Thursday, November 29, 2012

I used to hope for the impossible

I used to want to be a model.
I used to have more belief that I could be an author.
I used to believe that I could be happy and thin.
I used to think that I would never have to work to get good grades.
I used to think I would be rich one day, somehow.
I used to think I wanted children because they're such a new addition to life.
I used to believe that I wanted to grow up.
I never once thought that even if I gained the weight back I'd be unhappy and have thoughts of being not pretty because I'm not thin.
I never once believed that my personality would be affected by not eating.
I never thought that once I started eating again, the damage wouldn't go away.
I never believed that I would ever consider purging. And then I tried to at least twice.
I never thought I'd scare the person I love by freaking out over eating.
I never thought that I'd not notice gaining weight.
I never thought that I would think of weight loss as freedom.
All of these have changed.
I found out I'm too fat/short to model.
I wonder continuously if I'll ever bother to actually stick with something and finish it and get it published.
I know now that with how my mind works, I want something and I want it ASAP which makes losing weight the "right" way too hard. So I can't be thin and happy.
I'm almost failing one of my classes just because I don't want to put out the effort.
I actually wish I could quit growing up or even go back to when I was younger. I'm not quite ready to face the real world yet.
Everyday, I think about how fat I let myself get and how great it was to be 128 and to be able to say that I was 128.
I don't want kids. I'm scared that they'll get the same mentality that I have.
J.P. gets to deal with me freaking out almost everyday about whether or not to eat. My breathing gets really quick, tears fill my eyes.
I used to see losing weight as freedom. Freedom from my dad calling me fat, freedom from all the perverted eyes staring and watching, freedom from being me because I always think of myself being fat.
I was going to go back and reread parts of my blog. I don't know if I could handle it, knowing that I'm only fifteen, fourteen, and even thirteen in some of the posts. Knowing that I was so young, I should have been focusing on happier things. Not when I was going to not eat, not when I was going to see my therapist, not when I was fasting. I don't understand how all this happened, though. I've been fascinated with eating disorders since grade school, but always believed I would never get one. I've been called fat since I was eight-ish, but always thought that I had enough support from friends to keep me from feeling fat. I never thought I would be one of those girls who starved and cut. I never thought that it would hurt so much, either.

I have a tumblr!

It's actually my favorite place for thinspo.
You can find me here.
It's not just thinspo or weightloss.
It's actually a lot of cute animal pictures and things that I find funny/like...speak to me.
And others things that I like.
I read through some of my older posts.
From over two years ago.
Ow. They tore open new wounds.
I couldn't read some of them.
I didn't really need to.
I've never forgot all of the posts I can't read.
I've never forgot the conversation where one of my best friends told me how worthless I am.
I've never forgot that said person was also my girlfriend's ex.
I'm scared to reread them. To make them real again.
I'm gonna go waggle my booty on to the stationary bike for the next hour.

Friday, November 23, 2012

Everyone says it'll get better

But it's never gotten better for me.
Sure, there's periods where I'm alright.
I can pretend that everything's great.
But then it all breaks.
Everything in my head crashes down.
Something in my head breaks.
The thoughts flood back.
Only this time, I don't have anyone but J.P. to tell me that it'll be better.
She tells me I need help.
Do I want it?
Or do I want to go back to being that girl who only sometimes realizes that she's thin?
Do I want to go back to having lost weight, but not seeing it?
Do I really want that?
My foot says fat in all caps.
It's all I could manage to carve into it the other day.
J.P. just reminded me that I wanted to have kids when I was older.
I don't want kids.
I don't want to adopt or birth kids.
I have bad mental genes.
I have a bad way of seeing the world.
I don't want to pass along either.
I'm gonna go see her.
When I get done with this word on my foot.

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

I feel like all I talk about is me cutting, wanting to cut, wanting to not eat, having that whole hate myself because I did eat, and still eating.

