Sometimes life seems to quiet into paralyzing silence
like the moonless dark, meant to make me strong.
Left alone with only reflections of a memory
to face the ugly girl that's smothering me.
And we kiss each other one more time,
and sing this lie that's halfway mine.
These are bits and pieces of Flyleaf's "Sorrow."
I'm not sure of the original intentions of the song. But the words apply to me.
I'm hanging on by a thread at the moment, severely close to going over the edge. I'm quitting work, I'm failing school. And when I get home to be alone with my thoughts at the end of the day, it paralyzes me into freezing silence. I can't think, I can't move.
I'm not purging, I am eating. But for some reason, I'm still falling. I feel my conciousness fading in an out...at work, on walks, at home. I fall the most while I'm walking, because there's nothing to steady myself on. Most walks when I smoke for even 5 minutes, it takes away any steadiness I have left and I just crumple. Last week I fell off the playground bridge, a 6-foot drop. I just lost balance while sitting on the guardrail and landed with a thud on my back. It's been hurting ever since. On Thursday I fell face-first down the playground stairs and split my lip. It's beginning to piss me off.
If I'm going to be toppling over like a weakling, I want it to be my body reacting to starvation. Spending these last few days in an unreal state of recovery has made me almost manic over the thought of starving again. I need it.
I'm left alone with the memories of what I used to be. The numbers on the scale I used to see. And I have to look at the ugly girl in the mirror, 20 pounds heavier. I hate her. So much.
Paul is the love of my life. I can't even express the joy he stirs in my heart. He makes me want to live just so he doesn't have to live without me. Because I can't imagine living without him. Yet I feel like we're singing a lie of perfection that's halfway mine. He perceives me as doing better than I am, because I know that even if I eat today...someday soon I'm just going to go right back to doing what I always do.
I can't decide right now. I just know that it's getting harder to accept myself with every goddamn sandwich I swallow with a smile for Paul's sake.
Stay strong, xoxo
~Kat
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Another Day
I'm a little scared to post today. But I have things that need to be said.
I was initally not even going to address Paul's blog again but I read some startling attacks on his first entry that made me rather angry. Particularly on the part of Briana Marie. I've always enjoyed reading her unique thoughts when she comments on my blog, but I feel her reaction was uncalled for. I want to make it clear to everyone that Paul writes for the same reason I write. We have thoughts on this particular matter that we want to get out of our systems. We write because we like it and because we hope someone will identify with us. Nobody on earth deserves a harsh reaction to that purpose.
Anyways...
Today was hard. I sometimes forget about the pain that comes with the lifestyle I've chosen. I went to work this morning doubled over with abdominal pain from a laxative overdose. I took some advil and that helped for a while. Then after my break I started having really bad chest and back pain. At times I just had to grit my teeth and grab the counter so I wouldn't crumple onto the floor from it. Then the headache...and the stomach aches. It wasn't pretty but I reminded myself that someday it will be worth it. And if I can hang on through the initial pain of ana re-entrace, I always numb over into a dull ache that allows me to retain focus. Paul seemed worried but I hid it pretty well I think. I'm feeling better now anyways.
I skipped lunch, then did something funny. When I was almost done for the day, there was a leftover sandwich that had been made on wheat. I suppose a customer had changed his mind about it, because my manager said it was too old to sell so one of us could have it. I claimed it. Paul said he was proud of me, but I still didn't know what the heck I was going to do with it.
I got home and messed around for a bit, went out to vote, then came home and ate it. I promptly went and threw it up. So much for that.
I then went out to walk in the dark. I took my smokes and ran, practically sprinted all the way to the playground. I was dizzy and having more chest pains by the time I got there, but I needed to burn off whatever leftover calories I hadn't thrown up. I settled into the top platform, hidden from the street by the curly slide. I smoked, of course...and then I did something so stupid I'm still kicking myself for it. I put out a cigarette on my arm. And it was completely on purpose. The jolt of pain that shot up my arm was both familiar and intoxicating. I haven't performed any kind of self-harm in over a month. I absolutely do NOT want to go back to that. But it was such a high, I'm afraid that I might do it again.
I walked home, incredibly dizzy. I purposely took a route that sent me walking right past Paul's house. I guess as a reminder of his involvement in this, whether I like to think of him being involved or not. I wished like hell that I could care more.
Paul is proud of me when I eat and keep it down. But it's starting to feel like every time he is proud of me, I've failed. He wants me to stay the way I am, and I most certainly do not. Either way, no matter what I do...someone is let down. It's a lose-lose situation and I still don't know how to remedy this.
Somehow, after all that. I feel like today was a good day. I'm alive and another pound down. That's good enough for me. :)
Stay strong, xoxo
~Kat
I was initally not even going to address Paul's blog again but I read some startling attacks on his first entry that made me rather angry. Particularly on the part of Briana Marie. I've always enjoyed reading her unique thoughts when she comments on my blog, but I feel her reaction was uncalled for. I want to make it clear to everyone that Paul writes for the same reason I write. We have thoughts on this particular matter that we want to get out of our systems. We write because we like it and because we hope someone will identify with us. Nobody on earth deserves a harsh reaction to that purpose.
Anyways...
Today was hard. I sometimes forget about the pain that comes with the lifestyle I've chosen. I went to work this morning doubled over with abdominal pain from a laxative overdose. I took some advil and that helped for a while. Then after my break I started having really bad chest and back pain. At times I just had to grit my teeth and grab the counter so I wouldn't crumple onto the floor from it. Then the headache...and the stomach aches. It wasn't pretty but I reminded myself that someday it will be worth it. And if I can hang on through the initial pain of ana re-entrace, I always numb over into a dull ache that allows me to retain focus. Paul seemed worried but I hid it pretty well I think. I'm feeling better now anyways.
I skipped lunch, then did something funny. When I was almost done for the day, there was a leftover sandwich that had been made on wheat. I suppose a customer had changed his mind about it, because my manager said it was too old to sell so one of us could have it. I claimed it. Paul said he was proud of me, but I still didn't know what the heck I was going to do with it.
I got home and messed around for a bit, went out to vote, then came home and ate it. I promptly went and threw it up. So much for that.
I then went out to walk in the dark. I took my smokes and ran, practically sprinted all the way to the playground. I was dizzy and having more chest pains by the time I got there, but I needed to burn off whatever leftover calories I hadn't thrown up. I settled into the top platform, hidden from the street by the curly slide. I smoked, of course...and then I did something so stupid I'm still kicking myself for it. I put out a cigarette on my arm. And it was completely on purpose. The jolt of pain that shot up my arm was both familiar and intoxicating. I haven't performed any kind of self-harm in over a month. I absolutely do NOT want to go back to that. But it was such a high, I'm afraid that I might do it again.
I walked home, incredibly dizzy. I purposely took a route that sent me walking right past Paul's house. I guess as a reminder of his involvement in this, whether I like to think of him being involved or not. I wished like hell that I could care more.
