Well, I’m still a failure. A month of fighting my parents to keep my weight down, to keep losing, and today I started my period. I work so hard, and I’m such a failure. God, I feel disgusting, fat, bloated, and just plain old lousy. I can’t believe that once I really, really wanted to get my period, wanted to be a woman. Now I just want to be underweight, for my body to start shutting down so there’s proof that I’m thin, even if I can’t see it.
I never saw myself as thin, even when I really, truly was. The indication that I was, was my lack of period. Purging everything I ate, and I thought I didn’t have a problem, can you believe it? Such is the nature of anorexia. It’s all denial, denial, denial. Well, fuck this. I will get thin, I don’t care what it takes.
One day I hope that I’ll actually feel thin, that I’ll actually feel I’ve accomplished something, because I’m sick of being fat, sick of not being able to see myself as others do. How did my sight become distorted? Why did my brain decide that I was covered with rolls upon rolls of disgusting fat, clinging to the beautiful bones underneath? When did I start seeing bones as beautiful, for that matter?
I know that I see a distorted body image, because that’s what the doctors say. I know they are telling the truth, because even when I was at my lowest weight, I still could see the rolls of fat, the loose folds, the bulging stomach, the marshmallow thighs.
My fingers are great big sausages, and my hands big, thick stocky hands. My cheeks are full of fat and my arms are thick and disgusting. I am gross. I am fat.
My arms look like they’re as thick as poles, my legs are huge and disgusting and I have to try and hide them.
My stomach is always bulging. Always sticking out. It is gross, and I look pregnant. When I sit down, the insides of my thighs touch, which is the end of my world.
My body is disgusting. I am disgusting. I am fat and ugly and FAT, FAT, FAT!
They say I shouldn’t purge, but how can I not when there is such a noticeable difference? If I couldn’t purge, then my arms would be lined from wrist to elbow with long, red cuts. Self-harm was how I coped before I learnt how to purge, and if I didn’t purge, then I’d go back to it. I would need a way to cope, and that’s the only other one that works for me.
This was after binging:
And then this was after purging out the binge:
This was after another binge:
And another purge:
When I binge, I’m like a shark on a feeding frenzy. I eat so much that my stomach visibly bulges. Those above binges would have consisted of liters of soft drink, full bags of chips, full bars of chocolate, bowls of pasta, several cups of hot-chocolate…
It’s disgusting, I’m disgusting, and I hate it. I hate what I do so much, but I can’t stop. Food is my cocaine.
Once I left hospital for the first time the only way I had to track my weight was the appearance- or rather the lack of appearance- of my period.
My period started at the beginning of Year Eight. It was always irregular, and it stopped altogether during the Christmas holidays at the end of year eight.
The loss of my period signified something to me- I was getting thinner. Thin enough to be considered anorexic even. This thought excited me a little- not because I wanted yet another mental disorder, but because it meant I was skinny!!!
I was never scared of developing an eating disorder. The thought actually intrigued me. The idea of being able to purge food from your body was just purely awesome (for want of a better word). I never really realized until I started being forced to ‘get better’ just how strong an influence anorexia has over me. And I say has because it still does. And I often think it always will.
When I first got my period I was proud. Second out of my friends (the girl who got her’s first is no longer really a friend) and I was excited. Now I cry whenever I feel those telltale cramps, and when I start seeing crimson stains on my underpants. Because I have failed.
Dinner is the hardest meal of the day. With my stomach already full, all I feel like doing is throwing it away. Mum and dad sat me down and forced me to eat a bowl of spaghetti. I feel like total crap. I feel weak.
That’s what anorexia does. I can understand this logically, but not emotionally. Anorexia makes you feel bad even if you have no choice but to eat. It tells you that in the end no one can force you to eat. It tells me that even when they [mum and dad] literally drag me down to the dinner table, they can’t put the food in my mouth and make me swallow. Anorexia tells me that I chose to do that and because I made that choice I’m fat/lazy/weak/stupid.
I know I’m going to have to keep down this food, and it’s killing me inside. The voice inside me is taunting me, accusing me- fatty, fatty, fatty, fatty, fatty, fatty, fatty… etc.
Eating Disorders and Guilt go hand in hand. They’re both bastards.
Not a day goes by that I eat without wanting to punch myself. Whether it’s hunger getting the best of me, or my parents forcing me to eat, every single second of eating (and at least for an hour or two after) I’m filled with guilt. Self-loathing. Self hatred.
I just binged on chocolate. Well, my twisted definition of a binge. I ate five rows of Dark Chocolate and I feel like screaming. I feel like punching myself. I know I’m going to purge it. I can’t deal with this inside me. And I know that I won’t deal with it. I’ll purge it.
The guilt sticks to you. It digs its claws in and doesn’t let go. You feel hopeless, stupid, fat, fat, fat. You hate yourself, and you feel like crying. You h.a.t.e. yourself. Then, when you purge, the relief briefly drowns the hate/guilt/self-loathing. But, the thoughts creep back up on you. In the back of your mind lurks an evil little voice that tells you that you’re weak , that some of the food is still in you, that you’re fatter then you were before you ate/binged.
Dealing with the evil voice is impossible, for most anorexics. That evil voice is the driving force. Some people don’t hear it as a voice, some people hear it as a thought. The girls I was in hospital with talked about it as a thought lingering in their minds. I get it both ways- sometimes I feel like an external voice is telling me that I’m ugly/fat/lazy/stupid, but sometimes it’s just this thought lingering in my head.
It’s hard. The guilt. The guilt can be too overwhelming for some anorexics. It can lead to self-harm, it can lead to days and days of no eating at all. The guilt leads to some type of self punishment. Guilt is one of the worst parts of my anorexia. I hate it.
I. H.A.T.E. I.T.
But it’s always there: fat pig/gross whale/blubber thighs/pregnant belly