somniofiducia

This may be the end.

Why do I not feel like I should?

Now I am pretty fucking sure the whole world is out to get me.
I want to go home to family.
Fuck everyone else;
I'm never eating again.
I hope you're all fucking happy.

I swear to god the whole fucking world is just laughing at me.

Right, last Saturday after work I was fetching in these big huge barriers we have outside to outline the seating area and my foot got caught on a binbag outside the door. The (broken, might I add) barrier I was carrying swung round and hit the door, which, being made entirely of glass, shattered. All over me. I was still picking glass out of my shirt a few hours later, while I was still at work, waiting for someone to come and board the place up. As if that's not humiliating enough. Every customer that comes in over the next few days just has to know what happened to the door and in front of each and every one of them my manager thinks it's funny to tell them all I did it, and conveniently leave out the fact it was an accident.
Now, my manager, is a fucking cow. She still owes me holiday pay from July when I went to Venice. Every time I ask her for it she's got some stupid excuse that she can't give it me. She's giving everyone else their holidays that they're taking now and paying them every penny, a month later and I'm still waiting for mine. She even gave one person 7 days more than they were entitled to. I work with a couple of nice guys, and one of them tells me today that he heard her on the phone to one of the other managers in the area saying she thinks I smashed the door on purpose, and that I'm stealing money from the till. WHAT THE FUCK. If I wanted a day off, I'd call in sick, not cover myself in shattered glass. And I don't know where the fuck she's got the idea I'm stealing money from, because obviously I'm not. When I tell her I need extra hours, she cuts them down. She talks on the phone about me, right in front of my face telling people I'm lazy and shit at my job. She knows damn well I'm the best person she's fucking got there and I'm the only one that ever does her any god damn favours. She can forget that, I now switch my phone off on my days off so she'll leave me the fuck alone. Even the assistant manager there, someone who I thought I could trust, has turned out to be a complete kiss-arse, and is taking her side when she knows all this shit isn't true.
I'm trying so fucking hard to leave that job, I've applied for more jobs than I can count, and even the ones that look promising always fall through. My boyfriend keeps saying they're going to give me a job where he works, and that they'll call me in a few days. This was a month ago, I'm still waiting, despite the fact he's still insisting they said I have a job. I can't afford to be without a job so I'm fucking STUCK in this place until I definitly have something else, and the one place that's giving me some hope, is probably just fucking with me.
So many people that come in are such pretentious fucking assholes. They all look at me and talk to me like they just scraped me off the bottom of their shoe. Right, I've only ever spat in one persons drink, I tolerate a lot from people before I go that far, but today, jesus fucking christ. Group of girls come in 5 minutes before we close wanting the most complicated drinks and to sit down for half an hour, I tell them they can have the drinks but they'll have to leave with them because we're closing. Obviously, they get arsey, they look like the type that would to be honest. They sit down anyway, and one of them comes back a few minutes later to order another complicated drink and starts going on about 'what happened to service with a smile', I explain to her that we're closing and the staff want to go home and that they have to leave. They still sit there, taking the piss out of me openly while I'm making this last drink. So, I spit in it, fucking bitch. I HOPE YOU READ THIS ONE DAY, BECAUSE IT WAS A FUCKING GOOD ONE AS WELL, AND YOU PROBABLY CAUGHT MY COLD.

I took great joy in watching her walk away drinking it.

My boyfriend goes away for the weekend and ignores my texts and calls completely, despite how much he knows I hate no replies because that's the way literally everyone that has ever broken up with me has done it. I finally get through to him, and he starts whining. If I go away and don't contact him every few hours at least he throws a fit, what the fuck am I supposed to think when he goes away and fucking ignores me all weekend?!

On top of all this shit, no matter how little I eat, I swear to god I'm getting fatter.

Being back under 120 doesn't feel as good as I thought it would.
Maybe 'back under 110' will feel better, even though it only happened once.