Paul is proud of me when I eat and keep it down. But it's starting to feel like every time he is proud of me, I've failed. He wants me to stay the way I am, and I most certainly do not. Either way, no matter what I do...someone is let down. It's a lose-lose situation and I still don't know how to remedy this.
Somehow, after all that. I feel like today was a good day. I'm alive and another pound down. That's good enough for me. :)
Stay strong, xoxo
~Kat
Monday, November 2, 2009
Trying to Save Her LIfe
Hello everyone,
It's been a crazy few days. Thank you all so much for your support after my catastrophic wii-fit experience, it made me feel so much better hearing that you all completely understand and identify with me.
Yesterday was interesting. I spent the whole morning sick at home with a headache and then went out for a walk. Paul called me and met up with me. We ran around at the playground for a while...I was dizzy and tired after almost 30 hours of near-nothingness consumed, until I fell down. He helped me up, looked me in the eyes and asked if I had eaten breakfast. I opened my mouth to answer and he said "no, of course not." He was right.
That night we went to a dance at a barn way out in the rural area of where I live. I was a good little girlfriend and ate dinner. Then I was a bad little girlfriend and I went right outside to throw it all up. I was so upset with myself that I called Nikki (snowflakesfallgently) and talked to her for a bit to calm myself down. She was super helpful, and it was the first time I've ever heard any of my readers' voices. It sort of reminded me that she was real, another girl just like me. I saw Paul through the window, looking for me everywhere. Eventually I went back in and didn't plan on telling him. Later on though one of my friends called because he was about to commit suicide and the night got so fucked I was in tears. Paul held onto me the whole time and I started to feel so sorry that I told him I had thrown up.
Today...I ate lunch because I smoked so much at school that I was about to pass out and my friend Steffan said I needed to eat something. I had a salad. I did not throw it up...though I almost did because of the nicotine overdose. That would have been interesting...I hate throwing up involuntarily.
So that's how things are. Still just pushing along I guess. I have some interesting news though...
Paul has started a blog. It's called "Trying to Save Her Life" (http://tryingtosaveherlife.blogspot.com/) 
It's been a crazy few days. Thank you all so much for your support after my catastrophic wii-fit experience, it made me feel so much better hearing that you all completely understand and identify with me.
Yesterday was interesting. I spent the whole morning sick at home with a headache and then went out for a walk. Paul called me and met up with me. We ran around at the playground for a while...I was dizzy and tired after almost 30 hours of near-nothingness consumed, until I fell down. He helped me up, looked me in the eyes and asked if I had eaten breakfast. I opened my mouth to answer and he said "no, of course not." He was right.
That night we went to a dance at a barn way out in the rural area of where I live. I was a good little girlfriend and ate dinner. Then I was a bad little girlfriend and I went right outside to throw it all up. I was so upset with myself that I called Nikki (snowflakesfallgently) and talked to her for a bit to calm myself down. She was super helpful, and it was the first time I've ever heard any of my readers' voices. It sort of reminded me that she was real, another girl just like me. I saw Paul through the window, looking for me everywhere. Eventually I went back in and didn't plan on telling him. Later on though one of my friends called because he was about to commit suicide and the night got so fucked I was in tears. Paul held onto me the whole time and I started to feel so sorry that I told him I had thrown up.
Today...I ate lunch because I smoked so much at school that I was about to pass out and my friend Steffan said I needed to eat something. I had a salad. I did not throw it up...though I almost did because of the nicotine overdose. That would have been interesting...I hate throwing up involuntarily.
So that's how things are. Still just pushing along I guess. I have some interesting news though...
Paul has started a blog. It's called "Trying to Save Her Life" (http://tryingtosaveherlife.blogspot.com/)
Everyone check it out if you get the chance. It might offer some very important insight into the minds of people we hurt with our eating disorders. Can I just say I love that boy?
Stay strong everyone, xoxo
~Kat
Stay strong everyone, xoxo
~Kat
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"I don't really eat candy"
I love how everyone started a contest on who had the worst halloween via my comment block for the last post. ^.^ This is why I love the community, I don't just write to you all, you write back and I love reading about your lives so much you don't even know. I'm sorry you all had rough halloweens, holidays should be a break from life's awfulness.
My halloween was good, I think. It had a lot of different things that were good and not so good. It started off very poorly with me crying in front of the mirror trying to figure out what the hell to wear that won't make me look like a damn fatty trying to get her chubby fingers on every piece of candy in the neighborhood. I eventually settled on a normal outfit with angel wings I bought at the store. I couldn't wear any other kind of costume, I was too self-concious. Stupid spandex.
Then I went out trick-or-treating with Paul and his little siblings. That was....fun? I suppose. I was really lightheaded because I hadn't eaten anything all day. Paul tried to jokingly force feed me a small bag of skittles. I spit them out on the pavement. His little sister asked me why I wasn't getting any candy for myself when they went up to doors.
"I uh...I don't really eat candy," I said. And she gave me the most weirded-out expression, like a "what is wrong with you it's halloween" kind of face.
Eventually I ate like 4 pieces of taffy and some of those smarties things. I felt really icky after that and decided that I was only consuming devil-spawned candy because I was so hungry from not eating. So when we got to Paul's house later I let him give me a late dinner of soup. I still felt really bad after that and felt about 99% ready to go throw up in his bathroom, but he followed me to the hall so I gave up.
Then the most awful thing happened. Paul pulled out the Wii-fit. I don't know if you all have played that before but when you make a profile, the first thing it does is WEIGH you. When you sign in again after an abscence, it WEIGHS you. So of course, Paul gets on first and he says "I don't want you to see," so I assume he's acting like a girl sort of jokingly...you know like "ooh don't look I'm so embarassed!"
So inside I'm praying and assuming that he weighs more than me (he is a guy after all). I wait as the wii measures him...the little green lights flashing.
143.
No, no, no, nononononononoNONONO NOOO!!!! I scream on the inside as the fatal reality strikes. I weigh over ten pounds more than my boyfriend. I wanted to find a knife and stab myself right there. And if that wasn't bad enough, he turned around, saw my expression, and said "that's why I didn't want you to see it!"
After a few seconds, it sinks in.
He knew I was going to weigh more than him.
And the room disappears. All I can see is the numbers, my numbers compared to his numbers. My body compared to his. My fat body compared to his skinny one. It took every ounce of my willpower to smile and say "it's fine," to Paul, who was looking sorrier and sorrier by the second. I even got on the wii-fit to weigh myself. Stupid girl. Paul was nice and said my clothes weighed 6 pounds, even though I was wearing a tanktop, short skirt, and leggings. Which makes it even worse, because when 151 flashed on the screen we both knew that I weigh more than that.
I have to fix things. I have to be skinnier next time I step on that wii-fit. I have to be thinner than Paul, at the very least. Seriously, HOW THE HELL IS A GIRL SUPPOSED TO FEEL OK WITH HER WEIGHT IF HER BOYFRIEND IS SMALLER?!?!?
