Web of lies

Today is a bad day already. And no, I'm not going to tell anyone how I feel. I will tell you guys because I trust you with my heart and my emotions and all my dirty ugly little secrets. I know you won't judge me for anything. On the outside I will create a perfect smokescreen of clear-headedness and serenity but inside, I am screaming, and no one else knows that but you.

I'm terribly unhappy. I thought I did good yesterday - not bingeing after I got drunk, sticking to lots of vegetable-based things at dinner - but the scales said otherwise. I am two pounds up and it feels horrific. Once again I feel control slipping away from me, out of my grasp.

In short, I need to start starving myself again. 1000 calories isn't cutting it for me anymore. I'm not counting anything properly; I'm fooling myself by underestimating and rounding down and convincing myself it's the scales' fault rather than my own lack of self-control. So the new project starts now - a little experiment to see how far I can push myself, outlined a few posts back. I need to train myself to subsist on as little as possible. Maybe by the end of August I will look totally different. That would be nice.

So far: an iced vanilla coffee (158 cal), a fat free yogurt (89 cal) and a sugar free red bull (0 cal). It's 2pm. Later when Tina and Caro come over I'll have a chicken wrap (230 cal) and some sort of alcoholic drink, maybe a mimosa or a screwdriver (150 cal) because I feel like orange juice. I'll end the day around 600. If I do 20 mins exercise I might be able to burn a portion of that off.

I suppose I felt weird last night. Alfie wasn't himself and it's... odd, I guess, when we all hang out, because me and Alfie are far closer than is made out in social situations. He had to go to another dinner straight after ours and left us as a group, so I couldn't kiss him goodbye like I wanted to, because we had to just awkwardly hug like it was just a standard goodbye, but the thing is we've shared so much more than that. We have epic conversations that last hours yet no time feels like it's passed at all. He will drive over to mine in the middle of the night and hold me just so I don't fall asleep crying. We go down on each other at 5am in my double bed and it's the most exquisite pleasure I have ever felt. And at the end, he cups my face with his big hands and looks into my eyes and kisses me deeply like I'm the most precious thing in the world and he wouldn't want to lose me for a second. Then we have dinner with friends... and hardly exchange a word... it's just weird and I hate it and it makes me feel vulnerable and alone with this. I hate getting emotionally attached yet I feel like I might love this guy and it hurts so badly.

So I trail back to my house with Caro and Tina after dinner, and Caro, who is way drunker than either of us, starts rambling on. And then she starts talking about secrets, something about a web of lies, not knowing if she can trust anybody, not knowing what's going to come out next... and it just chilled me, sort of, hearing her voice resounding through my empty dark sitting room, and I know she was probably just talking a load of drunk crap, but it really hit me. That people don't know everything about me, and the details of what's going on in my life. I'm keeping a big one from my friends, but then again, they all keep stuff from me and from each other, so why should I disclose every shred of my personal life to them... they're not me... they can't get inside my head... I should stop believing that they can, and treasure that I still have something pure and untainted and private, untouched by the judging social eyes I am obviously surrounded with.

The funny thing is, I know what people are leaving to fester under the surface, the things they've been concealing.

I know that Alfie's little sister was sexually assaulted by one of her best friends at the beginning of this year, and that I'm the only one he's told.
I know that Zara gets paid £100 odd every week to escort men she meets online, and she thinks I don't know, but I do, because Caro told me when she was drunk, just like she does everything else.
I know Tina is on anti-depressants and used to cut herself but she likes to keep this one under wraps.
I know that Bash secretly likes Alfie and she's coming back from holiday on the 2nd with the intention of getting with him. And I've had to nod along and pretend like I'm cool with that, all to be loyal to the cause, but in reality it scares and upsets the shit out of me.
I also know that my sister has her belly button pierced and gives blowjobs to boys,
And that my father's life is falling apart contrary to what he would like us all to think,
And that my mother wants to marry the man she's fallen in love with and has bought a house to secure me and my sister's future,
And that once I sat and watched for half an hour as Rebecca made herself throw up a three-course binge in one sitting in a public toilet,
And that Charlie is just a scared little girl who has a daddy complex and a fear of failure, and every maneuvre she executes is executed with the intention of attention,
And that I am simply waiting for my mind to throw me over the brink of sanity, the poisonous, dark, murky parts to take over and consume me, just like they did Rebecca, and maybe I secretly want this, too, so that everyone would just fucking get their stupid selfish heads out of their own backsides and see the truth about me, that I'm not just the placid, responsible, mature person people think I am, but a wounded creature full of hurt and mess and pain who just wants somebody to fucking NOTICE.

Well, that's the run down of the burn book, anyway. All hell would be unleashed if these things came out. It's funny how many layers there are, when you dig a little deeper. There is always more than meets the eye.

I just got off the phone with my mother and I pretended everything was just fine. It went well. She doesn't even think twice when I sound chirpy. She just thanks her lucky stars I'm not threatening to kill myself any more.

Hot chocolate & cigarettes.