Hope everyone had a nice and lovely Christmas. :)





Oh, and recovery didn't really work. I gained some weight, I got healthy (ish, my heart is still rubbish), but never actually recovered. The horribly obsessive thoughts and anti-socialness have improved in the last 5 months, but all the time I was eating fairly normally and gaining the weight back, I just hated myself more. I've never really felt like I deserved my boy, he's the closest to perfect anyone will ever be, but now, I wake up every day and when I look in the mirror I worry so much that he's going to end us because I don't look how I used to. I've gained like 17lbs. It's horrible. And now I'm trying to get it off again, so that even if I don't think I'm good enough, hopefully he might. He's always telling me the opposite of what I think, but I want to at least feel that a little bit. I thought I hated my body then, but compared to how I feel about it now I was a lot happier with it.
He bought me the most beautiful necklace for Christmas, and what he wrote in my card actually brought me to tears. He deserves better than this fat lump on his arm.
Meh.
Christmas was nice though, being his girl is the best present I could have asked for.

A story, written by someone touched by the inner beauty of a person broken down to the core; the type of people I believe are the best types of people. Those who have lived that, and seen the other side, and those who have the privilage of seeing someone come through and be filled with hope, and faith in the things that matter most in life. It's those people that recognise what it is that's trivial and ultimately pointless, and that the things that do matter most are the things people take for granted, or overlook. I believe it comes when a person is driven, for whatever reason, to face mortality.

Of late, it's something I've had to do. No, I'm not going to die in the very near future, but think about it, nobody has to really face mortality in their everyday lives. We all know we will die one day, but we all believe we'll die old, just, when it's our time. Everyone has that feeling, a feeling I've always had. I'm young, I don't need to think about death yet, and we concentrate on the selfish things in life, short term fixes of happiness and satisfaction from things we think are important. In perspective, even some of the things that are important aren't really important at all. Education is important, where would we be, as a civilisation, without it? However, without the beauty of life itself, and the appreciation of life itself, what is education worth? The things that are truly important are the things that we would be worth nothing without. There was a time I was afraid of growing old, but now I look to it, because I think that by the time I've grown old, I'll be able to think about the life I led, which would be a full life if I do indeed grow old. I used to look at the elderly and feel sad because they were nearing the end. Now, when I see them I smile, look at them properly and try to imagine their lives. Things they can look back and say they've seen, or experienced, the purpose they once had and the purpose they still have today. The difficulties they must have faced, and consenquently seen through to a brighter side. Back to that feeling I described, you know the one. I remember when I was little I used to think I was invincible. I used to play out situations in my head, like, ironically enough, chronic illness. I used to be well aware of it, but always thought, honestly thought, that it would either never happen to me, or I would be one of those people who miraculously came through and lived a full life. If I was stabbed or shot I'd survive. I'd always be able to fight anything off. It's a spirit that remains with me in small doses. But slowly, in particular throughout the course of the last two or three years, I've realised the risks I have taken, the things I've done to get what I believed I wanted at the time. Primarily, starving my body of everything that's essential to survive to lose weight, thinking that the stories were just old wives tales, or that they happened to people that weren't as resilient as me. I was always one of those children that never got ill, was never allergic to anything, never had anything wrong with them. When all the other children were at home with the flu, or chicken pox, I was there, head held high, fit as a fiddle. So, I believed I could do what I wanted with my body and it would hold up, I'd be fine. I now have a heart defect. I'm on medication for it, and have had to face the possibility of a young death. This, and the struggle I have faced, and still face, every day of my life makes me appreciate it to a level I never believed existed, and the value of concepts like hope, faith, and love.

I believe those things can fight through, and rise above, everything there is. I'd like to quote the story now.
"The stars are always there but we miss them in the dirt and clouds. We miss them in the storms. Tell them to remember hope. We have hope."
It may sound silly, and even pathetic to some people, in fact, it will, but a lot of my life is grounded in hope. When the things that go on around me, in my life or even inside my own head, beat me down to nothing, and I wonder where the point is anymore, there's still that sometimes small piece of rope dangling down, the one with hope written on it. That's all I need then, I live every following day with hope that the next will bring happiness even in the vaguest and most tired of forms. I genuinely believe that hope can get me through anything. I hope one day I'll be free, and it's that, and sometimes only that, that sees me through each day. I believe that having hope brings good things. Hope keeps the fight in me going. As I said, that resilient and defiant spirit I had too much of years ago remains with me and presents itself in me when I think of hope. I have days when I think no, I will not let this beat me, I will not let anything take me down now, because I have hope that if I keep going, and don't give up, what I'm really striving for will arrive. The word hope is tattoo'd on my left wrist, so that even when I do feel like giving up, it's always there, a reminder, a push back in the right direction.