I'm going to work out some sort of plan for this week, for some major weight loss. Oh, and I got a question on one of my last comments about Paul reading the blog. First of all, I said I was going to post honestly on this blog no matter what and not let Paul affect it. I owe that to everyone, including myself. Second, I've asked Paul to stop reading it because it always brings about depressing conversations betweeen us. He's agreed...I don't know how long that will last but in the meantime I'm trusting him to keep his word.
Stay strong everyone, think thin!
xoxo
~Kat
My halloween was good, I think. It had a lot of different things that were good and not so good. It started off very poorly with me crying in front of the mirror trying to figure out what the hell to wear that won't make me look like a damn fatty trying to get her chubby fingers on every piece of candy in the neighborhood. I eventually settled on a normal outfit with angel wings I bought at the store. I couldn't wear any other kind of costume, I was too self-concious. Stupid spandex.
Then I went out trick-or-treating with Paul and his little siblings. That was....fun? I suppose. I was really lightheaded because I hadn't eaten anything all day. Paul tried to jokingly force feed me a small bag of skittles. I spit them out on the pavement. His little sister asked me why I wasn't getting any candy for myself when they went up to doors.
"I uh...I don't really eat candy," I said. And she gave me the most weirded-out expression, like a "what is wrong with you it's halloween" kind of face.
Eventually I ate like 4 pieces of taffy and some of those smarties things. I felt really icky after that and decided that I was only consuming devil-spawned candy because I was so hungry from not eating. So when we got to Paul's house later I let him give me a late dinner of soup. I still felt really bad after that and felt about 99% ready to go throw up in his bathroom, but he followed me to the hall so I gave up.
Then the most awful thing happened. Paul pulled out the Wii-fit. I don't know if you all have played that before but when you make a profile, the first thing it does is WEIGH you. When you sign in again after an abscence, it WEIGHS you. So of course, Paul gets on first and he says "I don't want you to see," so I assume he's acting like a girl sort of jokingly...you know like "ooh don't look I'm so embarassed!"
So inside I'm praying and assuming that he weighs more than me (he is a guy after all). I wait as the wii measures him...the little green lights flashing.
143.
No, no, no, nononononononoNONONO NOOO!!!! I scream on the inside as the fatal reality strikes. I weigh over ten pounds more than my boyfriend. I wanted to find a knife and stab myself right there. And if that wasn't bad enough, he turned around, saw my expression, and said "that's why I didn't want you to see it!"
After a few seconds, it sinks in.
He knew I was going to weigh more than him.
And the room disappears. All I can see is the numbers, my numbers compared to his numbers. My body compared to his. My fat body compared to his skinny one. It took every ounce of my willpower to smile and say "it's fine," to Paul, who was looking sorrier and sorrier by the second. I even got on the wii-fit to weigh myself. Stupid girl. Paul was nice and said my clothes weighed 6 pounds, even though I was wearing a tanktop, short skirt, and leggings. Which makes it even worse, because when 151 flashed on the screen we both knew that I weigh more than that.
I have to fix things. I have to be skinnier next time I step on that wii-fit. I have to be thinner than Paul, at the very least. Seriously, HOW THE HELL IS A GIRL SUPPOSED TO FEEL OK WITH HER WEIGHT IF HER BOYFRIEND IS SMALLER?!?!?
I'm going to work out some sort of plan for this week, for some major weight loss. Oh, and I got a question on one of my last comments about Paul reading the blog. First of all, I said I was going to post honestly on this blog no matter what and not let Paul affect it. I owe that to everyone, including myself. Second, I've asked Paul to stop reading it because it always brings about depressing conversations betweeen us. He's agreed...I don't know how long that will last but in the meantime I'm trusting him to keep his word.
Stay strong everyone, think thin!
xoxo
~Kat
Friday, October 30, 2009
Decision
Again I wish to express gratitude at the lovely comments and support I received after my last post. I've been reading, thinking, thinking some more, and just in general enjoying hearing from all of you. I have some thoughts and observations at this time I would like to share.
First off, I think I'm too deeply rooted in disordered eating to completely fix it. It's disgusting, the polar opposites I'm capable of. I can spend one day afraid to eat lettuce because of the calories and then go off eating donuts and greasy fast food the next day. Neither one of these is healthy and they need to stop.
Secondly, I've decided that I'm too fat. Everyone says "oh, no you're not" but that's because I'm expert at dressing to hide. I rarely show any amount of skin and I wear dark colors to slenderize. The truth is that I have ended up right back to where I was when I started this blog and the only difference now is that I keep using the excuse "oh I'm recovering, so I have to eat." To excuse my disgusting gluttonous behavior.
Thirdly, I've sunk back into a sedentary lifestyle. I rarely get out for walks, and when I do I smoke. Paul hates the fact that I smoke so he discourages my walks for that reason. This sedentary state, along with the weight gain, has caused all the weight to be completely flab and cellulite. I'm a damn cow.
And last of all, I know that I'm living a haphazard dysfunctional life at this moment. Torn between relapse and recovery. Whoever said it needed to be this way? What happened to ME controlling IT, and not the other way around? What happened to Ana being my best friend, my savior? I don't need to relapse, and I don't need to recover. I just need to get back in control.
The plans, the numbers, the endless trips to the scale. The rhythm of my feet pounding the pavement as I run. The cool calculation of caloric contents measured against time and energy spent. The days set aside for certain types of food, for fasts, for cleansing. Ana can be beautiful, I nearly forgot that. Recovery is too wild, unpredictable, too "blood, sweat, tears, and vomit" for my taste. I need goals, I need consistency.
And so I will renew my Quest for Perfection as I did nearly a year ago, vowing to get thin or die trying. Don't advise me otherwise, this is my choice. If you support me, I'm glad to hear it. But I will not consider myself a failure now. Either in recovery or in relapse. I am not a failure. I am in control.
Stay strong, think thin. xoxo
~Kat
First off, I think I'm too deeply rooted in disordered eating to completely fix it. It's disgusting, the polar opposites I'm capable of. I can spend one day afraid to eat lettuce because of the calories and then go off eating donuts and greasy fast food the next day. Neither one of these is healthy and they need to stop.
Secondly, I've decided that I'm too fat. Everyone says "oh, no you're not" but that's because I'm expert at dressing to hide. I rarely show any amount of skin and I wear dark colors to slenderize. The truth is that I have ended up right back to where I was when I started this blog and the only difference now is that I keep using the excuse "oh I'm recovering, so I have to eat." To excuse my disgusting gluttonous behavior.
Thirdly, I've sunk back into a sedentary lifestyle. I rarely get out for walks, and when I do I smoke. Paul hates the fact that I smoke so he discourages my walks for that reason. This sedentary state, along with the weight gain, has caused all the weight to be completely flab and cellulite. I'm a damn cow.
And last of all, I know that I'm living a haphazard dysfunctional life at this moment. Torn between relapse and recovery. Whoever said it needed to be this way? What happened to ME controlling IT, and not the other way around? What happened to Ana being my best friend, my savior? I don't need to relapse, and I don't need to recover. I just need to get back in control.
