It's odd what people can get used to.  I do the most disgusting things for my ED and I'm so detached from everything I do.  I purge everything I eat and now I only need to be standing up to be able to puke.  No fingers, no toothbrush, nothing.  Often I can't actually control my stomach and I projectile vomit even though I'm trying not to.  It's not normal but I don't care because it gets the food out.

Maybe it's not so strange that people can get used to the weirdest things.  Maybe it's the people who don't have EDs that are strange; maybe their actions are the weird ones.  Human beings are animals and animals always do what they need to ensure survival.  I cannot survive with all this flesh hanging and oozing from my bones and so I react in a way that's intended to minimise the poison coating me.

It makes sense, in a twisted way.  It's actually very logical.  I want to be thin.  To be thin, I need to consume no calories.  I am weak and disgusting and so I binge on calories, which lead to weight gain.  To avoid weight gain, I need to remove the calories from my stomach.  Short of buying a scalpel, the only way I can do that is to vomit.  As I can't puke into a toilet, I need to do it somewhere else.  I am in my bedroom and so are a few glasses, so I need to purge into those glasses. 

It's sort of disgusting, but the glasses of puke on my desk don't actually bother me.  I'm... indifferent to them, I think.  I don't like having them there - they're not advisable accessories to anyone's interior design plan.  But I need to purge and I want to use the computer and why, when I can do both at once, should I have to do one or the other?  It just makes sense.  I suppose that's what you call twisted logic.
 

I hate this.  I hate not being able to tell anybody about this hell I go through every day.  The only thing worse than keeping this secret would be telling.  I'll never tell.  Ana is my secret.  She's all mine.  I won't give her up.  It doesn't matter that it hurts, it doesn't matter that I'm dying inside.  All that matters is that I hold on to the darkness and never let go.  I don't want to give up.  I won't give up.  I'll stay strong. 

I hate this so much.

Sometimes it wonders what it must be like to have an identity. It wonders how it must feel to be an individual. It tries to remember the old world, where it was a real, living person – but the new world colours its view of the past and it cannot recall a time where it was free.

Sometimes it craves freedom. It considers the endless possibilities: the myriad of colours, textures and shapes. It dreams of combining red with green with brown and it even fantasises about a single concept to be savoured alone. It calculates and cross-references and even plagiarises common tables of value, thinking itself free, but then it realises that the very action of adding and subtracting and comparing to the ideal renders it enslaved. It cannot imagine true freedom.

 Through all the thoughts of reality and dreams, enslavement and freedom, one concept stays with it. It returns again and again to contemplate this lone idea, and is frustrated by equal feelings of revulsion and delight every time. It sold its soul long ago and now cannot tell where it ends and she begins, for she encompasses its entire being and taints all its thoughts. Yet this greater force, she, cannot completely erase its fascination with a single concept. She cannot stop it imagining what it must be like to have a self.

1. how many meals did you eat today? two
2. what are you doing right now, other than this? nothing
3. what are you wearing? stripy shorts, black tshirt, big grey hoodie
4. are you're nails painted? if so, what colour? nope

5. have you showered today? no, theres no hot water
6. do you think smoking is disgusting? yes
7. virgin until marriage? yes
8. what are you going to dress up as next halloween? doubt i'll be dressing up 
9. what religion are you? christian
10. do you use your mobile often? no
11. how much money do you spend on average, per day? one or two pounds
12. do you have any trophies/medals? i have a whole shelf of trampolining trophies
13. do you wear shoes indoors? only if i'm on my treadmill
14. what colour are your bedsheets? i sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag.

15. if you live in a house, does it have a pool? no
16. whats you're favorite perfume (female)? very irresistable (givenchy)
17. whats you're favorite cologne (male)? er... i dunno...

18. what time is it right now? 19.02
19. whats the weather like now? cold.
20. favorite vegetable? broccoli
21. favorite colour? cream
22. favorite fruit? apple
23. what make up is a must for you? mascara
24. would you get plastic surgery? yes if I could afford it.
25. do you use fake tan? no

Fat. Fat. Fat.