I don't feel very different today. 142.8 lbs. Obviously my body adores this number. It makes me shudder, though. I'm not myself up here. I can't move as freely. Today so far I've had a croissant with nutella, a hot chocolate with vanilla soymilk, and holy diet coke. That's about 400 and far too much sugar. In an hour I'm going out for dinner with friends. I will get a salad, some form of alcoholic drink, a bit of bread, and that will be it. No bloating. Keeping to 1000 calories. Then I will come back here with whoever is still around and mong out with some cigarettes and diet coke & vodka. Yes please. I'd like to see 141 tomorrow... if that's even possible. Oh and I started my period. Fingers crossed it's the last one I have this year. My new goal is 8 stone (112 lbs). Only because mother said I would look 'fabulous' at that weight. I'm jealous of my sister's lifestyle. Couch surfing, not home for days. Hundreds of people, lots of alcohol, getting treated like a charity case by her rich friends and frolicking around London all skinny and fairy in tinytiny clothes. That will be me one day. They'll see.

Metamorphosis strike 1

I couldn't stop crying last night. Like, actually couldn't stop. I went into major depressive mode... Alfie obviously picked up on how upset I was over text and actually drove over to mine at 2am to calm me down and hold me until I cried myself to sleep on his shoulder in bed. When I woke up at 4am briefly, and rolled over, he was gone, and I was so out of it I presumed it had all been a dream. I went straight back to sleep and woke up at midday with a terrible headache and some sort of crying hangover, equally discombobulated but much calmer.

The scales read 142.8, then 143.6, and kept going back and forth between the two so I'm going with the higher number. I've had around 800 calories today and will probably stop here... maybe I'll have a drink later, I don't know. I will be happy with 142 flat tomorrow morning. Then I can get my ass in gear for 140 on the first of the month, when I will have 2 weeks exactly before operation time, a surefire guarantee for me to drop a shit ton of weight.

In those 2 weeks, I need to change myself. I need to transition from one state to another. I don't like myself right now, at all. I'm too big, for a start, but that's a given. I feel pathetic... weak, even, and that's not an emotion I like to indulge, especially when I have everyone around me telling me I'm 'strong' to have gone through so much shit and come out the other side in one piece. I'm fed up of looking normal, I guess. A distinct part of me still wants to look sick so that my body can match the state of my mind. I've felt this way for years but it still hasn't happened. Everyone else seems to be able to do it, so logistically, I should be able to too, right? And if the girl I mentioned in my last post (the one I went to school with) and Charlie are anything to go by, suddenly dropping weight at this age is far from impossible. I just need to get myself back into the right mindset and I'll be sorted.

In this two-week interlude, I propose a moratorium on binge-eating (of course) but that is really going to be the tip of the iceberg. My goal is to lose 10 lbs before the surgery, but to keep calories at a moderate rather than low level. This will ensure that once I come out of surgery, I will drop the maximum amount of weight as my body will be in shock mode from the calorie deficit.

I am going to completely turn my personality around over the next month. Not so much who I am, so to speak, because I feel like my fundamental inner core or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, is actually worth keeping. But I need to alter my spirit and my reactions to things. I also need to keep my feelings under wraps, and instead of spilling my guts out to people and wearying myself with crying, I will allow my emotions to manifest themselves in a more aesthetic presentation - expressing any wretchedness through way of make-up, clothing, and physical form.

I am going to call this first two-week stretch Metamorphosis, strike 1. In strike 1 I will peel off the first layer, shed 10 lbs of both physical and visceral weight. By the time I am done recovering from my operation, I wish myself to be quite different. I will not be less of a person but I will have removed several layers of shit that I really feel it's time to leave behind. I want next year to mean something, I would like to turn it into a work of art and I aim to be a part of my own artistic project. I want to have beautiful conversations with beautiful people, surround myself with dynamism and exuberance, dance all the time and dress myself in fantastic clothes. I want people to be drawn to me like moths to a flame because I am impossible to turn away from. And I feel like right now, I can't do any of those things... I can't be inspired or inspire others, because I'm just a blob with very little meaning to her life, someone who is carrying around too much extra baggage. Which is why I need to undergo some sort of transformation. I do not want to hit 19 looking or feeling like this. No fucking way.

I don't know if any of this makes sense and I certainly don't expect anyone who reads this to be on the same wavelength as me, or even to understand. I am viewing it as an experiment on myself, to see how far I can push things. My sanity, perhaps. I do not aim to become insane, rather take myself to the brink of sanity to see how it looks over there. I am also interested to see how people treat me once I become different. I would like to see if I become deader or more alive. And most fervently, perhaps, I am longing to find out if I will feel happier.

That's all... I'll be charting my progress and observations in my black book.

Triggers

I thought I was getting over it. I really did. But fuck life. Seriously, fuck life. Why did I have to eat all that bread, cheese, nutella, orange juice, and crisps. Did I really need all those carbs... the obvious answer here is NO.

I was 142 again this morning but tomorrow I am sure to expect 144. I really despise this weight range. I think I will probably have a fucking hay day when my weight dips back into the 130s. Right now, 139 seems skinny to me. How pathetic is that? I got to 135 a month ago and felt fat even there, so what the hell must I look like now?