Faith, well, in all honesty I lost my faith until recently. I'm not just talking about God, I'm talking about a lot of things, some things I could tell you about, and some things I couldn't, simply because I didn't even know what they were myself. My spirit died. I'm sitting, thinking, but I can't think of much to say on faith, only that mine has been restored due to a gift I've been given. It's a gift I had all along, but one I lost sight of. So I guess the gift is really having had regained sight of it. Awareness of life. I'd forgotten what that can do. It's given me back the persistance I once had to live my life with intentions of really doing something with it, making a difference, because all you need for that power is life. As my mum quite aptly said, if you live and die without anyone noticing you were there - then what's the point?

Which leads me to, love. I am aware of, and very much hate, how much of a cliche the next few sentences are. For reasons that are in the past, I turned my back on love. It's one of the things I lost my faith in. I'd had feelings and affection for people, but lost my faith in love. Love, people mistake it for many things, lust and infatuation being two of the most common ones. Love isn't about being with someone, having a relationship that keeps you binded to a person somehow. I'm finding this difficult to put into words. Love can involve being with them, but ultimately it comes down to your care for that person. You want the best for them, no matter what, even if it isn't with you. Their happiness comes before your own. I believe love is when you stop caring about yourself, and what you want, what you have to do for them may break your heart but you do it because you love them, and you just want them to be happy. Seeing them unhappy breaks your heart, and you have that feeling where you would honestly do anything you possibly could just to make them smile again. That, is real love. Not infatuation. Not lust. Love. There is a person, that has brought back my faith in real love, and that I still have the ability to feel it. Simply his existance is enough to make me happy. Everything else is just a bonus. I'm going to try my best to descibe how he makes me feel, but excuse me if I fall short, and it's likely I will. His smile has the ability to turn my most hopeless of moods into one of pure bliss. Just being around him makes me think about how lucky I am to have met such a person. If he tells me everything is going to be okay, I know it is, even if it isn't, because either way, he is there. When I'm just counting the minutes and wishing the day would end so I can go back to bed, he walks through the door and suddenly I want to remain in that moment forever. Having his arms around me feels like a steel wall, there's no other way I could feel as safe. I look at him, and I think about how nothing would make me happier, than looking forward to a life that always had him in it. I see sadness in his eyes and I would turn the world over to rid him of pain. I'd take a bullet, if I knew it meant he was untouched. The person I'm talking about, has saved my life, brought back everything the last few years have cost me. He doesn't know it, but I owe him so much, and would be more than happy to spend the rest of my days repaying the debt.
"I might be simple, but more and more I believe God works in love, speaks in love, and is revealed in our love."


"We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again, until we're called home."

I have to go to hospital on Monday. I know it's not going to be good news, and I don't think I've ever been this scared.

I told him and he looked close to tears, but then he held me tighter than he ever has and told me everything was going to be okay.
I believe him.
In his arms, nothing can hurt me. It's the safest place I know.

I used to be stronger than this. I used to be able to deal, to slap on a smile when I needed and live, even when everything was crashing down around me. I can't do that anymore. I can't cope that way anymore. I have to do pathetic things now. Things I used to look down upon, things I never saw myself doing. Last night, I used the last £5 I had to buy booze, went to a place where no one could find me, and drank. I drank, and I cried, and I drank some more, and consequently cried some more. After a while I figured I should probably get walking home, but I didn't want to go home. So I wandered the streets, at midnight or so, a huge bottle of cider in my hands and a purely blank and dead look on my face. A man in a delivery van stopped me and asked if I was okay. We got talking, he was nice. It was nice he wasn't trying anything he was just genuinly trying to be nice. We talked about hard times, that it's always somehow okay in the end, and how I will be okay again one day. He told me while I was walking I looked dead. I feel dead. I've lost a big part of me. No, not for just a few months, but I've lost something that's been there for much longer, and so much purer than ever before. I actually felt I could trust with my life. All that hasn't gone away. I'm not giving up on something that I know could be so perfect. He was perfect. He told me I'd been perfect. I told myself I'd be perfect for him. Until he's ready, it becomes all about hope. I need hope. Hope is my string now. All the others have snapped and hope is the only one still there. If that snaps, and is lost too, I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't lose another person I love. Yes, you read right, love. I never say it, I always question it, but love.

