So is this strange? Has anyone else done something like this?
I just sat in my room for about and hour and a half planning exactly what I'm going to eat for the next five days. I counted every calorie, (with help from an app I just downloaded to my iPod Touch called Daily Burn), and I have my no-fail plan until April. In case you're wondering, here are the calories:
300
300
150
150
500
I've figured out the times I'll be eating, too, so it always looks like I'm eating in front of my parents. Also, many of the foods I'll be eating require a while in the kitchen, which hides the fact that although I'm putting so much effort into my food, I really won't be having much of it. I feel so... so safe. So at ease. So in control.
...
This is bliss.
3.26.2011
Childhood
I remember being a child and never worrying about my body.
I mean, sometimes I might ask my mother why I had a belly, but she would just tell me it was baby fat and would come off when I was older. I believed her.
However... the fat only "came off when I was older" when I developed an eating disorder. I was close to overweight, and as I tapered my caloric intake from 2000+ to less than 600, I lost the weight quickly.
Anyhow, I remember being a kid and waking up in the morning a little hungry. I would jump out of the bed, rush downstairs, and start making chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. I would eat it with a tall class of milk and smile like I'd just won a million dollars. I had ice cream bars from the freezer and yogurt and popsicals throughout the day. I treated to myself to whatever I wanted, and never, not once, did my parents tell me to "eat, there are starving children in Africa."
No, as a child I was not overweight.
But when I grew up and no one stopped me from continuing these habits, (my parents were too drunk and stoned to notice much of anything about my sister and I), I got fat. My highest weight was probably around 10 years old, which, by chance or not, was when I found out about my parents' habits, but I don't remember being an emotional eater.
(Don't worry, they've quit now, and things in my house are getting a lot better.... minus the constant yelling/screaming/carping)
Now there are no pancakes I would ever think to run to when I wake up in the morning. I can't jump out of bed anymore-I sit up slowly and drag myself across the sheets, stand up, and breathe huge, slow breaths being careful not to faint from the black stars bursting in front of my eyes. I either stay in my room until the bus comes and hope that nearly being late is an excuse to miss breakfast, or saunter over to the scale and check my weight before consuming anything. I trace the outline of my ribs and hold the hole between them, not wanting to destroy it by eating much of anything. There are no sweet treats, no bowls of slimy mac & cheese. There is only a goal. A reason. A way to prove to the world that I am sufficient.
I mean, sometimes I might ask my mother why I had a belly, but she would just tell me it was baby fat and would come off when I was older. I believed her.
However... the fat only "came off when I was older" when I developed an eating disorder. I was close to overweight, and as I tapered my caloric intake from 2000+ to less than 600, I lost the weight quickly.
Anyhow, I remember being a kid and waking up in the morning a little hungry. I would jump out of the bed, rush downstairs, and start making chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup and whipped cream. I would eat it with a tall class of milk and smile like I'd just won a million dollars. I had ice cream bars from the freezer and yogurt and popsicals throughout the day. I treated to myself to whatever I wanted, and never, not once, did my parents tell me to "eat, there are starving children in Africa."
No, as a child I was not overweight.
But when I grew up and no one stopped me from continuing these habits, (my parents were too drunk and stoned to notice much of anything about my sister and I), I got fat. My highest weight was probably around 10 years old, which, by chance or not, was when I found out about my parents' habits, but I don't remember being an emotional eater.
(Don't worry, they've quit now, and things in my house are getting a lot better.... minus the constant yelling/screaming/carping)
Now there are no pancakes I would ever think to run to when I wake up in the morning. I can't jump out of bed anymore-I sit up slowly and drag myself across the sheets, stand up, and breathe huge, slow breaths being careful not to faint from the black stars bursting in front of my eyes. I either stay in my room until the bus comes and hope that nearly being late is an excuse to miss breakfast, or saunter over to the scale and check my weight before consuming anything. I trace the outline of my ribs and hold the hole between them, not wanting to destroy it by eating much of anything. There are no sweet treats, no bowls of slimy mac & cheese. There is only a goal. A reason. A way to prove to the world that I am sufficient.
3.25.2011
So Damaged, So Young
Sometimes it feels like I'm not taken seriously because of my age. I don't understand, though... am I really too young to be struggling like this? At my age, thirteen, I've had thoughts of suicide. I've gone on three day fasts and take in less than 300 calories every day, with difficulty. Sometimes I feel like I'm not thin enough for someone to see it as a problem at all when I tell them I have anorexia and bulimia. It's almost as though I can hear them thinking I'm too fat to be in trouble, it's not a big deal.
Ana, sometimes I hate that I love you.
