Day 1: Easier start than I figured.
However, I did walk into class late. Made a disturbance, tripped. Dropped everything. Sat down. Was not even my class. =| That's pretty much the concept of my whole day.
I told Eli last night, that I thought he should stop reading. He just rolled over and didn't say anything.
"Please don't be mad at me."
"Could have fooled me..."
I told you he was going to be angry... Your fault for letting him find out in the first place...
Then there was silence.... Complete silence. Until I fell asleep and then I dreamt about crazy things. So much turmoil in my head. I really need to talk to Eli but I'm afraid to push it. I'm going to try to talk to him tonight. Hopefully that will be successful. I won't have time or energy after today, I've got studying to do, and lots of homework. Plus I'm going to be working like crazy, this is my last day off, for quite a while.
I really need his support... If he's going to know. I just wish he'd talk to me. Tell me what he's thinking, even if it hurts. I can't handle the silence. That's so much worse for me than anything else. He could yell, scream, or cuss. I wouldn't care. I just need him to understand that numbers rule my life...
I just need to try and spend some time taking care of myself. I have to start thinking about my needs, I need to focus on the fact that I can achieve everything that I want. And I can eat anything I want, but in moderation... Lots of moderation.... Ballet is going to be good for me. The skinny bodies everywhere... I feel depressed and out of control when I'm not hungry. I hate feeling full. I really do hate it with a passion though. My stomach gets huge, my cheeks get puffy. The fat just engulfs me.
It just pulls at me, and my stomach growls like crazy... I mean if my stomach is going to growl no matter what, why eat? Especially if I just feel sick. My doctor understands... Everything has to be perfect. I don't have the time or energy to fight a losing battle.
I hurt. It hurts. I keep thinking about dying. Not that I want to die, or anything. I just keep wondering what will be the thing that kills me? Will it be fear of food? I can picture the headlines now...
I've been thinking about my ex a lot... Yesterday was the three year mark of when I started dating him, it would have been three years of hell, except for the fact that he cheated on me at church camp because I was too fat. I think about the cutting, it's becoming, less scary... That fact, right there is what actually scares me. Things in me, in my head. Are changing, I'm actually starting to feel disordered. I'm feeling less and less present. And it's getting harder to cope as soon as I eat. I've been getting lost in my own mind. And I'm scared.
But I'm also determined, which is probably worse. I've learned so much. There is no such thing as choosing the 'Ana' lifestyle. If you 'choose' it, you're just a bullshitter. It doesn't work like that. You find something that works, and it consumes you. Ana gets in your mind, to the point where we've actually personified this disease. This disease, it fucks with you. It throws you off balance... She gets under your skin and pinches at your fat, at your muscle even, telling you that muscle weighs more than fat... And all that matters is the number on the scale, so you better get rid of it.
It becomes a part of you. The voice in your head doing the endless crunches, with the never-ending repetitive chant of fat, fat, fat, thinner, thinner. People talk about the 'voice of Ana' like it actually exists. It doesn't exist! Your own mind plays tricks on you... Its a belief that you will never be thin enough. or good enough. When you reach 90 you'll only want 85... And you'll hate yourself until you reach absolute zero.... The unattainable. The perfection. The goal you can only reach in death. And once you're there... It doesn't matter anyway.
I don't want to die. But my doctor thinks I will if I keep this up.
Why are we striving for perfection? We'll NEVER reach it. Why must we torture ourselves? When at the end of our shortened lives, what we'll have accomplished will have had nothing to do with our jean size. Or the number on the fucking scale.
We'll be dead and gone and all anyone will be able to say is
"It's so sad... She was just too thin..."
THERE IS SUCH A THING.
Why do we all strive to be too thin?
Striving for perfection?!
We. Are all. Striving. For Death.
Why do people expect us to be models? Why do we expect it from ourselves. I bet most of us will never be models. I bet none of us will make money for how we look in Chanel. We're not making a career out of our looks. We're spending all of our time playing a game that WE LOSE.
If we attain our goals. We're dead. We die. That's not winning. We haven't even lived yet.
If we don't, that voice in our head tells us we're failures.
Either way, eventually WE lose.