I’m in love. 

Completely and totally.

But the body I’m in, I don’t want to be this way, to look this way, to feel this way.

I won’t actually _see_ them until…probably more than a year. I’ve got time, sure. I know I do. Everyone wants pictures, though. Fucking pictures. 

I wouldn’t send nudes, I mean, come on. But I can’t get myself to take full length shots, etc. It’s a mess. I’m a mess. I’m a complete fucking mess. 

And I _don’t_ want to do this the unhealthy way. I’m trying, REALLY trying to be good with this, to eat normally, to exercise. Exercise isn’t the problem any longer. I’ve got that taken care of. I go to the gym several times a week, I do housework, so on and so forth. 
But, the eating. I can’t always stand being full.
The thought of him not wanting me because I’m not good enough, because I’m not perfect, has got me skipping meals daily now. I’m a wreck. I feel like I’m falling apart. 

I skipped dinner yesterday. Skipped breakfast the day before. Haven’t eaten yet today and probably won’t until a few hours from now. I KNOW it’s not good for my metabolism. I’m going to try and stomach SOMETHING just so I can take my vitamins and also so I don’t feel so sluggish. 

I feel like I’m going out of my mind. 
I told him everything about my disordered eating, about my body image, etc. It just sort of came up during our conversations and I know he’s busy right now and that’s why he hasn’t responded but my anxiety is telling me it’s because he’s repulsed by me now. I know it’s not true. I mean, sure, there’s a chance he’d say that, there’s always a chance of that happening but I don’t really believe it.
I’m just over-thinking things. As usual. 

 Right now, I just want to crawl back into my bed and cry. I just want to cry and ignore everyone and everything. I wish I could see the future so I could know what he’d really think of me, so I’d know if any of this was worth it. So I could save myself from being hurt. 

Trying to paste on a smile, currently. It’s not easy because I would love to disappear for awhile. But I can’t and I’ve got the world to keep happy. 

Ok, I’ve seen a book at Target that was black, soft cover, had a lime green popsicle on the front cover and I know it was an ED related book. 

Does ANYONE know the title? ANYONE at all? I’ve spaced it and it’s driving me mad. :c 

Thank you for any and all advice!! 

I told myself I’d be lighter for graduation.
And so I starved myself or binged and purged until I had dropped about 90 lbs in 3-4 months. My hair was falling out, my mother was scared.
And I was still ‘fat’. But I was lighter, my goal had been met.
But then I decided I’d ‘recover’ and gained everything back and then some, surpassing my HW and making myself feel like death was the only way out.
So, here I am, trying to be ‘normal’ but purging creeps up every now and again and the urge to restrict is oh so very strong.
I have medical problems that will never go away because of what I did to myself.
But I still relish the fact that I achieved that goal, that I graduated at a new LW, while, technically, still being fat. But it made me feel invincible.

Eating foods without marked cals and nutrition facts make me panicky.
I can’t part from Diet Coke.
Water and I are the best of friends and I almost always avoid milk. I’ll eat dairy just…not milk…
Eating out is a chore these days and the weight I’ve gained makes me feel useless, pathetic, unlovable and scared.
I wish, oh you’ve no idea how much I wish, I could be as heavy as I was the day before I decided I’d destroy myself. And all because of what ‘society’ deemed acceptable.
Skinny, skinny, skinny, skinny. Fit, fit, fit, fit.
But instead of encouraging me to be healthy, no, society said stop eating.
And I did. For a time. And now I’m here.
Sort of like being back at the beginning but with more choices.

To watch Weeds, journal, contemplate life and guzzle my Diet Coke. I’ve three two liters to consume. Halfway through one. It’s not a goal or anything I’m just sayin’.

Tomorrow: coffee, art, poems. Not much else, I think.

Personal post ahead. Emotional drama, etc. You’ve been warned?

Plan for the rest of the day:

- Clean room a bit

- Sleep, listen to music simultaneously

- Peanut butter toast for dinner. I’m only 6 cals away from being done with my limit. Ugh.

Moral of the story? Keep this shit to myself. Until I’ve lost 20. At least. Like, fuck.

I feel terrible. I really, truly do.
And I know everyone has their bad days but mine come so close to destroying me that it’s simply not worth it to keep at it without at least wanting to change something.

With my beliefs, I feel I am responsible for many things and one of those responsibilities, one of those ‘duties’ is mainly to myself. I am supposed to treat my body well, worship it, be thankful for it. And I’m doing the complete opposite.
Either by restricting, eating not-so-healthy foods, binging, purging, hating myself for eating normally, etc etc. I hate looking in mirrors, as if my self worth will always be measured in how ‘good’ I look to myself. Sometimes I have so much confidence, soaring through the roof at times and times like yesterday, it’s taking so much strength to not bash my head into a wall. (literally. I’ve come to that. Cutting and now this…)

So, I’m going to try. I’m plodding forward, I won’t let this bring me down to my knees indefinitely. There will be days that I cannot handle, that I cannot see myself getting through but I’ll be fine.

I still want to lose weight. I’ve always wanted that and just for myself. To feel better, to be healthier, to look slimmer. I’ve always wanted those things. But I’ve changed perspective a whole hell of a lot.

I’m off to write. I’m working on a novel. I’m putting myself on a thirty minute timer and once I’m done with that bit, I’m on here, reblogging pretty pictures.
While I never interact with any of you I still feel this sense of comfort being able to log on and know that somewhere, someone is struggling just like me.

So, I’m going to be blunt because, with something like this, there’s nothing left to do but bare all truth.

There’s this girl, woman, whichever, woman technically but I call them all ‘girl’. She’s beautiful, intriguing, has the same name as me and that’s probably all I know.

She makes coffee and might possibly be the new manager at our local Starbucks.

And I really, really like her.

She gives me these vibes, the way she talks to me, looks at me. And I’m always doubting if someone’s flirting with me and that only happens when they actually are. And when she asked me my name the other day, and I told her, and she told me that was hers as well, she got a little side tracked and awkward forgetting the drink I had ordered, hurrying to get it finished.

The thing is, I’m so terribly insecure with myself that I would never get into a relationship with her or anyone else for that matter. It’s always so much safer to daydream about the ‘what ifs’.
So, my challenge, my goal, for myself and the sake of my emotions, I can’t let whatever is happening go any further until I can fit into these really nice cargo, deep olive green pants I have, with the buttons on the calves, cute pockets. If I can fit into those again, I’ll allow myself the sweet privilege of pursuing something I can only believe is unreal and entirely out of my reach.

The most twisted part of all of this is that we’re both what one would call ‘fat’. It’s just the way things are. As strange as it may seem, I’ve no problem with it on others. It’s just me. I hate myself. I probably always will. I can’t even accept that she’d be attracted to me the way I am. I can’t settle for the present.

It hurts to think of her. It depresses me only because it’ll never be a fairytale. It will never be a perfect relationship. It won’t go anywhere. It’ll just be something I’ll ruin in the end because I’ll starve myself even more if and when we’re together.

What have I done in my past life to deserve the current? It’s a wonder that I haven’t killed myself yet. After all this time, even. After all the pain, the mess I’ve created and dug myself further into.