You know that feeling, where you just want time to pass. So you're able to somehow know how long you're going to be waiting for something. So you can count the days, and go back to being happy..

Ten days ago, for the summer. He's back this weekend, for a day. He's back on the 18th June, for a day. Apart from that, we aren't going to be the same until the end of July. In fact, it's not going to be the same from now on. We won't live next door anymore, so he won't be able to just come round whenever, and it not be any sort of deal. We won't spend every night together like we did. In August it's all going to change. I'm not sure how I feel about that. It could be a good thing, we won't turn sickeningly routine like we were heading before he left. It was good though, the way we were, because no matter how much time I spent with him I never wanted to let go of him when he went next door in the morning for a shower. I just wanted to always be there, in his arms, where I've never felt safer in my life. This is the first person in my whole life I have trusted like this. He's at home, for two and a half months, well two now, and what makes it hard isn't paranoia, or worry that something will happen there, what makes it hard is him not being here. Waking up in the morning and he's not there to roll over and kiss me even if my breath stinks, not being able to move closer and sleep on his chest, listening to his heart beat if I wake up scared in the night and can't sleep. Waking up and not being able to look into his eyes and know that everything will be okay, even though he doesn't know why I'm always so scared. He's not here, and there's a pretty big hole where he was, and I can't wait until this weekend when I can feel complete again, even if it is just for a little while.
And while he's away he has my favourite thing. My ankle bracelet.

I've decided, that some things are best kept secret. I feel I'll just do what I always do and fuck things up if I tell him my horrible secret. Maybe he already knows something, maybe he doesn't, but it's going to stay that way. Unless it's absolutely necessary.

On which note, my doing well, went to the dogs.

I'm getting up early in the morning, I may go be a sad cunt and watch the Notebook before I sleep.

So I'm now coming inside. Plus, this whole heat rash thing is getting on my nerves. It looks horrible. It should start going down in a few hours. I never used to get rashs or have allergies or problems of any kind. I don't understand why all of a sudden everything seems to go wrong with me. It's like my body has no defence against anything anymore. I don't know if it's in any way related to anorexia but at the moment it seems the only explanation. I hate it. I'm now the person that used to make me cringe and feel weird. One of those people that's just allergic or has reactions to absolutely anything. Not to mention I've now got to be careful with what I just generally do, because the stupidest things have been setting my heart off lately. Delayed reactions to exercise, sitting down too fast, laughing too much. God, it's ridiculous, before long I'm not going to be able to do anything without having a damn heart attack. It's not like I'm still not eating anything, I'm eating, although not enough, but it should be better, shouldn't be as bad. It's worse. I don't get how. It's never going to fix is it? I'm still alive but I've lost my life. I'll never have a normal life again, all because of this fucking disorder.
If anyone that reads this journal is one of those people that wishes they could be anorexic, imitates behaviours to try and get that way. Don't do it. Please. Look after your life while you've still got it. Everything will change when you've got what you think you want, and you'll wish more than anything that you could go back. But that's just it, you'll never be able to. Ever. There are people like me that never wanted it, never even knew about it until we were in too deep and it was too late. You don't want this. Just trust me.

I hate how insecure I am. I keep thinking I've done something wrong, he's mad at me or something. I'm always too scared to ask, and I don't want to because I don't want him to know how insecure I am. He likes the confidence I fake, the outgoing nature of the girl I am on the outside, and when I have the ability to force it. The girl I wish I was, I guess. Loud, confident, and doesn't give a crap, she'll do what she wants. Never takes jokes personally, never gets paranoid and trusts herself, and other people. That's me, on the outside. I'm loud and confident because it's the best way to hide the fact I'm not. I pretend not to give a crap, I'll usually laugh off jokes or having done something stupid. They'll think that five minutes later I've already forgotten about it, when in fact a week later I'm still dwelling on it in my head, and worried that people will think differently of me because of it. I try to trust people, and I do to an extent, but there never fails to be the part of my brain that's telling me not to. They're only going to hurt me like the others did, they'll just put me back where I started. So I sometimes shut myself off. Build the walls back up, and not let anything in or out. I do it when I think he's being weird with me. I distance myself again. I think it makes him think I'm being weird with him, but I'm only trying to protect myself. In the end though, the whole thing is ridiculous because he might be what I've needed all along. Someone who cares, someone who has seen even the ugliest sides of me physically and mentally and no feelings have changed. He still wants me. What's scary now, is a repeat of that one. Not having those words returned. I'm not sure if I'm ready to say them yet, so I won't. We've known each other for ages, seen each other most days since September, had hidden feelings for each other for I'm not sure how long. All I know is when we first kissed each other he said it had been a long time coming. We've been together a month in a few days. It feels too soon, and I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for that yet, so I won't say them. There's a big part of me that wants to hear them first, because not having them returned is high up on the list of most devastating things that's happened to me, particularly since I've only said them to that one person.
Sometimes I wish I could be one of those people that just doesn't take those words seriously, and just says them to anyone, no matter how long they've known each other or been together, or how well they know each other. I wish it didn't annoy me so much so I could give myself the satisfaction of saying them to people and getting responses. But then, I'd go through life not knowing what love actually felt like, because I'd have said it to that many people I'd have probably convinced myself after a certain point that I did love them, when in fact I would have had no clue what real love was. I like to wait to know what I'm feeling is love, it makes it special, which is what love should be.