The plans, the numbers, the endless trips to the scale. The rhythm of my feet pounding the pavement as I run. The cool calculation of caloric contents measured against time and energy spent. The days set aside for certain types of food, for fasts, for cleansing. Ana can be beautiful, I nearly forgot that. Recovery is too wild, unpredictable, too "blood, sweat, tears, and vomit" for my taste. I need goals, I need consistency.
And so I will renew my Quest for Perfection as I did nearly a year ago, vowing to get thin or die trying. Don't advise me otherwise, this is my choice. If you support me, I'm glad to hear it. But I will not consider myself a failure now. Either in recovery or in relapse. I am not a failure. I am in control.
Stay strong, think thin. xoxo
~Kat
Saturday, October 24, 2009
I feel like an idiot. For several reasons. First of all, the way I started this blog. The whole "ohh I'm such a fatty, I'm gonna go make myself be anorexic," thing. Honestly, if I could go back in time to the day I started this blog I would march right up to the Kat of last year and slap her. "You idiot," I would say. " You don't have a damn clue about what you're getting into."
I am also bashing myself over the whole attitude I had this summer. The "I can't take this much more I'm going to relapse a.s.a.p." YOU CANNOT MAKE YOURSELF RELAPSE GOOD GRACIOUS GOD, KAT. If we're going to be completely honest here, I didn't "recover" over this summer at all. I was just hungry, and didn't have enough willpower to starve myself anymore.
The third thing I feel like a complete idiot over is my last post. You all were so happy for me. But I now know that I spoke too soon. Far too soon. It seems that the instant I really want to get out, my brain pulls a nasty switch on me and says "Oh wait, you're really trying to get over this? Time to find out how deep you dug your grave."
I posted on Wednesday, then Wednesday night I started to slip. Thursday was a disaster. Yesterday was a trainwreck. Today was a complete failure.
Back up to Wednesday...when I posted in complete sincerity. Paul came over to visit me that afternoon and he read the post. He was so excited. We laughed and smiled and he hugged me tight and I didn't care about the existence of my tummy. Then Wednesday night I felt the pressure again. The pressure to "fix things" in a not-good way. I took laxatives and firmly decided not to eat the next day. Thursday I got up and went to school. I avoided food until lunch time, when two of my friends invited me to lunch. Why not, I thought. I re-embraced the idea of recovery and ate a real lunch for once. Then I lost control. I couldn't stop eating. I ate practically all day...making multiple trips to the vending machines at school, then multiple excursions to the refrigerator when I got home. I nearly cried looking at myself in the mirror that night.
Yesterday I went to work without breakfast. When I went on lunch break, I started the whole insane staring-at-the-screen-wondering-what-the-hell-to-eat process again, then thought "screw it" and stormed off to the back to get my purse. I sat listening to my iPod and scribbling my mess of thoughts on a scrap of paper, trying to get them all down before I exploded. I got home and went for a walk. Smoked, walked, smoked, nearly fainted. I went to lie down on a picnic table, dark gray clouds swirling over my head, mingling in my blurring vision with the trails of smoke produced by my cigarette, held over my head. Take a drag, breathe, try to stand up. You can do this. Go home and eat.
I went home. I did not eat. I stood facing the refigerator for what felt like an hour, debating. Slammed it shut, went upstairs. Talked to Paul until 2am, admitting with a burning shame that I hadn't eaten at all that day. Apologizing. He understands...says we can talk about something else. We discuss our future wedding and possible honeymoons until we fall asleep. Softly murmuring a "goodnight, I love you," before hanging up. I promise him I will eat lunch today.
I go to work without breakfast again. Lunch break comes at precisely 1:04 pm. I order a side salad with lite dressing and tortilla strip toppings instead of croutons. Paul sees me order, he smiles. I take the salad to my table and pick out the cheese, tomatoes, broccoli, and half the carrots and lettuce. I dump out the packet of tortilla strips on my tray (a 70-calorie packet) and set exactly half of the pile aside to throw away with most of my salad. I measure half the packet of dressing (1 tbsp), 15 calories, and add it to the salad. Throw the rest away.
Then the most pathetic thing happened. I dropped my fork. And I would not pick it up. For some reason, I couldn't. I sat there a few minutes, thinking about whether or not it was worth it to pick up the fork and eat my nothing-salad. I sat there, locked in a staring contest with the salad, thinking about the fork. Then my break was over. I threw away the rest of the salad. I never picked up the fork.
I talked to Paul after work, I confessed the salad incident. He was dissapointed but he hugged me anyway. He held me tight, wrapping his arms around me, saying, "look, my arms can reach all the way around you and they overlap to my elbows. That's barely even comfortable. You're not fat." I nodded and knew I had to do better. My dad picked us up and ordered dinner for my family. I got a real salad, one with all kinds of protein and veggies...Paul smiled hugely at me when I requested it. We dropped Paul off and went home. I ate the salad with my family. I even ate some of my brother's leftovers.
Then. Oh god. I went upstairs. Straight to the bathroom. My mind completely blank, I threw up until I was practically dry-heaving. I usually never go that far. I stared into the mirror at my puffy face and thought "something is very, very wrong." Then I went for a walk. Burning off calories I didn't have. I smoked again. Hands shaking, heart pounding, my vision wavering in and out of focus. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to the playground stairs before I climbed down to walk back home.
For the first time, I'm really scared. I'm scared that I won't fix this in time for Paul before he loses it like Joe did. Everyone loses it eventually...even me. If I was not stuck being myself I would have left Kat a very long time ago. I'm worried that my ED is taking over, for real. The only way I can see this being okay is if I learn to control it again like I used to. Either way, I need to figure something out. I can't say anyhing for sure, because now I know that things change very quickly.
Hope you all are doing well, stay strong.
~Kat
I am also bashing myself over the whole attitude I had this summer. The "I can't take this much more I'm going to relapse a.s.a.p." YOU CANNOT MAKE YOURSELF RELAPSE GOOD GRACIOUS GOD, KAT. If we're going to be completely honest here, I didn't "recover" over this summer at all. I was just hungry, and didn't have enough willpower to starve myself anymore.
The third thing I feel like a complete idiot over is my last post. You all were so happy for me. But I now know that I spoke too soon. Far too soon. It seems that the instant I really want to get out, my brain pulls a nasty switch on me and says "Oh wait, you're really trying to get over this? Time to find out how deep you dug your grave."
I posted on Wednesday, then Wednesday night I started to slip. Thursday was a disaster. Yesterday was a trainwreck. Today was a complete failure.