Something triggered me this evening and I don't like to use that word, because I feel people with eating problems/in recovery can throw it around and/or use it to excuse their behaviours ad nauseam. But this evening, when I was perusing Facebook as you do on Saddo Saturday Nights, I stumbled across the page of this girl I used to go to school with (back in the 90s-early 00s). We were never especially close, but our mothers were always cordial with each other, and I thought she was one of the cool ones. She had this shock of red hair (and I'm talking Weasley red) and freckles and was actually extremely beautiful, but sort of an outcast, very musical and introverted and bad at sports. We acknowledged the presence of each other as primary school classmates do, but as I said, we were never particularly close.

So I clicked on her profile out of curiosity, because I friended her years ago at the beginning of high school and hadn't seen a picture of her since. And what do you know. Chick's anorexic as fuck. Bones jutting out everywhere, huge pretty eyes glazed over like a scared deer. I actually went back to last year to see how drastic the change was - maybe she's just slimmed out, I thought, maybe she's looked like this for ages but I've only just noticed now. But no. November 2011 she is healthy, full-faced, and actually happy-looking. June 2012 she is a shell of her former self.

It wound me up, obviously. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I always feel the same way in these situations - a strange mixture of concern but also, inevitably, disgustful jealousy and a feeling of 'why on earth can't I do that?'

And what is it with everyone losing weight this year, anyway? Thirteen is meant to be the pinnacle of hating yourself and wanting to rid yourself of your newly-landed pubic curves. Eighteen, supposedly, is the age that most normal people settle into themselves and stop querying in that very adolescent way about whether or not they should 'go on a diet'. I don't know. Maybe it's the frenzy to 'become someone new' before university-ing, or whatever it is people go on to do once school is out. Because Charlie lost 40 lbs last year, Zara lost almost 30, Rebecca lost 20 when she was around, and plenty of other people I knew from my sixth form have also suddenly decided to drop a shit ton of weight, to add insult to injury - and some of them are now barely recognisable.

All of this triggers three consecutive responses:

1) 'Fuck it, I need to go on a diet'
2) 'Fuck it, I'm gonna go binge because I might as well if dieting starts tomorrow'
3) 'Fuck, I hate myself'

In combination with the fact that I had a rather emotional skype with my dad about half an hour ago, during which he professed he'd been offered another job next year in the States, and that he was taking my sister back to live with him in February, this all made bingeing inevitable. It's times like these where I really just fucking wish I could purge but at the same time I know that's the place of no return so I have to quickly curtail that thought which makes me hate myself even more because I feel like a pathetic scaredy-cat who will just have a fuck ton of chocolate bread rotting in her intestines tomorrow.

Yep. Life is great right now.

Aaaand I just had another three slices of cheese on toast.

La vie à la Française

I feel like I'm on a bit of a turning point here. I don't want to jinx it, but I may just be coming out of my bingeing phase for good this time. My weight is back down to 142, which makes me feel safe and happy. It's still not good enough, but it's a damn lot better than the ghastly 146 I hit a few days ago. And I am back on the French eating, off my antibiotics, with an operation coming up in 2 weeks... I might as well enjoy myself and be happy until then, right?

I started reading this blog about a week ago and I got totally re-inspired to return to eating like a naturally skinny French girl. Seeing as my intakes had been ~2000 calories for the past few days, ~1500 calories makes me lose weight at the moment, so I'm not having to get too obsessive about counting calories. Just going on intuition I guess. Yesterday I had a big brunch with Tina, Zara and Alfie who had stayed the night - coffee with vanilla soymilk & chocolate powder, a croissant with ham, Swiss cheese and dijonaise, and a strawberry & vanilla yogurt. In the afternoon because it was such a nice day we went to the pub and I had most of a big bottle of ice-cold pear cider (it tasted so good after two weeks of no alcohol...) and in the evening I had 1/2 chocolate cookie and a few crisps forced on me by my sister (positively un-French, I must say) before I headed up to Central London to see a performance installation theatre piece with my friends. Luckily I chimed in with them post-dinner so I didn't have to eat, but later I had a double vodka & diet coke, and I am SO impressed with myself that I didn't drunk munch! Always happens to me. I went straight home afterwards and passed out in bed at 1am. I was sooo tired and tragically drunk after my 2 drinks as my tolerance has died. Which is fine with me... cheaper and less calories!

Today I weighed 142.0 (-3 lbs in one day) and I worked out I had about 950 calories yesterday, so I'm aiming for 1000 today. It's 2.30... I've already had brunch (coffee with cream; nutella croissant; yogurt), and Alfie is coming at 5 to help my mum with the car (how manly) so I think I will wait until then, when maybe I'll get a drink or an iced coffee or something, then I can have un petit dîner of cheese, crackers, wine and an apple, and possibly some cherry tomatoes or leaves.

That's all guys. Feeling a bit better, hoping things are finally turning around.

