I am by no standard small.
Sorry, I may be tired and stressing out, but I was watching Dying to Dance, and the one girl was stressing out about her weight and stuff and I realized, she's so small. I mean, she could have been considered a little curvier than most girls, but compared to me...
It's 4 in the morning, H has gone to sleep and I had my back turned to him when he held out his arm to let me lie next to him. I don't want to have feelings for him anymore. I don't want to do this.
I mean, I used to be able to block out my problems for at least a little while. Everyone needs to escape from the things that stress them out, but I am locked in with mine. I don't feel like I will ever be let out of this cage. I am so used to it that I fear what happens when I do get out.
I have to face the thing that breaks my heart, and keeps breaking my heart. It's like he's saying, "Hold on, I'm not done yet." It's like the pain lasts forever. One can heal when they are stabbed once, but when the hunter holds the knife in your chest, digging deeper and deeper, never really stopping... It like he is submerging the knife so far in it will never come out, and yet he pushed deeper and deeper until his hand starts to submerge itself too. And once I have absorbed him and the knife, the thing hurting me, into my heart, I won't have a heart anymore.
"Heartbreak is so hard..."
But no one else has to live for months with that same person who broke their heart, never allowed to talk about it, never allowed to speak ones thoughts, never allowed to live or die but suspended cruelly between the two. I am forever caught in limbo.
It's crushing. Either he is cruel to me and I start to get my act together and try and forget him, and I cry every day at the pain of his words, or I am brutally given hope, again and again. I want to tell my heart it isn't real, that what I am feeling is some sick thing that is unaccepted and unacceptable, but it won't listen. Sometimes I forget, and I let him hold me, and then it is the breakup all over again. I want to move on, but I have loved him for so long, I can't anymore. I hate love. I should have known this would happen. Actually I did. But I let myself anyways.
I know I predicted this. I know myself well. I know there are entries, whether in a diary or somewhere else stating things like, I can never be in a relationship, and I will always hurt people when I try to love them.
I told H before we started the relationship. I warned him and made him promise that if he stepped into the mess called me, he would do it fully understanding how awful I was. He said it didn't matter. I should have known better.
But oh I feel so fat it's ridiculous. As if it wasn't bad enough when I started it.
I was nearly what? 190-200 pounds? I was a whale. I found pictures my mom had taken of me and I was just a giant mass of fat. I didn't even care about my weight when I started. It was more like, what would happen if I stopped eating? And I tried it. That first day I believe I had three skittles. I wrote it in a little yellow notebook with the word "courage" on the front. I even wrote in the color.
It was new, it was exciting. Then, probably four or five days in I realized I was losing weight. I weighed myself. Suddenly that was also exciting. One or two whole pounds a day and it was effortless.
I want on. It was around Christmas time. Food held no appeal to me whatsoever. I turned down everything. I managed to get through that same thanksgiving eating barely anything. Even at the table, everyone watching me, but not knowing what to look for, I got away with it. At Christmas my mom made chocolate cream pie, banana cream pie, berry pie and pumpkin pie and some kind of fancy cheese cake. She made rolls and treats like peppermint candies and fudge. I didn't touch any of it. I lost an enormous amount of weight over Christmas break, and when I went back to school, everyone looked at me a little differently. Who can possibly lose weight over Christmas? I can. I did.
But seriously. About 155 pounds? Still massive.
Ooh I lost a ton of weight. Big deal. Someone who is 300 pounds can lose a whopping 100 pounds and still look fat. Losing weight doesn't make you skinny. The numbers on the scale do. Hard work does.
Then I lost my control and spiraled down into something awful. I binged thousands of calories of food. I would go into the kitchen in the middle of the night and make everything and eat everything, and my mom would get so angry with me for stealing food...
I tried to learn to throw up, I desperately wanted to know how, but I couldn't figure it out. So I exercised. I paced hours and hours. I would play sick and skip school the next day because I just wasn't able to sleep after eating so much. I would spend the entire night, school night or not, exercising until my body was past exhaustion. At school I would wear a giant grey sweatshirt over everything, no matter how warm it got. I couldn't stand for people to see my body.
I was excited when I got into the 160's, I had been at the 170's for too long. My weight went up and down. I grew really sick. In the head. I was depressed. I don't remember what happened to make me so depressed, but whatever it was, it sent me well into the 160's and it was just too easy because food didn't seem necessary at all. I was so sick of life, food disgusted me. The same thing probably happened to send me off into the 150's. All it ever takes for me is one good week long restriction with little intake to get me going. I can lose so much, and I am not like other people. I don't have to work hard, and I don't start craving food by day two or day three, or even four. I can go on as long as it takes for my mood to lift, with little effort on my part. It must have been when H was gone. Whether we were together or not. He was away for a while several times at a friend's house. If I lived on my own, I feel that I would have no trouble losing weight. For some reason life likes to remove all possible opportunity to succeed.
I just... don't want to do life anymore. No one should ever have to suffer the way I am. But then I think, what makes me different from anyone else? My life can't be worse. I am not special. I am being self absorbed to think that the world tortures me any more than it does everyone else. So maybe I just have an emotional problem...
This has become a long post. Sorry about that.