Back up to Wednesday...when I posted in complete sincerity. Paul came over to visit me that afternoon and he read the post. He was so excited. We laughed and smiled and he hugged me tight and I didn't care about the existence of my tummy. Then Wednesday night I felt the pressure again. The pressure to "fix things" in a not-good way. I took laxatives and firmly decided not to eat the next day. Thursday I got up and went to school. I avoided food until lunch time, when two of my friends invited me to lunch. Why not, I thought. I re-embraced the idea of recovery and ate a real lunch for once. Then I lost control. I couldn't stop eating. I ate practically all day...making multiple trips to the vending machines at school, then multiple excursions to the refrigerator when I got home. I nearly cried looking at myself in the mirror that night.
Yesterday I went to work without breakfast. When I went on lunch break, I started the whole insane staring-at-the-screen-wondering-what-the-hell-to-eat process again, then thought "screw it" and stormed off to the back to get my purse. I sat listening to my iPod and scribbling my mess of thoughts on a scrap of paper, trying to get them all down before I exploded. I got home and went for a walk. Smoked, walked, smoked, nearly fainted. I went to lie down on a picnic table, dark gray clouds swirling over my head, mingling in my blurring vision with the trails of smoke produced by my cigarette, held over my head. Take a drag, breathe, try to stand up. You can do this. Go home and eat.
I went home. I did not eat. I stood facing the refigerator for what felt like an hour, debating. Slammed it shut, went upstairs. Talked to Paul until 2am, admitting with a burning shame that I hadn't eaten at all that day. Apologizing. He understands...says we can talk about something else. We discuss our future wedding and possible honeymoons until we fall asleep. Softly murmuring a "goodnight, I love you," before hanging up. I promise him I will eat lunch today.
I go to work without breakfast again. Lunch break comes at precisely 1:04 pm. I order a side salad with lite dressing and tortilla strip toppings instead of croutons. Paul sees me order, he smiles. I take the salad to my table and pick out the cheese, tomatoes, broccoli, and half the carrots and lettuce. I dump out the packet of tortilla strips on my tray (a 70-calorie packet) and set exactly half of the pile aside to throw away with most of my salad. I measure half the packet of dressing (1 tbsp), 15 calories, and add it to the salad. Throw the rest away.
Then the most pathetic thing happened. I dropped my fork. And I would not pick it up. For some reason, I couldn't. I sat there a few minutes, thinking about whether or not it was worth it to pick up the fork and eat my nothing-salad. I sat there, locked in a staring contest with the salad, thinking about the fork. Then my break was over. I threw away the rest of the salad. I never picked up the fork.
I talked to Paul after work, I confessed the salad incident. He was dissapointed but he hugged me anyway. He held me tight, wrapping his arms around me, saying, "look, my arms can reach all the way around you and they overlap to my elbows. That's barely even comfortable. You're not fat." I nodded and knew I had to do better. My dad picked us up and ordered dinner for my family. I got a real salad, one with all kinds of protein and veggies...Paul smiled hugely at me when I requested it. We dropped Paul off and went home. I ate the salad with my family. I even ate some of my brother's leftovers.
Then. Oh god. I went upstairs. Straight to the bathroom. My mind completely blank, I threw up until I was practically dry-heaving. I usually never go that far. I stared into the mirror at my puffy face and thought "something is very, very wrong." Then I went for a walk. Burning off calories I didn't have. I smoked again. Hands shaking, heart pounding, my vision wavering in and out of focus. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to the playground stairs before I climbed down to walk back home.
For the first time, I'm really scared. I'm scared that I won't fix this in time for Paul before he loses it like Joe did. Everyone loses it eventually...even me. If I was not stuck being myself I would have left Kat a very long time ago. I'm worried that my ED is taking over, for real. The only way I can see this being okay is if I learn to control it again like I used to. Either way, I need to figure something out. I can't say anyhing for sure, because now I know that things change very quickly.
Hope you all are doing well, stay strong.
~Kat
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Beating the Un-Holy Trinity
Over the past few days I have been experiencing a range of thoughts and ideas that are completely foreign to me, some of them I thought up all by myself, and many of them were triggered by some interesting incidents.
To start, the whole thing that happened with the skinny girl at work. Let's call her Nina. She had such an impact on me, I can't ignore the idea of "you're beautiful on the inside first, regardless of shape." There's also Paul. Lately I've let him do things (little things) that I never let anyone else do because of how extraordinarily self concious I am about my weight. For example, Alex had her birthday party this weekend at the bowling alley and Paul was there. Between frames, while everyone else took their turns, he had me sit on his lap. I NEVER, EVER, sit on people. I've always felt like an elephant going to smoosh them. I used to sit on Alex but she would always shriek something like "Get OFF! God you're crushing me!" And so I gave up on the idea that I could sit safely on anyone. Sitting on Paul's lap was the first time in a very long time I've trusted anybody to feel the full weight of me on their legs. Of course, as soon as I sat down I was apologizing. "I'm sorry I'm so heavy, let me know if I start squishing you." And he responded with a surprised, "No, you're not...you're not heavy at all. You're light."
I couldn't believe it, but I trusted him. Then he put his arms around my waist. This is another big red flag for me usually. I don't let anybody touch my stomach. I'm like a ferocious cat when people poke me. They think it's because I'm ticklish. Well, I am...but mostly I react that way because I'm scared to death they'll feel what a substantial tummy I have. When Paul did it, I started to put my hands up, trying to cover as much of the remaining "me" that was visible to everyone to somehow compensate for the extreme discomfort at the notion of "I tried to hide the fact that I have a fat stomach but now the secret's out!" Well, Paul would have none of that. He pulled my hands down and held me tighter. I wiggled, saying "why are you holding my hands down?" He said simply: "Because you're feeling self concious. And you shouldn't."
And for just a few seconds, I didn't.
Yesterday at work, when the managers weren't looking, he would sometimes come up behind me and put his arms around my tummy again and hold me tight. The first few times I panicked. Partially because I was afraid we would be seen, and partly because of the oh-my-god-THE-STOMACH thing. By the end of the day though, when we went for a short walk and he held me that way again...I told him it was my favorite hug. And it is. It makes me feel so "okay" with myself it's completely incredible. Paul has completely torn me out of my comfort zone and to my surprise, it's not all that uncomfortable.
On another note, I know this blog is pro-ana, so I have spent very little time (or none at all) talking about my binge-disorder. This is something I developed at age 12. Since then, food has been my main channel for emotional stress. Either I'm eating way too much, eating way too little, or eating and throwing it up. The hitch in this setup is that food becomes (as it became for me) a complete focus in your life. It's a guilty pleasure, a taboo, a psychological necessity, a punishment. Note that those all conflict. Hence why I am always going out of my mind with confusion. Unfortunately it's difficult to be completely free of any one of these disorders. When I'm determined to beat anorexia, my brain switches into thinking this is a free license to eat everything. Which is why I yoyo around on the scale so much. Bulimia is somewhere in the middle of that, mainly stemmed out of my self-hatred issues.