I know what I need to do though. I need to switch off the side of me that's just niggling, and be the person I always was with him, when I wasn't worried about that stuff I could just be myself. I need to go back to that, and that's what I'm going to do. When he gets back from the library. I'm me again.

Not that I'm entirely sure who that is anymore.

It was my 19th birthday a few weeks ago. I turned 19. I made it. About two months ago, when I was in hospital after my overdose, and was finally honest with somebody who could actually help me about everything, I was told I needed to stop or I wouldn't make it to my 19th birthday. When I took all those pills I hadn't eaten anything at all for 10 days. I didn't eat whilst in hospital. I didn't eat for a further 9 days upon being let out. For a while before it, and for a long time after, I could feel everything crashing. My chest would cripple me with pain. I couldn't walk more than to uni and back without feeling like I was going to collapse. I forgot everything (still do, I think my brain is permanently fucked too). I would go through periods of not sleeping at all, to doing nothing but sleep. My body gave up on me and the words that doctor said stuck in my mind every minute of every day. Every minute of every day leading up to my 19th birthday. Which I fucking made it to, and past. My heart may be fucked, and only a small improvement ever possible, but dammit I'm still. Fucking. Here.

Anyhow. I'm doing better recently. I'm managing to do enough to keep myself going on a daily basis now. I'm even going swimming regularly (even though the last time started to really hurt towards the end). I'm carless now, which means I have to walk everywhere. The extra exercise makes me feel better about having to actually eat. For reasons like this I'm ignoring the hospital(s). They want me to go in all the time for this and that but going will only trigger me back. I seem to be going somewhere here, I don't want to be setting myself up for going backwards. I don't know how long it's going to last, but I'm doing well, and don't want professionals breathing down my neck every day.

I also have a very wonderful boyfriend now. I'm lucky enough to have the feelings I was hiding for one of my good friends returned. I trust him. He doesn't know my secret, but I know he'll look after me, and keep me sane. Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to tell him, one day that's not in the near future.

Today, I thought seriously for a moment that I was going to die in the Post Office.
It was unbelievably rammed in there, I'd been standing in the queue for at least 20 minutes talking to nana on the phone. When I put the phone down my arm was weak and my neck really hurt. I got to the booth, sorted my car tax. The lady starts talking to me about taking out insurance with them for £50 cashback, at this point I was starting to get really clammy, sweaty, and breathless. My chest hurt. I could barely see. I couldn't concentrate for shit on what this lady was saying. My legs couldn't hold me up anymore, I was holding myself up with the booth, practically dripping. My chest got tighter and more painful, everything was starting to go dark. Instead of trying to ride it out I tell her I don't feel good, and thought I was going to collapse, told her I was in pain. Everyone in the post office is staring at me, a few people look concerned, the rest clearly don't care. I'm humiliated. The lady serving me gets me a chair, a cup of ice water, and a small piece of chocolate. I'm sat in the aisle at the posrt office, shaking, sweaty, I can't breathe and I'm sipping water from a little white cup. Eventually I can see again, my body stops feeling too much like it's going to give, and I can get up. I get out of there as fast as I can, even though I half expected it to come back the moment I started moving. I didn't care, I just had to get out.

I don't remember a time I was that terrified in my life.