Sometimes I just love you.
I need you right now. After all this instability and failure in other aspects of my life... please help me prove to the world that I really can do something right for once.
Ana, sometimes I hate that I love you.
Sometimes I just love you.
I need you right now. After all this instability and failure in other aspects of my life... please help me prove to the world that I really can do something right for once.
3.24.2011
Summertime
I can just imagine myself going back to camp, seeing all my friends, doing the things I used to do.... but being 20 lbs lighter than last year. 100 lbs, thin, dry, and cold beneath the burning sun, laughing and free and perfect and strong willed. I want them to see how much power I have. I want someone, anyone to recognize that I really don't do everything halfway after all.
Playlists
Does anyone else ever do this or have this?
On my iPod I have a playlist labeled "blah." which has about 10 songs about anorexia or bulimia. Blah, because it's a much less suspicious name than "Songs About How Much I Hate Myself and What I Go Through". I listen to them, because they scream the words I'm too weak to say myself. They cry the tears I hold back, and yell every flaw that I can never let escape my head.
On my iPod I have a playlist labeled "blah." which has about 10 songs about anorexia or bulimia. Blah, because it's a much less suspicious name than "Songs About How Much I Hate Myself and What I Go Through". I listen to them, because they scream the words I'm too weak to say myself. They cry the tears I hold back, and yell every flaw that I can never let escape my head.
Cold
I've just been cold all day.
Cold today, cold yesterday.
No, Alex, nothing is wrong. No, Hannah, I'm not losing weight. No, Tal, I don't want to pick up my fork. Yes Mom, I ate three meals a day today. No, Dad, I don't know where the scales is. Yes, Maddie, I'm measuring my vegetables exactly because it's a recipe, not because I'm counting calories. Yes, Stef, I am okay.
I am okay.
Cold today, cold yesterday.
No, Alex, nothing is wrong. No, Hannah, I'm not losing weight. No, Tal, I don't want to pick up my fork. Yes Mom, I ate three meals a day today. No, Dad, I don't know where the scales is. Yes, Maddie, I'm measuring my vegetables exactly because it's a recipe, not because I'm counting calories. Yes, Stef, I am okay.
I am okay.
3 lbs in 1 day
I... I mean, I just don't believe it.
Usually I don't consume anything (including liquids) until about 4:00, when I can weigh myself. Yesterday the scale said 117.2. I ate 200 calories, green tea, about a liter of water, then went to bed. Today, again, I consumed nothing until around 5:00, but weighed myself at 4:00. I'd lost 3 lbs.
I know this wasn't water or food weight because two days ago I was 118.4, and did the same thing. I'd lost a pound, no big deal.
But, this has never happened to me. I'm really glad, don't get me wrong! But I'm also confused.
Usually I don't consume anything (including liquids) until about 4:00, when I can weigh myself. Yesterday the scale said 117.2. I ate 200 calories, green tea, about a liter of water, then went to bed. Today, again, I consumed nothing until around 5:00, but weighed myself at 4:00. I'd lost 3 lbs.
I know this wasn't water or food weight because two days ago I was 118.4, and did the same thing. I'd lost a pound, no big deal.
But, this has never happened to me. I'm really glad, don't get me wrong! But I'm also confused.
3.23.2011
Cutting
I cut a lot last night after a huge purge.
Why do I always do this to myself? I'll lose three pounds, get a little bit happy with myself, and start eating normally. Then, I'll gain it all back in a week and purge. Then, I lose three pounds again... and the cycle never ends.
Or, at least, that's how it is when I don't have a scale to check myself.
But THANKFULLY, I found it, and I'll be staying on track for a while.
Back to the cutting.
It was a knife, a real knife, but an awfully rigid one. It wasn't the sharpest, but it definitely drew blood from my thighs and wrists.
Urgh. That word. Wrists. It sounds so... so crazy/gross/hopeless. It's depressing to say, really. I didn't actually realize how abnormal it is to draw your own blood until I wrote that.
Huh.
Why do I always do this to myself? I'll lose three pounds, get a little bit happy with myself, and start eating normally. Then, I'll gain it all back in a week and purge. Then, I lose three pounds again... and the cycle never ends.
Or, at least, that's how it is when I don't have a scale to check myself.
But THANKFULLY, I found it, and I'll be staying on track for a while.
Back to the cutting.
It was a knife, a real knife, but an awfully rigid one. It wasn't the sharpest, but it definitely drew blood from my thighs and wrists.
Urgh. That word. Wrists. It sounds so... so crazy/gross/hopeless. It's depressing to say, really. I didn't actually realize how abnormal it is to draw your own blood until I wrote that.
Huh.
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