Have some pretty pictures x

I'm an absolute failure

I don't think I've ever binged for this long in my entire life. Apart from that one hideous stretch of time after I started psychotherapy, where I literally overate for about 4 months straight on account of my therapist's suggestion, and ballooned from an almost-underweight 124 lbs to a borderline-overweight 156 lbs. Worst year of my life. Is is too much to ask for just to have one good day? And possibly two?

145 on the scales this morning - a number I hadn't seen in a really long time, and for good reason. Horrendous. 145 would probably make Rebecca promptly puke up her lunch of salad and diet coke.

Today *could* have been OK. I started off with a healthy (ish) breakfast. Cheese and dijonaise toastie, fresh blueberries and strawberry yogurt, coffee with a dash of vanilla soymilk. Very French and very filling. So why is it, only two hours later, that I am sitting here, bingeing on a jumbo bag of peanut M&Ms? So my bingeing has started in the afternoons now - fabulous. Tina and I are going Starbucks at 6. If I can hold out till then - just four measly hours - and stick to a low-calorie iced coffee drink when I get there, I could end the day at <1500 calories, which would be a vast improvement from yesterday (closer to 2000). Following that, I can start to ease my body back into dieting. 1000 would be a good, round number to aim for. I don't think shocking my body is the answer - and it's not like I could just snap successfully back into restriction at this moment in time, anyway. I'd be fooling myself if I thought I could.

The worst thing about all this - and probably what has (in part) caused this ballooning of weight - is my current inability to sh*t due to all the disgusting antibiotics I have been taking. I'm not joking - I haven't properly been in days. So I have all this lovely food rotting inside me, and my stomach, I kid you not, looks like it's at LEAST 4 months pregnant. Even though I am by no means skinny, due to my wide hips I've been blessed with a flat stomach for most of my adolescence, at both high and low weights. So when I bloat, it pretty much takes away the one thing I feel OK about. Thank God I come off them tomorrow. And I can have a fucking drink

Ooh! I almost forgot. Yesterday, I was literally depressed all day long, mostly because I felt like a useless lump, except for in the evening when I helped my mother with some of her tax/account sums and it made me feel like I was actually a useful presence. Then I cheered up because Zara finally put up the photos from my leaver's ball :) I thought I'd show you all a picture of my outfit as I promised one back in June, so here we go. Note One: I like to dress like an elf, even to prom, and Note Two: I'm blanking out my face for obvious anonymity reasons. Just pretend I'm really beautiful.

It's quite comforting to know I was only like 5 lbs less than I am today in those pictures, and I know how piss-easy it is to get back to 140 (it's getting back into the 130s that's the real bitch). So it filled me with a little hope.

Oblivious and happy

OK, so I feel pretty goddamn happy right now. Here's why:

1) Our little ray of sunshine Zara is back in London, and I literally cried a little tear of joy when I found out... she is like the mediating presence in our friendship group
2) I don't know my weight but that doesn't matter because I don't feel fat today
3) Alfie came over last night and held me until I fell asleep and it was bliss
4) I have a disgusting chesty cough that is soooo unattractive but despite that, I feel so much better and the antibiotics are working, I CAN BREATHE and TASTE and SMELL

So yeah that's why I'm happy.

6th day sober, no alcohol since last Friday. 3rd day no smokes. Taking control of these things and staying abstinent from them even though it's just been a short while, makes me feel like I can get free other bad habits, like bingeing, just as easily if I give it time. Food is such a hard addiction to cut ties with because it's everywhere, it's society's legal drug and people have to eat to live. But not as much as people like to make out, ha.

Had some sushi and frozen yogurt with a bread roll this afternoon. I don't know what's happening later, whether I'm seeing Alfie again or my sister or just staying in... but I will probably get coffee. I would like to smoke a cigarette alongside that coffee, but I'm going to resist the urge because I know I don't need it. I won't be able to smoke for 2-3 weeks after my operation so I'd better get used to it now. Also, Alfie loves it that I'm not smoking. He hates it so that's another good incentive not to slip and give in :P

I've decided that I am going to start eating like a fussy supermodel who only eats the best and grazes throughout the day on healthy veggie-based snacks. Coffee? Yes. Sushi? Double yes. Non fat frozen yogurt? Triple yes with bells on backwards. Bread rolls - not so much, but as I haven't exceeded 500 calories so far today, I'll take it. I read loads of online supermodel food diaries when I was bored and ill yesterday and it's true, they really do eat like birds, so it's a load of bullshit when you hear them going on about their 'natural slenderness' and how they 'wolf down 6 meals a day'. There's some truth to that - many models ARE naturally twiggy but they all live on backstage champagne, skimpy sushi rolls, weird ass fat burning tea drinks, and handfuls of latenight frozen M&Ms... the proof is in the (phantom, non-existent, anorexic, probably cooked with Splenda) pudding!

So that's my new thing. Pretending I'm a model off duty at all times.

And, dear lord, I hate this quote - but I thought it was way too appropriate to end this post with:

Sick of being sick

Up and down day. I managed to sleep from around 11pm last night to 11am this morning without waking up ONCE which was AMAZING. And when I woke up all the pressure and pain around my sinuses had virtually disappeared. I just had a sort of stuffy headache and a very bad cough that made me sound like an old man. But that was cool because every time I coughed I could feel my stomach muscles working. Is that fucked up? Probably.