I hate; hate hate HATE my fucking bulimic tendencies. They creep up on me at the WORST times. I've been doing well, and then BOOM. £6.50 wasted on food that only ended up in the god damn toilet anyway. I'm so angry at myself, I thought I'd curbed these. I feel slightly relieved however, that it's barely half an hour since I threw it all up and my stomach is rumbling again so I must have gotten rid of most if not all of it. My chest hurts now too, perfect. That could be a good thing though, hopefully I'll go into cardiac arrest in my sleep and not wake up. People have tried to scare me with stories of those kinds of cases. 'She was only ill for a few months and she had a heart attack in her sleep'. You know what that makes me think? It makes me think that it's not fair, it's not fair that it's taking me this long to do the damage she did in a few months. It doesn't scare me, it triggers me to try harder. Well done you, no really, you're actually doing me a favour, just not the one you think you are.
Anyhow.
Coma White:

Theres something cold and blank behind her smile
Shes standing on an overpass
In her miracle mile
(coma):
You were from a perfect world
A world that threw me away today
Today to run away

A pill to make you numb
A pill to make you dumb
A pill to make you anybody else
But all the drugs in this world
Wont save her from herself

Her mouth was an empty cut
And she was waiting to fall
Just bleeding like a polaroid that
Lost all her dolls
(coma):
You were from a perfect world
A world that threw me away today
Today to run away

A pill to make you numb
A pill to make you dumb
A pill to make you anybody else
But all the drugs in this world
Wont save her from herself

The lace I've tied around my waist, is my new best friend. Somebody gave me the idea of it with a ribbon but I couldn't find one. Nobody sees it so what does it matter? I wear it all the time and never loosen it so that when my stomach expands if I eat, it hurts. It punishes me for what I know I shouldn't do. Eat. When it gets loose, I tighten it, so my waist will only get smaller, and never bigger.

Haha, reading that back, that's so messed up. Haha. Whatever.

I don't even know why I wanted to talk about that. I'm so shit.

Between thinking, endlessly thinking, yesterday and today I have made a decision..well, I say decision but what I think it really is is a realisation, that I'm old now, old enough that I don't have to go to my grandparents for permission for anything anymore. Anything. Or, from anyone for that matter. Now, I know I'm not old, in perspective in fact I'm very young, but sometimes I don't realise my age, and still do things the way I did them when I was 15. I just wrote out a whole load of crap following that, but deleted it because when I read it back it was nothing but pointless. In essence, what I'm trying to get out is I can be who I want to be now. Be who I want to be, and look how I want to look.
So, when my money comes through, it's a new look for me, and a complete wardrobe revamp. Including some things that are too small for me, because soon, I WILL fit them. I'm going to be 105lbs for my birthday. I'm going to be 105lbs, and even though it won't be enough for me, I'll look thinner, seeing as since I've grown a few inches, even I start to see a difference at 110.

Thursday night made me so happy. It's extremely fucked up that it did, but it did. Sara told me I'd lost my curves (YES), quite a few comments, well to them they were digs, but to me they were compliments, came from S and A about me having nothing on my bones, and being extremely skinny. R even picked me up and said I weighed nothing, and she's so thin and gorgeous. A grabbed my stomach and said there was nothing to pinch. In fact, if it all hadn't put me in such a good mood I would have realised they were all getting on to me about it all night. But, hearing it all put me on such a high, and I had a great night, even if I did wake up with a rather large slash in my leg.

I don't even remember what else I was going to write about.
My mind is going to shit, I swear..

Wonderful. Back to binge temptations and a necessity to eat at least a meal a day. She gets arsey if I don't. I should be okay tomorrow, but Friday and the weekend are going to be HELL. I hate purging, a lot, but I can't possibly keep it all down. I'll gain stupid amounts of weight and turn into an even bigger whale than I am now. I may be back down to 114lbs after going back up to 118lbs the last time I was home. I can't go back up again, I just can't.

On the other hand, I've had a lot of comments recently about my size. Well, when I say a lot it's really only two but within the space of a few days and it's odd because I never normally get those types of comments. My grandma yelled at me for being skinny the day I left home, actually physically yelled. Then today, a nurse told me I should get more meat on my bones. I mean, really, what the hell. I'm not skinny. At all. 114lbs at 5'5 is shameful. I'm a whale, and I'm sick of being a whale, and I'm sick of people lying to me about it.

