Walking contradiction

I can't understand myself. I want to be thin. I'd like to be 128 lbs, maybe 124 again some day. That was a nice number, while it lasted. But I'm so far away from that, and it's been so many years since I had that kind of control, that it seems like an impossible task. I want to be strong, also, but to be strong I can't break my body down. I can't subsist on 600 calories a day, which is what it seems to take, these days, to get anywhere. I want to be a woman, I want to be an adult, I want to take care of people. But sometimes I feel like a lost little boy, a street urchin, abandoned and bewildered and I need people to take care of me.

Life is so confusing. My own head is confusing. I babysat this evening, and boy told me I had a fat stomach. I know he's only 5 and it's probably all a joke to him. But he's right. I'm right. I know I am. I know I'm not delusional when I see myself as large. Sure, maybe some outfits can hide it better than others, and maybe my pretty hair and pretty eyes detract from how pudgy my face and upper arms have become. But I see it. I see it all. At the beginning of the day, and at the end. The minute boy falls asleep, I'm in the cupboard, scrabbling for anything I can find, trying not to leave a trace.

Perhaps I should work on becoming thin first, then improving my strength. I'm strong now. I may weigh a lot but it's not all fat. I get comments on my muscle tone all the time. It's not enough though. I want to see the faint definition of abs, next to hipbones you can grab a hold of. I want the flab on my arms and legs to melt off. I keep crying thinking about how awful it'll be when I'll see Alfie at the end of this week, and I'll take off my clothes, and he'll see how chubby I've become.

2425 calories isn't going to cut it.