gone in an instant.

But really, the number doesn't matter. My thighs might never even shrink. I can only eat so little and purge so much and neither will undo the hurt and erase the pain. I can try an avoid triggering images and ignorant people and become asexual so the pain of rejection over things I can't control doesn't hurt as much but that leaves me very alone. These feelings are bound to me forever. Try as hard as I can I can't expel them from my mind and I know they've tainted my soul .

Will Anyone Ever Care About Me?

I have been failing so long at everything that I've really wanted to achieve, I expect it now. Like, I would be genuinely shocked if the scale did move, if my hair didn't fall out, if I received genuine affection instead of gimme, gimme, gimme (your help, your sex, your energy). I am just a walking zombie. Smiling when it's called for, nodding and responding when necessary, willing myself to get through whatever small task as normally as possible. Still the same sweet, young lady with the melodic voice as ever, I guess.

How can nobody see the sadness in my eyes and the hurting that's in my heart? It's because no one cares, or not enough to notice or say anything at least. Human beings are twisted and warped, nasty little animals. Some delight in other's misfortune and suffering...wishing negativity and bad things to happen so they can feel a little better about themselves. Others simply can't be bothered to think of anyone but themselves and the object(s) of their attention.

When have I ever been on someone's mind, other than as a place to stick a throbbing organ or as a means to an end through my connections or help or what have you? I have no real friends who miss me if they haven't heard from me in days, weeks, months...years. No one to make sure I'm not crying at all hours of the day and night, lonely and hating who I am, the way I look, or what I've become. No one to call and say they miss me and really mean it. No guy who wants to know me and enjoys being with me because I'm interesting, and not because he's just trying to sleep with me and move on to the next one.

If these are supposed to be the best years of my life, why do they feel like the worst? If I was at least slender and willowy and was able to slide in and out of pants with ease, I could feel better. Like there was something about me that was undeniably lovely. I know I'm a big, jiggly mess of a thing. Fat thighs, fat butt. They attract the kind of lewd dogs that just want to hump you like an animal. If I were more "delicate" then I'd at least feel like I could be considered by guys who want to shower me with love and make me happy. Protect me and cherish me and treat me with warmth.

Will that ever happen? Can it ever happen? I'm afraid I know the truth: even if I get down to just a whisper of my current monstrous size, I still have my hair going against me and the fact that I'm the color that I am. There's never been anything wrong with me all along. Most of the girls I went to school with were nothing special, they were just not my shade. I should just join the bandwagon: bleach my skin, wear a wig, get breast implants, and watch my life change for the better. Why keep fighting it? This is what the world has confirmed that people like to see. Being thin is just part of the equation.