Then at like 3pm I went on facebook just to check notifications, etc. And guess what. The bitch is back. You know how Rebecca disappeared off the face of the earth for five months? Fb account deleted, number changed, etc. No trace. She had mother fricking got a new account. I was so weirded out. I looked on her new page and she's added virtually everyone we know, except for us, her actual 'friends'. In her new profile picture, her face looked very thin but she didn't look particularly good per se which made me feel vaguely better about everything.

I was half-expecting pink hair, or 6 stone.

I hate how it's like this. I wish she didn't have this effect on me, making me feel scared and self-dubious and anxious and angry and hurt and yet ensorcelled all at once. I know im getting overly worked up about it. But that's what happens. One tiny movement from her and we all over-analyse to the max. What can one expect? I hear they call this 'ambiguous loss'. She died, but she didn't really die.

So that shook me up. I ended up bingeing on toast. Plate after plate after plate of it. All of my friends are out celebrating Bash's 18th and I feel so horribly left out. I can't go out and have fun. I can't drink. I can't smoke. I can't feel pretty or happy or sexy because I'm ill, and now obese from sitting at home eating all day long. I can't even leave my house for a walk because I feel dizzy 24/7 from all the meds. I'm sick of being sick.

I actually saw 139 on the scales this morning but I'm now convinced it was a fluke, as now when I step on I'm around 144.

Fuck that.

Oh and anyone who wants to know more about Rebecca - watch this film called 'My Summer of Love' starring Emily Blunt. Her character, 'Tasmin', who is like the embodiment of the poor little rich girl, could be based on Rebecca easily. Manipulative, deceitful, beautiful and spoilt, she leaves a trail of destruction everywhere she goes.

Ill and delirious

I'm so disgustingly ill it's not true. I have an ever-flowing waterfall of snot cascading from my nose every five seconds. My taste buds decide to come back randomly then disappear 5 minutes after I start eating something. I had a bad night again, waking every 2 hours, tossing and turning, several coughing fits... when I finally did wake up properly I felt sick to my stomach and had what I could only describe as a pulsating migraine making me want to die. At 2pm I went to pick up some antibiotics so hopefully this thing will be cleared up by next week. But it seems to get worse every day so I doubt I will be able to make Bash's dinner tomorrow :(

Luckily, the combination of strong painkillers, dulled taste buds and general loss of appetite meant that I didn't really eat until 4 o'clock this afternoon, apart from a few little pieces of icing from the cake Alfie brought round last night (along with a nice bottle of wine I can't have). I had a tuna sandwich on low cal malted bread with 2 packets of crisps and a diet coke. Yep, I was sort of celebrating that my taste buds were back... but now they're gone again and I literally do not see the point in eating. Woke up at 141.6 lbs. 140 is looking promising for tomorrow... maybe I shouldn't be complaining so much about the sinusitis. It's making me drop weight as I have lost interest in food and I haven't been able to smoke. So maybe in a strange way, being ill right now has its positives... I don't know. It's not too easy to focus on the positives when every 5 seconds you have a coughing fit and your eyes and nose start streaming?

Ugh. Have some eye candy!

2nd post in a day

I do realise this, but I have some news. Tonsillectomy - 6th August. I'm shit scared and dreading being back in hospital.

Dogged spirit (another lengthy post)

Arghhh so I had a terrible night tossing and turning and woke up about five freaking times. But before I get there I have to rewind backwards a bit to yesterday. It's was Alfie's birthday and because I was meant to go meet him and give him his card and a kiss but didn't feel well enough, he trekked allll the way to mine just to see me which I thought was incredibly kind seeing as he had to have dinner with his family in the evening and had to rush back. But anyway, he came over, and I sat on his lap in one of our big armchairs for about half an hour (he loves doing this and insists that I'm light even though I say I'm crushing him). Then my 15 year old sister waltzes downstairs, dressed up to the nines in her standard whore uniform - see-through shirt, shorts you can see the bottom of her arse in, push-up bra and over-the-knee stockings - aka the outfit I could never ever pull off unless I was like 110 lbs or less which is what she is. So she is planning on wearing this into our fairly tacky, seedy, dirty London local shopping centre, right, to get her passport photos taken. And I'm there in my grandma patterned leggings and this frumpy top I've owned since I was about 12 and a cardigan with a snotty nose and no makeup sitting on Alfie's lap. She's all like, 'Gabrielllllle, will you pleeeeaaase come with me to get my photos taken' (little do I know, the only reason she needs me to come is so I can pay for her). So I look at Alfie and he's like 'why don't we both go' and I'm all 'yeah I probably need some fresh air' so ten minutes later I'm out of the house (don't worry - I changed out of the granny leggings). It was soooo humid out. Like, about to rain, but this horrible heat was hanging in the air and all the pain that had been in my throat that morning sort of migrated to my sinuses. There was this pressure at the back of my eyes and nose that was killing me. So I was all eeurghhh on the way to the shopping centre, and after the pictures were done, we went to McD's (WHY God, WHY) because my freak rake sister hadn't eaten all day even though it was 6pm. I was actually going to get a small milkshake - and NOT feel guilty about it - because I thought the coldness might help my nose and throat feel better. I didn't get a milkshake. I got a chicken mayo and a diet coke with ice... which actually really helped too, but still, urghhhh fast fooood. And to make me feel even more disgusting Alfie didn't have anything because he had his dinner to go to... :( Fat piggy strikes again.