How can I be so heavy?  I'm ten pounds heavier than I was when my anorexia started.  I know I'm an inch or two taller, but I know I'm a lot thinner.  My hip bones stick out, the bottom of my ribs show even when I don't stretch, and my size 8 jeans are very baggy.

I'd hoped I was about fifteen pounds lighter than I actually am.  I've never been so ashamed in my life.  I'm 140lbs.

I know I'm still retaining a lot of water.  But I took six aqua ban tablets last night and they didn't do anything at all.  I've peed once since yesterday evening and it wasn't even a lot.  TMI, sorry.  My mum called me and said she bought me some HRI tablets and I know they work.  Best way to lose 5lbs in a day :)

Packed all my stuff in a rucksack and got my bike out of the garage.  The front tyre was incredibly flat (unsurprising as I've only used it twice since I fell off in June last year) and I couldn't find the pump.  Called my dad up and he told me it had fallen to bits a while ago.  Poor foot pump.  I remember that from when I was a toddler helping my dad wash the car.  As it was bought in about 1970, it deserved to go to the great tyre in the sky.  RIP foot pump.  My dad told me there was a hand pump in the fridge (lol.  It's a spare one we were given and it isn't plugged in) but I couldn't find it.  What a waste of a morning.

I'm so huge.  I am so disgusting.  I want to rip the flesh off in handfulls and feed it to a lion.  It could feed a whole safari park for a few years.  And I'm freezing.

 

Bought scale and some weights (tins of tomatoes get boring lol).  Bought milk of magnesia and diuretics.  Paid library fine.  Borrowed some books.  Made Christmas cake for Dad.  Binged on glace cherries and that sugary peel stuff.  Hadn't been doing too badly until then.

So fat.  Hate myself.  Haven't studied at all this week.  Lazy cow.

Huge binge today.  Ate a baked potato and a whole jar of jam, then I went and baked a mini loaf of bread.  So I spent three hours on my exercise bike and half an hour doing pilates and I tried to run on my treadmill but I have a spider bite on my foot and couldn't get my shoe on.

I hate myself.  I am ugly and disgusting and foul.  The thought of me gives me a horrible taste in my mouth.

My cheque finally should have cleared so I'm going shopping tomorrow.  Scales, diuretics and maybe some weights.  Argos has a scale that measures body fat, water, muscle mass and bone mass as well as weight for £19.99 so I'll get that.  I'm debating whether or not to get those weights that you strap onto your wrists and ankles.  If I do that it might burn more calories because of the extra weight, but they aren't muscles so they might not burn extra calories.  I might wait and think about those a bit more.

I just remembered what I need to spend money on.  Library fines.  What joy.  I'll just pay one of them, then at least I'll have one library to go to.  The other one can wait.

I hate myself.  That's probably getting a bit repetitive.

I've stopped caring about being lonely, really.  I know no one likes me and I don't care.  I don't like them either.  I just love God and my family.

I don't mean to get so irritable.  It makes me feel so bad and I don't want to drive them away from me, but I can't seem to figure out how to stop.  I hate myself.  I wish I could hug my mum and say sorry but I can't because I have to keep walking otherwise I'll put on even more weight and I don't want her to feel how fat I am.  I know if all she could feel were bones I'd feel bad about that too but I can't stand her knowing how much fat covers them.  I just want to be thin, then everything will be alright?

I know it won't be.  But I have to keep telling myself that it's true.  God won't give me anything I can't handle.  I just have to keep going and not become weak.

Going to cook pizza for my parents tonight.  I can't understand how they can eat it because it's a bread and water dough fried on both sides, then lots of thick tomato sauce goes on with lots of cheese and it gets grilled for a minute or two.  It's disgusting but they love it to bits.

Finished reading Knife of Dreams by Robert Jordan.  I want to read book 12, but A Memory of Light isn't even out until next autumn.  I don't know if it will be as good as the other books because RJ died and it's being finished by Brandon Sanderson (I think) so the characterisation might be a little different.  Hopefully it'll still be a good book.  I don't even know if I'll be alive when it comes out.  But then, who does?