I know now that I have to beat all three. The "Un-Holy Trinity of Eating Disordered Behavior" as I call it. (Hey sounds, like a book title, haha) And I came to that realization at work yesterday. For the first time in a while, I ordered a real meal at work. Because I was absolutely hungry and I knew I should. As I was eating, I pondered the process of consumption. I glanced around the store. Many people were eating, but focused on talking to the people at their table, as if eating in itself is not a big deal. Eat when you're hungry. Stop when you're full. Eat what you like, but don't load up on junk. Simple. I thought about it, and I looked down at my lunch. Chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite. Chewed thoughtfully.
This tastes yummy, I thought finally.
Kaboom. Breakthrough. I could almost see the lightbulb pop up over my head. Food is not a sin. Nor is it supposed to be abused like a drug. Find the place in the middle where food is yummy and meant to keep you going through the day. I may think I'm fat, but deep down I know I'm not really. I'm right in the range I'm supposed to be. I need to maintain. What better way than to embrace this radical idea that food is an often-yummy form of life-inducing nourishment and henceforth should be treated in this fashion.
I am not skinny.
I am not fat.
I am "just right." As I have been told by many.
I would love to embrace that title.
"Just right," is sounding better every day.
That's me as I am now. I may not be tiny, but I'm me.
Stay strong everyone, xoxo
~Kat
To start, the whole thing that happened with the skinny girl at work. Let's call her Nina. She had such an impact on me, I can't ignore the idea of "you're beautiful on the inside first, regardless of shape." There's also Paul. Lately I've let him do things (little things) that I never let anyone else do because of how extraordinarily self concious I am about my weight. For example, Alex had her birthday party this weekend at the bowling alley and Paul was there. Between frames, while everyone else took their turns, he had me sit on his lap. I NEVER, EVER, sit on people. I've always felt like an elephant going to smoosh them. I used to sit on Alex but she would always shriek something like "Get OFF! God you're crushing me!" And so I gave up on the idea that I could sit safely on anyone. Sitting on Paul's lap was the first time in a very long time I've trusted anybody to feel the full weight of me on their legs. Of course, as soon as I sat down I was apologizing. "I'm sorry I'm so heavy, let me know if I start squishing you." And he responded with a surprised, "No, you're not...you're not heavy at all. You're light."
I couldn't believe it, but I trusted him. Then he put his arms around my waist. This is another big red flag for me usually. I don't let anybody touch my stomach. I'm like a ferocious cat when people poke me. They think it's because I'm ticklish. Well, I am...but mostly I react that way because I'm scared to death they'll feel what a substantial tummy I have. When Paul did it, I started to put my hands up, trying to cover as much of the remaining "me" that was visible to everyone to somehow compensate for the extreme discomfort at the notion of "I tried to hide the fact that I have a fat stomach but now the secret's out!" Well, Paul would have none of that. He pulled my hands down and held me tighter. I wiggled, saying "why are you holding my hands down?" He said simply: "Because you're feeling self concious. And you shouldn't."
And for just a few seconds, I didn't.
Yesterday at work, when the managers weren't looking, he would sometimes come up behind me and put his arms around my tummy again and hold me tight. The first few times I panicked. Partially because I was afraid we would be seen, and partly because of the oh-my-god-THE-STOMACH thing. By the end of the day though, when we went for a short walk and he held me that way again...I told him it was my favorite hug. And it is. It makes me feel so "okay" with myself it's completely incredible. Paul has completely torn me out of my comfort zone and to my surprise, it's not all that uncomfortable.
On another note, I know this blog is pro-ana, so I have spent very little time (or none at all) talking about my binge-disorder. This is something I developed at age 12. Since then, food has been my main channel for emotional stress. Either I'm eating way too much, eating way too little, or eating and throwing it up. The hitch in this setup is that food becomes (as it became for me) a complete focus in your life. It's a guilty pleasure, a taboo, a psychological necessity, a punishment. Note that those all conflict. Hence why I am always going out of my mind with confusion. Unfortunately it's difficult to be completely free of any one of these disorders. When I'm determined to beat anorexia, my brain switches into thinking this is a free license to eat everything. Which is why I yoyo around on the scale so much. Bulimia is somewhere in the middle of that, mainly stemmed out of my self-hatred issues.
I know now that I have to beat all three. The "Un-Holy Trinity of Eating Disordered Behavior" as I call it. (Hey sounds, like a book title, haha) And I came to that realization at work yesterday. For the first time in a while, I ordered a real meal at work. Because I was absolutely hungry and I knew I should. As I was eating, I pondered the process of consumption. I glanced around the store. Many people were eating, but focused on talking to the people at their table, as if eating in itself is not a big deal. Eat when you're hungry. Stop when you're full. Eat what you like, but don't load up on junk. Simple. I thought about it, and I looked down at my lunch. Chewed. Swallowed. Took another bite. Chewed thoughtfully.
This tastes yummy, I thought finally.
Kaboom. Breakthrough. I could almost see the lightbulb pop up over my head. Food is not a sin. Nor is it supposed to be abused like a drug. Find the place in the middle where food is yummy and meant to keep you going through the day. I may think I'm fat, but deep down I know I'm not really. I'm right in the range I'm supposed to be. I need to maintain. What better way than to embrace this radical idea that food is an often-yummy form of life-inducing nourishment and henceforth should be treated in this fashion.
I am not skinny.
I am not fat.
I am "just right." As I have been told by many.
I would love to embrace that title.
"Just right," is sounding better every day.
That's me as I am now. I may not be tiny, but I'm me.
Stay strong everyone, xoxo
~Kat
Friday, October 16, 2009
Inner Conflict
Today was just plain bizarre.
First off, I went to work this morning after actually eating breakfast (healthy me, right?). And for a while I was okay. But lately the pain has been coming back, even though I'm not as bad as I was last winter about eating. In complete disregard to my attempt at breakfastly healthiness, my body rebelled my recent behavior once again and sent shooting pains all up and down my back as well as a dull, knawing ache in my stomach. My arms felt like they weighed 200 pounds each but my hands were all spastic and shaking. I was hot and cold and tired and energetic and sick and completely distracted. I've never made more mistakes in one morning of work. It got to the point, after the 15th forgotten drink I was supposed to make for the drive-thru, that all I could say to my confused co-workers was "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Around my break time the pain subsided a bit and I felt like I could eat. I didn't want to throw up today so I ordered another mini-lunch. A small bowl of soup and some lettuce and tomato slices. I was determined. "I won't do that to Paul today."
After I ate though, I felt the familiar rush of panic. The oh my god there's calories inside of me kind of panic. So I checked my watch. I had 10 minutes to spare before my break was over. I calmly put away my tray and slipped into the women's bathroom. Someone went in and out, but I waited. My break was nearing its end but I decided that I had just enough time. As soon as the coast was clear I was bent over saying goodbye to the miniscule amount of lunch I had just consumed. And then as I spluttered and took a breath, my hand poised for another gag, I heard the door open. Shit, I thought with a stab of mental anger toward whoever had just ruined my purge. I looked at my watch and mentally cursed again. I had just enough time to wash my hands and get back to work, not wait for another person to leave the bathroom. So I wiped my mouth quietly and flushed the toilet. I stepped out of the stall to find a girl straightening her uniform.
