14:05 - 19.10.2007
wasted; blue

and to those who think that bulimics are merely too weak and cowardly to be anorexic and turn to bulimia as an “easier” alternative…

WRONG.

it’s easier to starve yourself than it is to binge and purge. much easier. and then you’re not up sick all night. people see how thin and frail and pale and sickly you look when you’re anorexic, and they’re nicer to you than other people and constantly tell you how wonderful and skinny you look. when you’re bulimic, people ignore or avoid you. those who do speak to you mostly yell and insult and call you a pig and demand that you “come out of the bathroom this instant.” did you throw up? why? quit taking all those damned laxatives! did you know that if you don’t stop _______ing, you’ll ______? yeah, i know. can’t help it.

i don’t know if all bulimics desire to be anorexic, though, or if it’s just former anorexics who have grown sick of and disgusted with bulimia and are overcome with nostalgia for their ana days. this is a huge barrier to my recovery; i’m terrified of food and feel that i must purge everything; that once i consume 300kcal, i might as well binge to make it easier to purge. i don’t think that i could ever eat normally again. if I can shake off mia, it will be to go back to ana. and that’s a big if.

then my cousin is having a baby. and so is a mutual friend of my fiancé’s and mine (actually, this will be her third child). and then my fiancé’s friend from high school has two kids already. and my future brother-in-law has four. and it’s just babybabybabybabybabybaby with everyone, including my fiancé—overlooking the fact that it would be physically impossible for us to have a baby. plus, i’m terrified of small children. NO BABIES!

i had a dream that is was tuesday. and another that i was late for work. and another that my fiancé got into an argument about why i’m too uncomfortable with my body to feel like having sex, that resulted in me being brutally raped. almost beats out all the dreams i have about being seduced and fucked by the meat cutter at work. i doubt that most dreams have a logical explanation. probably just the result of repressed, unrealistic desires and illogical fears.

my aunt ranaway to florida with some guy she sucked off in high school. i guess some people never growup. then i think about how i am legally an adult. but i have never felt more like a helpless child in my entire life. i blame mia.

eating an apple slowly. but i binged on iforgetwhat earlier. a potato, i think. and two cookies? chips. and in my mind, this apple is also a binge. because i’m only allowed to have half a small apple, and i’ve eaten most of a medium-sized one now. guilty. what will the sentence be?

i hate food. lost my ability to taste. to know when i’m hungry. or full. gi tract in shambles. plagued by taste hallucinations of ipecac and laxatives that make me dry heave. better off dead? it’s quite possible.

i want to get better. but i don’t know what normal eating is. anorexia is “better” than bulimia. it means i’m good and pure and beautiful—not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of the world. (see how corrupt we are?) i’ve been fuckedup for solong that i don’t know…
being teased about being “fat” as a kid.
doctor telling my mom not to give me any more dessert.
morbidly obese family members on both sides.
overweight parents who failed continually at dieting.
feeling guilty and ashamed for eating sweets.

age six onwards would never eat meat or dairy in a restaurant.

family members ridiculing me and calling me “little piggy” when, as a treat while eating out for my brothers’ birthday, i selected four mini muffins and pineapple for dessert.
8 years old. brothers' birthday party. one chocolate cake; one yellow cake. couldn’t decide which one i wanted. felt guilty for wanting a taste of both. icecream. oh, well, i could justify doublecake if i didn’t have any icecream, right? a fair trade. mom didn’t think so. called me a fat hog. refused to let me have any chocolatecake. when no one was looking, snuck into the kitchen and gobbled down half of said, denied cake. puked it up.
my dad has binge-eating disorder.
constantly worrying in elementary school about how fat i was and how i would never be thin or desirable.
i liked to write. stories in which the protagonists were 7ft. tall and weighed 100lbs. the way i wanted to be.

knew it was impossible. adult height? 5’3”. very short, obviously. can’t even see over the counter at work. even my kid brother is taller than me. guess i just got the short gene. don't care about that anymore. 5’3” is fine. just want to weigh 87lbs. so i won’t be fat anymore. fuckedup.

where will it end? it won’t, i know. statistically, i am “unable to recover” by this point, at this level. i may not always be bulimic, but i will always have some sort of eating disorder. for the rest of my life. i didn’t need to have a doctor say that, though, or to read it in a book. i already knew that it was true, long before they told me. because when i think back over everything, the evidence is clear and present.