So hungry.

Watched a kid eat a chocolate cookie on the tram today.  How do people eat so slowly?  I can't stand junk food, but if that had been a slice of bread I'd cram it into my mouth faster than you can say 'hungry'.  Ate a jar of low-calorie pasta sauce when I got home.  112 calories.  Tried to make it last.  Didn't work.  Scoffed it.

I don't wish I were different.  I want to stay this way and not get fat or be disgusting.  I just feel like I'm dying inside, only there's nothing inside to die.

That doesn't make sense.  I guess I just wish I were dead.  I honestly thought about jumping in front of a tram today.  The sad thing is, there wasn't any particular reason for it.  Maybe God is telling me it's almost my time to go.  I hope it is.

I was googling trichotillomania, because at the moment it's a bit out of control, and I found a blog where people were discussing how they bite the follicle of the hair off.

I don't bite it off, just pull it off with my nails.  I am so glad I'm not the only person in the world with a crazed fascination for hair follicles.  If the hair I pull doesn't have a big follicle, I have to pull more to find a 'good' one.  I've never told anyone that.
 

I don't usually think about it, because it's normal to me.  But I think it's probably quite weird that I've deliberately hurt myself for as long as I can remember.

When I was really little - two or three years old - I deliberately fell and hit my head on a chair leg really hard, because my mum has a scar on her forehead from where she tripped and cut her head open on a chair leg when she was a child.  I still have the scar today.

Then I started school, and all I wanted was to be like everyone else.  I pretended I couldn't read properly because my friends couldn't, although I'd been reading since I was two. 

All the little girls in my class knew that the kids who got hurt got special attention from the teachers for the rest of the day.  One of my clearest memories of infant school was a group of six or seven of us running at each other, determined to bump heads hard enough to get taken to the nurse.  Another memory is that of a different time, when a group of us were all hitting our heads on the wall.  I was so jealous of Ashleigh and Rachael because they got sent to the nurse.

Sometimes, I self-harm out of curiousity.  One time when I was feeling down, I just started wondering what it would be like to take a non-fatal overdose.  I took half a packet of nytol, 2000mg or so of ibuprofen, and about 20 paracetemol pills.  Bear in mind that I was very underweight and so the effect was even stronger than normal.  My mum later told me that my breathing was so irregular she almost called an ambulance.

I'm a screwup.
 

Hmm.

I think I want to scream.

Why do people have to have such loud bodily functions?

It's not just chewing.  That's obviously disgusting - if I can hear you chewing when your mouth is closed, you really need to revise your method of eating - but everything grosses me out.

I freaked out a few minutes ago because I could hear my mum breathing.

Seriously.  I had to go upstairs because it was getting on my nerves so much I was about to scream.

What is wrong with me?????

(er.  Except for anorexia, self-harm, depression, trichotrillomania and OCD).

When I am upset, I pace.  When I am really upset, I gouge holes in my arms / hit my head on the wall / cut my arms / take an overdose of painkillers.

When I am upset, telling me to stop pacing does not help.  It makes me cry.

When my dad has made me cry, coming into my room and telling me how unreasonable I'm being does not help either.  Telling me that I'm not doing anything well enough makes me feel worse, for some odd reason.

Asking me to say something, then not going away when I say that I don't want to talk now because I'll say something I regret and don't mean (read: something I do mean, but don't want to say because it would hurt him) is a sure way to get me to say something that's very true but not a nice thing to say.

When I say that I'm not a bit stressed, like he said we all are, and that instead I'm stressed to the point of gouging holes in my arms, don't give me a fucking lecture about how that's not fair and it's all my fault because I don't want help.

And no, I don't want help.  I want him to stop acting as a taxi service for his friends and do some work so that we might actually have some money so we wouldn't be in this stupid situation.  Paula can get the fucking train.  It's a simple procedure.  And if circumstances not created by me (*cough*crapbusinessman*cough*) would stop fucking up my life, I wouldn't need the goddamn help.

In summary, STOP RUINING MY LIFE AND THEN BLAMING ME FOR IT!