And then I'm like "I should post something inspiring."
Then I think about it.
Nope, not happening today.
Like all I feel like I do with my life is cut.
Or think about cutting.
There's more than that, really.
I don't honestly cut very often anymore (it's becoming more frequent).
I took the Practice ACT.
I've made up like nine thousand tests from when I was gone.
I nearly cried when I saw a picture of me from last Halloween.
I was so freakin gorgeous.
J.P. said that it's not at my lowest weight, that I had gained some and didn't look as sickly.
Can I please be skinny?
And in response to that everyone is like "Fucking work for it."
I'm realizing that I need to quit letting J.P. rule my life.
I need to quit eating so much just because I'm scared to death that she'll got back to starving/purging.
I'm kind of scared that part my fear is a fear that she'll be skinnier than me rather than me being scared that she'll get really sick.
Apparently I don't realize that I'm as used to pain as I once was.
I have these thoughts of carving words into my various body parts.
A few months ago, even, this would be easy.
Then I go to actually do it.
My hands shake.
It hurts and I have to stop.
The cuts are shallow.
It's not like it used to be.
Only the release and blood is.
Everything is like when I started except the fact that my body is covered in scars.
And I'm not thirteen.
And I'm using razors instead of a chunk of glass.
Alright, I've decided that I'm gonna be skinny.
I've also decided (a while ago) that I hate my lexapro.
I've ALSO decided to tear up my foot before I go get J.P.
I also think I have a new follower?
HI!!! :D
Alright, I'm gonna go do that now.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

At home, sick.

Haven't bothered to get up and do anything other than brush my hair and put on make up.
Not that I'm going anywhere.
OH and I got a bottle of water.
J.P. said we were gonna eat breakfast so that I can get all better, but I don't know if I want to.
I probably should.
J.P. and I are talking about whether or not I should get my lip pierced.
She doesn't want me to.
She hates them.
I think they'd be adorable.
I mean, once I got thinner and prettier.
It's hard to convince her (especially since I'm not trying very hard).

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

lost about seven pounds since the third

I've been sick most of the time.
I've only risked working out twice since Friday.
I'm too worried it's gonna make me faint.
Or sicker.
I really am tired of being sick.
The whole getting nauseous when I eat is nice.
The rest of it isn't.
I also apparently lost two inches since the last time I was measured??
Went from 5'6" to 5'4"?
I think they're just wrong.
I think I'm still 5'6".
I think that just makes me feel better about weighing so much.
One sixty three.
If I'm 5'6", that's a BMI of 26.3.
If I'm 5'4" that's a BMI of 28.0.
I'd prefer 5'6"... Although I'm probably five four.
Making me a whale.
Not even a cute whale.
Just a sick, nasty, huge whale.

I like this chick's eyes.
J.P. says she's not eating anymore.
So I said I'm not either.
She's better at this than I am, though.
I think with competition like that, though.
Maybe I'll be able to...
I should be working on finishing J.P.'s Christmas present.
She asked me to write her a story for Christmas.
I'm freaking out because I'm nowhere near done and Christmas is so close and who even knows we'll be together for then.
I hope we are.
I hope I get to see her face as she reads the story.
I hope it's good enough to be a Christmas present.
I hope it's the best she gets this year.
Oh I haven't mentioned that I don't get to go to school until my stomach pains subside.
Don't know how I'll be able to tell if I'm not eating.
I'll just keep drinking loads of water.
Smiling and pretending I'm alright as the pounds fall off, I guess.
Go to school eventually.
I'll get snake bites when I get down to 130 again.
If I can get my mom's permission.
If she gets to be sick, I get to be free.
When I get skinny, I'm gonna buy another pair of those Miley Cyrus jeans I used to have and love.
The ones that were ripped all up the front.
The skinny jeans.
I don't know what ever happened to them, but I loved them.
Especially after I got thinner.
They didn't really look good on me.
One moment they were too tight, the next too loose.
Alright, I'm gonna go work on that story.
Toodles, lovelies.

cutting... (May be VERY triggering)