It was her.
I screamed in my head as I smiled at her. It was that damned naturally skinny girl here for her first day on the job. My face showed absolutely no sign of my disdain for her very existence as I shook her hand and introduced myself. I prayed that my eyes weren't too bloodshot from the purging. She didn't seem to notice anything. She asked where she could leave her jacket. I said I would take her to the back where we kept the lockers. She chatted with me the whole way, smiling at me and hanging on every word I said. The more I talked to her, the greater my horror because all I could think was...
Damnit, she's so nice!
And she is. She's probably one of the bubbliest, sweetest, nicest people I've ever met and we got along instantly. It was like my brain had decided to go completely bi-polar on me and switch from an extreme irrational hatred to a nearly absurd level of adoration. And now I am completely upside down over it.
I had anticipated her being a skinny prescence. Nothing more or less. I had planned to dislike her for that reason. I had planned to use her as a method of thinspiration...my desire to compete with a disliked, skinnier girl fueling my actions. I had anticipated finishing throwing up my lunch today. She has completely blown all my plans to pieces. I didn't finish throwing up, I most definitely do not dislike her, and my awareness of her diminished figure is now limited to simply that - an awareness. I feel so much less competetive toward her now. Shit.
And at the same time I am grateful she stopped me from purging. I know it's wrong, I know I need to stop. I am glad she's nice to me, because it reminds me that kindness has nothing to do with your shape. It's person-by-person. Yet another reminder that beauty isn't skin-deep.
This entire incident is another confirmation of what I know. I know about recovery, I know what I need to do. I know people can have beautiful souls no matter how much body surrounds that soul. The only thing it hasn't fixed is what I feel. I feel fat, I feel scared. I feel angry at all the complicatedness of my life. I keep throwing myself headfirst into pursuits non-related to ana, and when they come back and hit me in the face I am sorely tempted to dive right back into the one pursuit I can control. The quest for thinness.
I don't know if any of you read the comments on my last entry, but if you do, you'll see one signed, "Paul." Just so you know, yes it's really him. He found my blog and read a few of the posts. I can't decide exactly how I feel about that, but I told him I'm not angry at him. And I'm not. And I'm not letting the fact that he knows about this blog affect what I write about. I will not write things just for his sake, either to help or hurt him. I write for me, and I write to you, my faithful struggling readers.
Stay strong everyone, you all have beautiful souls. :)
xoxo
~Kat
First off, I went to work this morning after actually eating breakfast (healthy me, right?). And for a while I was okay. But lately the pain has been coming back, even though I'm not as bad as I was last winter about eating. In complete disregard to my attempt at breakfastly healthiness, my body rebelled my recent behavior once again and sent shooting pains all up and down my back as well as a dull, knawing ache in my stomach. My arms felt like they weighed 200 pounds each but my hands were all spastic and shaking. I was hot and cold and tired and energetic and sick and completely distracted. I've never made more mistakes in one morning of work. It got to the point, after the 15th forgotten drink I was supposed to make for the drive-thru, that all I could say to my confused co-workers was "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Around my break time the pain subsided a bit and I felt like I could eat. I didn't want to throw up today so I ordered another mini-lunch. A small bowl of soup and some lettuce and tomato slices. I was determined. "I won't do that to Paul today."
After I ate though, I felt the familiar rush of panic. The oh my god there's calories inside of me kind of panic. So I checked my watch. I had 10 minutes to spare before my break was over. I calmly put away my tray and slipped into the women's bathroom. Someone went in and out, but I waited. My break was nearing its end but I decided that I had just enough time. As soon as the coast was clear I was bent over saying goodbye to the miniscule amount of lunch I had just consumed. And then as I spluttered and took a breath, my hand poised for another gag, I heard the door open. Shit, I thought with a stab of mental anger toward whoever had just ruined my purge. I looked at my watch and mentally cursed again. I had just enough time to wash my hands and get back to work, not wait for another person to leave the bathroom. So I wiped my mouth quietly and flushed the toilet. I stepped out of the stall to find a girl straightening her uniform.
It was her.
I screamed in my head as I smiled at her. It was that damned naturally skinny girl here for her first day on the job. My face showed absolutely no sign of my disdain for her very existence as I shook her hand and introduced myself. I prayed that my eyes weren't too bloodshot from the purging. She didn't seem to notice anything. She asked where she could leave her jacket. I said I would take her to the back where we kept the lockers. She chatted with me the whole way, smiling at me and hanging on every word I said. The more I talked to her, the greater my horror because all I could think was...
Damnit, she's so nice!
And she is. She's probably one of the bubbliest, sweetest, nicest people I've ever met and we got along instantly. It was like my brain had decided to go completely bi-polar on me and switch from an extreme irrational hatred to a nearly absurd level of adoration. And now I am completely upside down over it.
I had anticipated her being a skinny prescence. Nothing more or less. I had planned to dislike her for that reason. I had planned to use her as a method of thinspiration...my desire to compete with a disliked, skinnier girl fueling my actions. I had anticipated finishing throwing up my lunch today. She has completely blown all my plans to pieces. I didn't finish throwing up, I most definitely do not dislike her, and my awareness of her diminished figure is now limited to simply that - an awareness. I feel so much less competetive toward her now. Shit.
And at the same time I am grateful she stopped me from purging. I know it's wrong, I know I need to stop. I am glad she's nice to me, because it reminds me that kindness has nothing to do with your shape. It's person-by-person. Yet another reminder that beauty isn't skin-deep.
This entire incident is another confirmation of what I know. I know about recovery, I know what I need to do. I know people can have beautiful souls no matter how much body surrounds that soul. The only thing it hasn't fixed is what I feel. I feel fat, I feel scared. I feel angry at all the complicatedness of my life. I keep throwing myself headfirst into pursuits non-related to ana, and when they come back and hit me in the face I am sorely tempted to dive right back into the one pursuit I can control. The quest for thinness.
I don't know if any of you read the comments on my last entry, but if you do, you'll see one signed, "Paul." Just so you know, yes it's really him. He found my blog and read a few of the posts. I can't decide exactly how I feel about that, but I told him I'm not angry at him. And I'm not. And I'm not letting the fact that he knows about this blog affect what I write about. I will not write things just for his sake, either to help or hurt him. I write for me, and I write to you, my faithful struggling readers.
Stay strong everyone, you all have beautiful souls. :)
xoxo
~Kat
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Interesting day.
Today was weird, to say the least. I promised Paul I would eat lunch. So I had a salad. A very very plain stripped down salad, but I ATE IT OK? And I bought a chicken soup at work to take home. Sure, I drained everything but the broth out of it but I ATE IT OK? I also took a very long walk. Probably burned off the salad and soup....hopefully............
