Halfway through the binge, I felt SICK of eating, I didn't feel like eating any food at all. I wasn't even full, but wasn't craving anything. Might have been because I started eating CHEESE for some weird reason and cheese, except cottage is NUMBER ONE BAN! and my instincts were repulsed.
Guess i'm no longer stupidly, needfully addicted to food; this diet's gonna be so good. I just don't want to overeat.
I haven't lost more than three quarters of a pound. Yet my friends have started buying food for me and guilt tripping me to eat; yet I wake up nearly nightly with my calf muscles in searing knots. Yet in the mirror my ribcage becomes more visible each time. I don't know what is happening. Yet, my calves barely touch anymore. Everything is showing, the needle isn't moving. My body is fucking rebelling, like the fucking piece of shit it is. I HATE it, the crazy uncontrollable hatred impossible to restrain; no longer a mad dog on a leash, but a vast universe, like the blanket of outer space expanding infinitely, wrapping around me. This self hatred bubbling below the surface since I was 4, 3 years old, finally taking a life of its own. It's mine, yet it's its own. I don't know what to think. Is it my arrogant body? Is it because it was always meant to be like that from day one, yet, me, scared of it's sheer virulence, unconsciously tried my best to reign it in; the scorching wire cords burning deeper and deeper into my skin over the years. Burnt by it's ferocity, I let go of the reigns, the outward explosion of my self hatred. I think I have stopped fighting it, sitting back now, letting it control me. I don't care anymore.
I am becoming out of control. In this year, my (craziness) anxiety levels have elevated tremendously, scared of the motion sensor which announces my presence loudly and silently with the tiny red light, reminding everyone of my very much unwanted physical corporeality on space. I avoid it's sweep across the living room as best as I can, on my silent morning laps up and down the living room. I close my eyes and see strange, terrifying visions- a large split in the skin, barnacles growing on the sides of the exposed ravine of red flesh; skin around the eyes pulling back, back.... I pray incessantly, I'm sorry God, I'm sorry for being me, sorry for being such a disappointment, I'm sorry. No please stop telling me You love me-lift up the fabric of my shorts, run my finger down the cuts fresh and years old- I mean, God, LOOK AT THIS!!!! God, I'm sorry.
I suppose my brain will calm down once i'm 90 pounds. I have a feeling i'm making cuts in my diet, inconspicuous cuts, instead of 3/4 a bowl of cereal, I take half, down black coffee to "satisfy" instead. Skip the eggs and bread for lunch, I take 2 slices of wholewheat bread and a carrot. I don't know anymore. The needle is stuck.
I need something, someone, to tie my brain to Earth.
I need to avoid the guy I like, he makes me nearly happy enough to eat normally, when the temporary mirage of happiness has evaporated, I count and the number makes me freak.
I need to exercise more, try the famed circuit.
I need to stop annoying God with my weird, useless prayers. I feel God clearly, and He's listening, loving. I'm wasting His time.
I need to eat, A LOT less. Today's calorie count is about 1500.
I need to find some other, more useful way to stop the train of frustration and anger and tears and anxiety rattling full speed ahead in my head other than cutting. More useful, like exercise, like starving.
Can't wait for the needle to POINT THE RIGHT WAY.
I'll have to knit more if I want my backpack faster, but I rarely do it cuz it's sedentary nature is slightly unattractive to me.
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