I've been drinking lots of sugar free Red Bull recently, as in my 'habit' (ha) is starting to cost me an unhappy amount of money. It stops me feeling so much like crap though, so it's worth it. I can still be happy, perky Megan and not have to actually eat something.

I'm supposed to be going out tomorrow night. It means alcohol but it's Thursday night, so I'll be doing lots of dancing and hopefully burning most of it off.

This long awaited loan payment comes through in less than two weeks now. Thank. God. Is all I can say, because then I can finally join the damn gym. I've wanted to since long before Christmas but I simply haven't had the money. As soon as I've joined I'll be there everyday, a few hours at least. Exercising here is doing no good. The only thing is I'm going to have to lie on my application, because Rob told me they want to know of any health problems you have. Ha. Hilarious. If I be honest and put down that I have a dodgy heart, and barely eat so I'm rather prone to blacking out at times of vigorous exercise, there's no way in hell they'd let me in. I'm maybe just going to have to have a smoothie or something before I go and workout so I don't actually black out and they find out in that way.

I can't wait.

It's been longer than I thought since I last posted here. More than a month in fact. I'm well aware I'm only updating for updatings sake, but I do sort of feel like it would be helpful to me to get things off my chest again.

In reference to the last entry, well, my referral came through from the hospital not long after they let me out. I had to call and confirm an appointment for an assessment. I was in two minds as to whether I wanted to call or not, because in the end, and they made this clear in the letter, that it was up to me what I wanted to do. I did call though, even if I did leave it until the last day they would wait for me. The assessment was March 6th, not that long ago now. It went okay, I tried my hardest to be honest but I did find myself slightly sugarcoating how strong my urges are, and how little I really eat. (As is turns out, I should have been honest because the outcome was exactly what I was afraid of anyway; I'll elaborate in a minute.) It felt surreal even being there, I didn't feel like I should have been there, and my feelings on that haven't changed at all even since I got that phonecall. I have a defective ability to take a step back and see from another point of view; defective in the sense that there is a part of me that knows I'm ill, but then there's a bigger, stronger part that doesn't believe it. I'm not sick enough. But yes, I got my phonecall the following Monday. I have been referred to the clinic for outpatient services to see how it helps, but my height and weight put me in a very dangerous place, and I'm very close to being admitted. That's fantastic, considering I have no plans to stop losing weight. I have a follow up appointment for, I think, the 27th March with the same lady who did my assessment and she wants me to see her weekly from then so she can monitor me. Jesus, how did it all get to this? I'll soon be spending more time at day hospitals than at home. I don't know what to make of it really, because deep down I'm not ready for recovery, again, so no matter what they do or where they put me I won't get better and will probably just revert back to my behaviours when they let me go.

I'll stop rambling about that now, for the fact is, I did do 'well' for a few weeks. I ate a meal a day, often with a piece of toast and fruit at another point in the day. It doesn't sound like a lot, but normally I do my best to eat nothing at all, or as little as possible. However, that time has gone. I can't cope with keeping doing it, I've gained a few lbs and I can't deal with the weight gain. So I'm back to my old habits again. I would say I had a taste of freedom, but I really didn't. I don't see how I could EVER eat three straight meals every day AND be okay with it. Freedom would be freedom from the urges to throw up, the guilt after anything has passed my lips, and the constant need to eat less and less. I want that, so bad. I'm just not ready to give this up. Again. < I'm sick of adding that word to everything, I shouldn't even be back at this place. Recovered should have meant recovered, not in a temporary state of normality.

On the bright side of things; I barely think about him or that anymore. Just the odd bit of nostalgia here and there, but the intense urges to hurt myself thinking about it are gone. I have admittedly gone a little off the rails recently though, but that has helped, oddly enough. I don't plan to keep being like this, in fact I'm in the process of getting myself back, but I'm glad I went there, because it's taken away what was bothering me most.

It is very possible that something is developing. I'll say no more, because I'm all up in the air about it and super confused, so watch this space.

Other than my rambling, things are actually pretty good at the moment when I think about it. Despite the fact I purged FOUR times yesterday, which would be my 'record', and my stomach feels pretty shitty today. I have a lovely supply of sugar free Red Bull that is going to keep my metabolism working while I lose these stupid lbs that I've gained.

I'll start updating regularly again, because as I thought I might, I do feel better for this incredibly long rant.