I love walking in the cold. It's such a wonderful manifestation of loneliness. Listening to my ana songs, the slow beats and soft acoustics, the stripped down piano driven introductions, the intense guitar rhythms singing their grief for those stricken with eating disorders. I love sitting alone at a deserted playground, under the cloudy sky, tired and empty, smoking the pain away. Smoking on an empty stomach is the best. Maybe that's why they say that smoking curbs appetite, because it is the best feeling in the world. Standing up after 20 minutes, feeling my limbs shake uncontrollably, wondering if I'll black out right there on the woodchips. My steps weaving, veering off the sidewalk as I try to get home before dark, stumbling while I cross the street, vaguely afraid that I might get hit by a car (oops, I didn't mean to die today, it was an accident).
Get home, take a shower. Wash off the smoke and feel for bones. Suck in, feel harder. The ribs are there. I've missed them. Go downstairs and answer a text from Paul.
Paul........
And I remember that I am trying to fix this. Eat an apple. Slice it into tiny pieces so it seems like more. I had 50 apple slices today, Paul! Aren't you proud of me?
God, I'm a failure.
It's not fair. I want so bad to fix myself so I don't have to hurt him anymore. Why do I do this? I wish I could snap my fingers and make it all go away. Somehow restore the little girl who ate when she was hungry and stopped when she was full, who only threw up when she had the flu and only refused to eat when she was too excited about something or had a tummy ache. I wish I had a completely rational sense of self-preservation. This haphazard way of dealing with my life is NOT okay. I know this. Why can't I accept it?
On another note, I want to let you all know that I do read every single comment I receive on this blog. Every one. I promise you all that if you post it, I will read it. If you email me, I read those too. I can't promise I will answer you though. I want to. But I have so much feedback here and I'm so busy, I often just don't have the time to give you all the attention you deserve. I just want to say how much it warmed my heart to see the defense I received in the comments on my last entry after some bashing by another blogger. I know everyone is entitled to their opinions, but all the same, thank you so much. You all are the sweetest supporters I could ask for.
Stay strong, xoxo
~Kat
I love walking in the cold. It's such a wonderful manifestation of loneliness. Listening to my ana songs, the slow beats and soft acoustics, the stripped down piano driven introductions, the intense guitar rhythms singing their grief for those stricken with eating disorders. I love sitting alone at a deserted playground, under the cloudy sky, tired and empty, smoking the pain away. Smoking on an empty stomach is the best. Maybe that's why they say that smoking curbs appetite, because it is the best feeling in the world. Standing up after 20 minutes, feeling my limbs shake uncontrollably, wondering if I'll black out right there on the woodchips. My steps weaving, veering off the sidewalk as I try to get home before dark, stumbling while I cross the street, vaguely afraid that I might get hit by a car (oops, I didn't mean to die today, it was an accident).
Get home, take a shower. Wash off the smoke and feel for bones. Suck in, feel harder. The ribs are there. I've missed them. Go downstairs and answer a text from Paul.
Paul........
And I remember that I am trying to fix this. Eat an apple. Slice it into tiny pieces so it seems like more. I had 50 apple slices today, Paul! Aren't you proud of me?
God, I'm a failure.
It's not fair. I want so bad to fix myself so I don't have to hurt him anymore. Why do I do this? I wish I could snap my fingers and make it all go away. Somehow restore the little girl who ate when she was hungry and stopped when she was full, who only threw up when she had the flu and only refused to eat when she was too excited about something or had a tummy ache. I wish I had a completely rational sense of self-preservation. This haphazard way of dealing with my life is NOT okay. I know this. Why can't I accept it?
On another note, I want to let you all know that I do read every single comment I receive on this blog. Every one. I promise you all that if you post it, I will read it. If you email me, I read those too. I can't promise I will answer you though. I want to. But I have so much feedback here and I'm so busy, I often just don't have the time to give you all the attention you deserve. I just want to say how much it warmed my heart to see the defense I received in the comments on my last entry after some bashing by another blogger. I know everyone is entitled to their opinions, but all the same, thank you so much. You all are the sweetest supporters I could ask for.
Stay strong, xoxo
~Kat
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
"Did you have lunch?"
The question Paul asks me today at work.
"Yes!" I answer. "Ask Josh, he saw me order it!"
Josh overhears and says, "if you can call that a lunch."
Paul, "What did she have?"
Josh shrugs and says "like a piece of lettuce and a tiny fruit cup."
Paul sighs and shakes his head at me.
I couldn't help it! I've always been the skinniest girl at work since I started working there, but today a new girl came to orientation who puts all my hard work to shame. And I don't think she's ana at all. She ordered a normally proportioned meal of fried food before she left and I think I've seen her around school eating with her friends. But she's gorgeously skinny. She has long hair, fair skin, and long thin limbs that scream "supermodel!" Even Paul commented to me on how tall and skinny she was. All I could do in response to that was calculate the tiniest lunch I could possibly put together (just enough to say that I'm eating, and just not-enough to look like her someday).
I ate semi-normally yesterday. I purged my breakfast, then went out for a walk on an empty stomach and started to feel really dizzy, so I ate dinner when I got home. Today I had a few semisweet chocolate chips leftover from a cake I was baking for one of my friends, then nothing until my "lunch" at work. I haven't eaten since then, and I am debating about dinner. I may go for a walk and avoid it entirely, or I may eat and purge. Or eat and keep it down because that's the right thing to do.
I'm feeling a little less stressed about the move. I found out that I will keep my job. It will be hard being so far away from Paul though, I don't want to be far away from the main thing keeping me sane at this point in my life. I don't know what will happen to me when he's not around anymore.
In the meantime, thanks for reading.
Stay strong,
~Kat
"Yes!" I answer. "Ask Josh, he saw me order it!"
Josh overhears and says, "if you can call that a lunch."
Paul, "What did she have?"
Josh shrugs and says "like a piece of lettuce and a tiny fruit cup."
Paul sighs and shakes his head at me.
I couldn't help it! I've always been the skinniest girl at work since I started working there, but today a new girl came to orientation who puts all my hard work to shame. And I don't think she's ana at all. She ordered a normally proportioned meal of fried food before she left and I think I've seen her around school eating with her friends. But she's gorgeously skinny. She has long hair, fair skin, and long thin limbs that scream "supermodel!" Even Paul commented to me on how tall and skinny she was. All I could do in response to that was calculate the tiniest lunch I could possibly put together (just enough to say that I'm eating, and just not-enough to look like her someday).
I ate semi-normally yesterday. I purged my breakfast, then went out for a walk on an empty stomach and started to feel really dizzy, so I ate dinner when I got home. Today I had a few semisweet chocolate chips leftover from a cake I was baking for one of my friends, then nothing until my "lunch" at work. I haven't eaten since then, and I am debating about dinner. I may go for a walk and avoid it entirely, or I may eat and purge. Or eat and keep it down because that's the right thing to do.
I'm feeling a little less stressed about the move. I found out that I will keep my job. It will be hard being so far away from Paul though, I don't want to be far away from the main thing keeping me sane at this point in my life. I don't know what will happen to me when he's not around anymore.
In the meantime, thanks for reading.
Stay strong,
~Kat
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