Anyway. I saw him off and gave him a birthday kiss because by this point I was certain it wasn't tonsillitis, and he said he might pop over tomorrow (ie. today) with birthday cake for me and my mum. Which was really sweet. My sister went home and I went to the chemist's, with the original intention of picking up a new pair of scales. Let me tell you, they're not cheap. £16. But I spent it anyway even though I don't have it, because I'm freaking obsessed with weighing myself and apparently can't go longer than a day without knowing what I am. While I was in there I thought, OK, I might as well go get myself some Tyrozets or something, seeing as I'm here now. They didn't have Tyrozets behind the counter so I told the chemist my symptoms and, surprise surprise, he gave me TADA, Sudafed. The old stuff with pseudoephedrine. Haha... the irony.

I took two of those last night and they worked like a charm - on my sinuses I mean. Not so much the appetite thing. Maybe it was because I genuinely hungry (higher metabolism from being ill, walking around all evening etc.) but I ended up having crisps with my mum, bread and hoummous again (new kryptonite) and a bunch of other stuff I really didn't need. Blah.

Oh and a note about the scales: Thanks for all your tips girls. But I do weigh on a flat surface (my bathroom floor) and in the same place/same time every day, so I don't think it was that... I think my old scale genuinely went whack on me. But anyway. I set the new pair down this morning and for some reason they're set to the kilos setting, and I can't put them back to pounds. I'll try to work it out soon. I was 64.5kgs. That's 142 lbs :( Fuck that. However. Ano fate was completely right, because I spoke to my dad last night, and it turns out I'm not going to be able to go to the States this side of Autumn. My sister has to go to Italy too soon for her to get back on time, and my father's schedule over there is completely hectic. We would have to be chaperoned everywhere and while that's dandy, he would also like to spend some time with us. So I'm going in October instead, during the half-term, where we'll have time to see each other. Amsterdam, on the other hand, is looking very feasible for August. A long weekend, easy travel, lots of smoking (weed) and walking and listening to good music with whoever I choose to bring... and no requirements to eat fried chicken. This, kids, I am very happy about.

So that takes us up to this morning. I slept awfully because I couldn't breathe and I still can't breathe. I hate not being able to sleep, and I especially hate waking up early when you don't even have an obligation to do so. It triggers binges for me. Needless to say, by 10am I'd already eaten 400 calories worth of food doing the kitchen dance, which is over half of my intake :( But I seem to have this strange dogged spirit now I've found out I'm no longer going away. I can lose weight without interruptions. I have the whole of summer to do this now. And I'm not giving up.

OK I'm going to stop talking now. It's obviously the Sudafed making me go nuts. Wish me luck with the birthday cake.

Also, this thing reminded me so much of how me and my sister talk to each other, haha, and it made me laugh:

*cough cough* I'm sick

After months of staying out of trouble, I have woken up with the most appalling throat this morning. I am PRAYING to the gods and goddesses of SICKNESS that this is NOT tonsillitis. After all, that disgusting gunk that comes along with tonsillitis hasn't made an appearance as of yet, and nor are my glands up, so everyone say a little prayer for me that I haven't got it again, because trust me, the last time, it didn't end well.

Also, my scales have gone batshit cray. They started doing it last night, first reading 146.8 (as you can imagine, I was horrified), second reading 143.8 (more likely after the hoummous bagel and cucumber salad I ate at Tina's), third reading 145.0 (just god-awful) and so on. Up and down like a freak carousel. So I said to myself, if they're still acting weird in the morning, I'll throw them out. This morning after waking up ill I went to see what they had in store for me and it was the same ricocheting between numbers, and not just the normal fluctuations you sometimes get when you have to step on them twice to make sure, but up and down a 6 lb range that quite frankly, scared the sh*t out of me.

I don't know whether to force myself to go out and buy new ones today out of sheer eating disordered desperation, or wait until I'm better, and have had a few 'sick days' (ie. not eating much beyond soup and frozen berries) so that a nice number shows up. I'm tempted to go with the latter.

I'm still sticking to my plan. 600 for the next few days, and that will consist of soup, fruit, frozen fruit, lots of ice water, maybe some baby fruit pots if I can afford to go out and get some at any point (easy on the throat and low-cal), and anything else that is soft but NOT dairy. Dairy just makes it sooo much worse. And no freaking toast.

*Flashback to hospital where they made me eat un-buttered toast in the mornings*

Shudders.

'Hi, I'm Keira, I can't act for toffee, but doesn't my pretty face just make you weep'

Someone said I looked like her the other day and it disturbed me thoroughly. Mostly because I'm torn between whether or not I should be happy about the fact that I share features with one of the most highly-paid and apparently attractive actresses of our day, or pissed about the fact that I resemble someone whose jaw is in the way when they look down to tie their shoelaces.