I feel perfectly and completely..not good enough.
J.P.'s friend....J broke up with his fiance recently.
Now he's hitting on her and trying to guilt her into sleeping with her.
He's sending her flirty texts while I'm standing right next to her while we talk to him at work.
She says that he's her only friend so she won't quit talking to him.
I'm like crazy sick.
I haven't gone to school since Friday when I was sent home after the blood drive we had.
So I'm sitting here with a pile of change because she's telling me that J flirting with her is EXACTLY like Anna treating her like crap.
And my blade isn't freaking sharp enough!
I'm scared she'll sleep with him.
Terrified, actually.
It makes me want to starve.
It makes me want to cut.
Anything but actually curling up into a ball and crying like I want to.
Anything to make me anything but weak like this.
She doesn't seem to understand how badly this hurts.
Sitting by and watching as he flirts with her, pretending I don't want to run away because I'm more than scared that he'll steal her.
It's so freaking hard to tear apart a disposable razor to get the individual blades.
They make me think of the knives downstairs and how much easier it would be to use them.
But these are safe to me.
Don't worry, I'll throw some hydrogen peroxide on them.
Crap, I cut my finger without even realizing it.
Yes, I have bandages all lined up.
Yes, I'm going down this path again.
I'm telling her it's fine to talk to him because it's so triggering and I really don't like feeling guilty from telling her she can't.
Now I've made her choose twice.
With J.R. and with J.
And I'll always have this fear that one day she'll realize they're both 20 times better than I am.
I get what I want and it's still a problem...
So, After I typed this all up, but before I found enough pictures to be satisfied posting, my computer died.
So rather than making a new post, I'm just gonna make this one super long.
I took a nap which only made me feel groggy.
Then I exercised a little. Which made me feel groggy.
Then I made myself some coffee (do you know how hard it is to make coffee without a coffee maker and not get coffee beans in the actual drink??). And guess what? Made me groggy.
So, I'm a groggy mess.
Found out I fail at jump roping. Which I kind of already knew.
It was fun. Until I tried jumping and the rope ended up between my toes.
J.P. and I have been saying odd things to each other because we're both not feeling too well which is messing with our brains.
So, I went out to eat yesterday for my brothers' (no, that's not a typo. My youngest brother and one of my older brothers share a birthday.) birthday.
It was a buffet.
I'm guessing I've been unknowingly starving while I've been sick.
Got horrid stomach pains that lasted until...well, I still have stomach pains they're just not as bad.
So I stayed home from school.
I haven't gone at all this week.
I've just felt sickly.
I wonder if I've lost weight.
All I've really been doing is sleeping.
You know what kind of bothers me?
When the thinspo sites I go to have a whole bunch of super seductive pictures and pictures of naked chicks.
I don't know why it bothers me.
Cause if the person in the picture is in their underwear, it doesn't bother me.
I guess I see the clothing as part of the beauty of it?
Maybe that's just me.
So, about my coffee.
I'm really proud of myself.
Being able to make it without a coffee maker makes me feel like I can have any kind of coffee I want whenever I want.
Which isn't true.
Because I still a microwave.
Then I got bored of just normal coffee. Because I had made mine too strong.
So I added the LAST lemon tea tea bag to my coffee grounds.
It was great.
I was shocked!
It was like a zing of lemon mixed in with the bitterness of the coffee.
Then I wanted peppermint coffee....but we don't have peppermint tea and I have zero money.
So, I really want a tattoo, but apparently it's illegal to give a minor one.
I'm only sixteen, so I fall into that age group.
I just want something simple.
I really want a bow on my wrist, but I know that would hurt like crazy.
And, even though I cut, I'm a wuss when it comes to pain.
Which makes zero sense to me.
I also wanna get my lip pierced, snake bites.
But J.P. doesn't like the thought of it.
And I don't want her to leave.
And I don't want to get them and then not like them.
I think that scares me the most.
The thought that I'll get them and then hate the look of them.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

I'm almost 170.