I'm not quite sure what's happened/happening to me right now. I feel nothing. About anything, I simply feel nothing. The only thing I feel, is happiness at seeing the pin on the scale resting further left than it did the last time. This thing is very quickly taking over my life. I think about food all day, I want people to bring up food in conversation so I can talk about it, I think about different sauces and recipes and meals and think about how they taste. Then, I remember that I can't have it, any of it. It's fattening, it's bad, it will make me feel worthless. I feel strong when I avoid cravings, I feel strong when I've lost a pound, like I've achieved something.

I've been affected quite a lot by something the last few days too.
This picture;



Okay, so I don't look so good, but this picture was taken just a few hours before I was taken into hospital. It saddens me, because I look so happy in the picture. It's like, a moment of happiness and silliness was captured right there but then the image a few hours later would be of me lying in a hospital bed. Pale, weak, and feeling like there's nothing left to live for. I'd be there for three days feeling the same way. That captured moment of happiness, in only a few hours, turned into three days of misery and pain. I don't even know why but thinking of that sends a bit of a shiver through me, and it makes me so sad. I don't know, maybe it has something to do with knowing that underneath the skin, everything is shutting down, slowly just, giving out. Eventually, possibly soon, it will all just stop. Then, it won't be me looking at pictures and feeling this, it will be friends and family, looking at them and thinking 'look how happy she looks, who knew what she was fighting, that she was slowly dying, but now it's too late, and she's dead.' I guess I shouldn't be thinking like this, and I feel a little farfetched thinking anyone would really care that much, but I can't seem to shake it.

I'm fasting for Lent. Yes, I really want to be thin, to be the envy of people, to have the perfect body. Really though, well, Lent is 40 days, 40 days without food I'm well aware is going to do some significant damage, hell I'm only 5 days in and I'm having serious chest problems already, and the real reason I've chose to completely fast, is because I'm hoping that this might finally finish me off. I'm living in a cage, every single waking moment is a battle with my own head. Every time anything goes in my mouth, I dwell on it for hours. The idea of eating more than 200cals in a day frightens me to my core. All I ever think about is food, calories, how I'm going to avoid eating, how much exercise am I going to have to do to burn THAT off, how much weight can I lose, how thin do I have to be to finally be fucking satisfied.
Take now, I'm at 110, the lowest I've been in about 2 years, yet when I look in the mirror I look no different than when the scale said 140. I'm determined to finish Lent, I'm looking forward to seeing how small I am when I get to the end. Though I know, that the moment I drop below 100lbs, I'll have the biggest smile on my face.

This isn't a life. It's an existance. I'm tired of existing, I want to either live, or die.

Family are amazing. They really are.
I didn't say anything to nana about feeling like crap, which I do, constantly these days it seems. Yet, she knew. I got a phonecall earlier and she said I was welcome to come home anytime I want to get away. Which I might take up actually, since I'm close to tears as I type yet I can't cry, because Krish is here. Sleeping. Something I seem no longer able to do. I mean, she even offered to pay for my petrol money to come home.
So, I'm thinking, I'm going to go home on Friday, stay that night and Saturday night and come back Sunday.

I am slightly ashamed of why I'm coming back Sunday. It's the day of the Kerrang tour in Leeds. Which means a certain someone is going to be in the city that night, and more than anything I just want to see what happens. It could be the best thing that's happened to me in a while, yet, it could be nothing. I just want to see. I feel so horrible though, I actually lay and wondered last night if it was possible I might be clinically depressed. I can't sleep at night, yet I sleep all through the day. Whenever I'm alone, all I can do is cry. I'm finding myself avoiding social situations increasingly more often, or making plans and then not actually wanting to do them when it comes down to it. Like now, at the time Krish said she'd come to Leeds for some nights out and stuff I was really up for it, but, come last night, all I wanted to do was stay at home, and not come back here. Now I'm back though, well, I still want to go back home but I'm actually enjoying the extra company.

I don't understand myself at the moment. My life is actually good, when you look at it from the outside, but I've never felt more horrid. There's a part of me that really just wants to die. Be done with it. End the pain. In the end, things look good on the outside and yet, they've never been worse. I'm more surrounded by people than I ever have been, yet, I've never felt more alone. I need to talk to my therapist about this stuff. I also need to go home again, and be more honest with nana, I think she might be the one that can help me more than anyone.

I wish I felt more positive about life.