140.8

So I'm finally back at my favourite benchmark 140, after *counts* 3 weeks? Jesus. Who would have thought it'd be so hard to get out of 3 fucking pound range! Hard, evidently, although I hope it stays that way, and my weight keeps going down, because the next step is being back in the 130s, and after that, holy milestone 135 (my lowest weight on this blog).

I've made a few decisions about the upcoming week. My first decision is that I won't be consuming alcohol. That's right, kids, I'm doing it sober until I go away. My second decision is that I am going to prioritise daytime social confab over nighttime social binge drinking. The reason being the obvious - that whenever I'm with friends at night we just eat and drink really late, and I swear I don't get the 'bingey' vibe until at least 8 or 9 pm anyway; so if I keep arrangements in the day, I'll a) be less likely to binge, b) it will be less socially acceptable to drink and c) of course easier and safer for me to get home, as sitting on a 4am London night bus drunk and alone isn't really the place to be when you're an 18 year old girl who happens to wear skirts the length of belts. Sucks but that's the truth.

I will be sticking to 600 calories a day (I should say 500-700 really, as it can range, but 600 is such a nice solid number). On days where I feel I want to 'maintain' the weight I'm at or maybe just take a little break from dieting (as outlined in my previous post) I will do a 900 day, ie. 800-1000. Anything over 1000 will be a failure and I will compensate the next day with either fruit fasting, or making it a super low-calorie day. I also aim to start doing some exercise again. Nothing hardcore because I have chronic fatigue and hard exercise makes my symptoms worse. So no running, no super intense cardio. But I will be doing light exercise to tone and firm things up - some pilates and yoga, I'm thinking.

Today the plan is: go to the passport office to collect passport (such a long way to go for 5 minutes of collection); see Eliza (we haven't hung out for ages and made lunch plans for this afternoon). I will just get a coffee or a frozen yogurt or something because I can't be bothered to eat a sandwich and suffer the consequences of feeling guilty for days. Then I have to meet with this guy to give him his jumper back because he lent it to me after prom because I was cold (I barely know him). And tonight I was going to see Tina but I really am not up for ordering pizza and drinking 2 bottles of wine, it's just... not going to gel with me at the moment. So either I'll postpone it or I'll just meet her in the afternoon OUT of her house seeing as it's far less civilised to binge in public as it is in the prviacy someone's bedroom.

Hope everyone is well x

Mac attack

Breakfast, ½ hot chocolate, royal gala apple- 105 cal

Lunch, 2 big bowls of salad with full fat mayo- 350 cal :/

Snack, Menthol cigarettes, diet coke, ‘Slim Fruits’- 50 cal

Dinner, 1/2 cup of macaroni cheese and peas- 100 cal

Total=605 cal

Food for today ^. I'm back on the restricting train and it feels good. I think the bingeing is finally coming to an end. For now. Spent 3 hours in the passport office today and it was such a bore... they didn't accept my original photos so I had to go back round the whole circuit in order to transfer the new ones through D: Today I'm spending the afternoon and evening in with my mum and sister. They're downstairs eating macaroni cheese... well, my sister is, at least. My mum kept asking and asking me if I wanted any despite me consistently saying I wasn't hungry, so I gave in and ate some. Then my sister started barking at me saying I'd 'taken all of the crispy bit' which was blatantly untrue as I only took about 2 spoonfuls.... needless to say it totally put me off having any more. She was really over the top about it and made me feel disgusting and fat about the fact I'd caved and eaten something. No wonder I have food issues. Every time I eat in front of my family they either harass me for not eating anything, tell me I've eaten too much and berate me for taking seconds before others have finished, or, in the worst of cases, all of the above. They've done this since I was a child and subsequently I have learned to associate eating in front of family with caution, anxiety, and guilt.

141.6 this morning, and hoping for 140 tomorrow. There really isn't much to say. Life is stagnant until I go to the states, which should be some time next week. Not knowing when, is making me anxious. I hope to be back in the 130s by then, whenever it is.

Something else, I actually took some Sudafed about 20 minutes ago because I felt upset and antsy after the mac and cheese event, and it made me feel *really* weird. Like, bad weird, not good weird. My heart started pounding and my palms started sweating like I was having a panic attack. Then I looked in the mirror and my whole body felt like it was growing really warm, and numb. It subsided as quickly as it came on but it was scary. Anyway, I guess the good thing is, after 20 minutes I have basically no desire to eat anything else and I don't know whether it's a placebo effect, or whatever, but it's working like a charm.

Too mad and dumb and self-absorbed to be sane too sane to be thin and worth giving a shit about

Those words belonged to Rebecca, a friend of mine from another time. I miss her like hell at times like these. I go to babysitting and it's not so close to my new house, but I know I have to walk past my old house and through my old street to get home. My mother has offered to collect me. It's raining, torrentially, the water going pitterpatter on the ground outside. I don't care. I borrow an umbrella. I start walking back re-tracing an old path, a path from another time, another universe. I enter my old street, my whole body shaking, and I'm not sure it's from the cold. I stop outside the house. It's all different; new curtains and blinds; even a new door. Black. They got rid of the old wooden one with stain glass... I used to love that stain glass. Through the double window I see figures moving and my heart stills. A car bombs past me and then that's it. It's over. It hits me. I trudge on, then practically run out of the end of the street, leaving that part of myself behind forever.