I'm done with all this eating stuff. I think my mom kind of felt it coming off of me. That feeling.
Oh, I gave blood yesterday and got so nauseous I had to go home. I had a huge breakfast, loads of fluids, and a snack before giving and a snack after. But as I got up and wondered around, I go nauseous and stayed that way until I slept from one to five.
I should be working on homework.
But all that's running through my mind is, well, running.
And writing.
Not homework writing.
Writing for me.
Writing for writing.
These thoughts aren't really new to me.
Pampering myself before worrying about homework and school.
They're the reason I stayed home many times last year and the year before.
And the year before.
They're the reason I've cut before.
They're the reason I find myself on my floor, ten or twenty crunches later, panting and wondering if I can do ten or twenty more.
They're thoughts caused from not eating enough.
Or having enough calories, but having felt hungry too long. 
Feeling sickly and accomplished.
Having told two people all you want is a drink. 
I keep telling myself I need to take it easy today, eat right and be semi-ok.
Because my legs hurt from weightlifting yesterday, because I gave blood yesterday.
There's this part of me, though, that says "Those skinny jeans will never fit right if you don't, and those will never fit again if you don't. Neither will that top. Or any of those."
I have too many clothes from when I was tiny and basically none for the me now.
I have too many clothes for the girl I wanna be. Not the girl I am.


So, I have something to rant and rave about.
This guy that J.P. saw as a brother broke up with his baby mama because she was throwing crap at him.
Fair enough of a reason.
But then J.P. was trying to make sure he was ok.
And he starts hitting on her and saying that he thinks she likes him.
I was standing right next to her as he was texting this stuff to her. Right in front of me.
What? Are not "really" a couple because we're the same sex?
It was like seriously, hit on girls your age, not my seventeen year old girlfriend.
It's not her fault that she was worried about your mental health and you saw it as a chance to tell her you want to date her and think she wants you.
I texted his best friend and asked him to ask him to stop.
Apparently he did because the other guy was just like "What? I can't joke with my friend now?"
Yeah, yeah, at least try to seem like you're joking around.
I'm gonna lose weight this month.
I don't know how much because I don't have a scale. 
But I'm gonna get skinny.
I wanna look like that girl that my dad took a picture of about a year ago.
She was me. She was so different. And pretty. Kind of sickly looking, but she looked pretty.
How did I not see it when I was there?

Her cocky school picture, her smirk, like she knows more than I do.
Her black hair looked like it was a tad thinner than mine, but that may have been from her not knowing how to take care of hair that's dyed almost too much.
She's got the look of a demon, a trickster.
I know she's me, but it's so hard to believe.
Her hair's longer than mine. 
It's teased and her eyes are thickly lined with black. 
She has a look in her eyes that I pretend I don't know.
But I know it.
On the phone, she looks confused.
Why would anyone want her picture? 
Especially her dad who accuses her of being anorexic?
She looks almost too skinny.
Not that she ever saw it.
Why did I ever give that up?
She's the kind of pretty I had always dreamed of being.
She's the kind of girl that I always thought I would love to be, would love to at least know.
She looks like she could be famous.
Her black hair, black eyeliner, and black skinny jeans make me think that she's mysterious.
But I know that girl.
Or I used to.
She was medicated.
She typically felt alone and worried.
She never saw herself as pretty.
She never saw herself as thin.
She simply didn't believe it when her friends told her how pretty she had gotten.
She hated eating.
The doctors told her she had anxiety problems.
They said she used cutting as a coping mechanism.
When she walked through the halls she wondered if she looked ok.
She ran for thirty minutes using the wii, but never thought it was doing anything.
She was one hundred and twenty-eight pounds and still wanted to be less.
I know I shouldn't want to, but I want to be that girl.
She looks so small.
She looks so young.
She looks less than fifteen.
I miss her almost flat stomach.
I miss fitting into a size three.
I miss staying up late exercising and feel great.
I miss when eating felt like a game, and I didn't have to partake, but sometimes it just tasted and smelled too good and I allowed myself a couple bites.
I miss that feeling of caffeine on an empty stomach.
I miss feeling like a feather, even sometimes.
Ruby-tuesday that is easier said than done these days, and all I can promise is that I will try.