Perfect ammunition to skip dinner.

~~~

Breakfast, Nothing

Lunch, 4 chocolate rice crispy cakes, 2 slices of Polish bread with hoummous- 450 cal

Snack, Menthol cigarettes, diet pepsi, bubblegum- 50 cal

Dinner, Nothing

Total=500 cal

The perfect day to start

Well yesterday I had fun but I fucked up my eating plan majorly! We went over to Tina's and drank wine and ordered pizza (death in a box) on top of eating many other sinful foods so I really didn't want to step on the scale this morning. Not that I could, because I was with Alfie :) He came back to sleep at mine and we just cuddled and kissed and then pretty much fell unconscious haha. My mum was out of town and my sister was asleep upstairs with her friend, and there was actually a point where I thought we could, you know, go a bit further. But he didn't have a condom and I think digging through my mother's drawers for one would have been more emotionally scarring than beneficial, so we couldn't :( But I really do want to, though. I'm thinking with clarity of mind now, my spirits have lifted and I'm able to make rational decisions... which I wasn't able to do a few days ago. So I know that I definitely want to sleep with him, soon. Although I don't know when.

This weekend I have the perfect opportunity to start restricting again. I'm babysitting from 6.30 today, which means no demand to eat with friends. I'm not really in the bingeing mood today for the first time in... fuck knows how long. And tomorrow I *finally* have an appointment at the passport office, which will take 5-6 hours out of my day (yawn), but hopefully that's 5-6 hours of no eating. I bought a bag of royal gala apples (43 calories each) and I'm going to have one for dinner - new staple :) I've already had 2 chocolate crispy cakes and a bit of bread with hoummous, because I didn't want to feel like a weirdo while Alfie had breakfast and I had nothing :/ Being in a relationship could make me so fat. Literally it's not even funny. There's no break with guys... they are just eating machines.

So today I'm going to stick to 600 calories limit today and tomorrow. Then on Monday I will step on the scales and reassess the situation. Praying for 140 by then.

*Interlude* Ugh my sister is currently in the bathroom taking an age - she's been in there for nearly 40 minutes preening herself and has locked the door D: And I really need to get in there to pee, I'm kind of hopping around, because I just had a diet pepsi and that stuff goes straight through me D: *Interlude over*

Sometimes it really sucks having three women in one small house all living together and getting in each others' hair and taking 45 effing minutes in our single bathroom.

Fuuuuuck.

Will update later x

Mood lifting/the Charlie and Alfie saga continues (epic...)

First off, thank you to all the lovely people who commented on my last post... haha, I think it's hilarious you all think I look smaller than a size 12 (when I look at myself, I think I look too big to fit a size 12 jean). And just to clarify - that's a UK12 (ie. a US8) so it's really not *that* big here in the UK. The smallest size I ever fit was a UK8/US4 and that's extremely small for someone of 5'9" with naturally 36-inch hips. Needless to say I am working to get back there.

I was 142.8 this morning which gave me a little boost as it wasn't in the dreaded 143s... possibly the most de-motivational thing to see the minute you wake up. I finally feel like my mood is lifting after the past few days of feeling awful, and today might just be the day I get my shit together. I am not going to America until late next week due to the passport issue, so I've got a few extra days to get my body looking OK again, and to stick around for Alfie's birthday :D I should really buy him a present but I'm thinking of something a little more... special, shall we say - to give him :)

Last night Charlie absolutely went for us both, though. I saw her in the afternoon and we actually had a good chat. She said she felt very hurt that Alfie wasn't 'making the effort to be friends with her' as he'd promised. I told her it was still very fresh ground, they'd only broken up a week ago, and as far as I could tell, he'd been making plenty of effort in that area, a little more than most would, actually. He has spoken to her every day since they broke up checking if she's been alright and she's been the one telling him to leave her alone... so it's a case of wanting to have her cake and eating it, to the max.

Then miraculously over the few hours between me seeing her off, and Caro and Alfie coming round in the evening, she decided that we were all evil, and sent Alfie a stream of what can only be described as abusive texts over the course of the evening. We (me, Caro, Alfie) were all sat in my local restaurant trying to have a nice meal... and she's texting him non-stop swearing at him and telling him what a fake person he is and how he doesn't care about her and how he's an arsehole... it goes on and on. Me and Caro tell him to shut his phone off but he can't, because he's also expecting to hear from his dad, who is abroad at the moment. Then Alfie shows me his phone and she's brought me into the argument, saying that it was 'wrong' of him to hang out with me, and all our other friends, without inviting her along (despite the fact that she happily excludes herself from all our social plans). Last week, Alfie came over on his way back from sport to crash and catch up on sleep before he had to head in the opposite direction. He didn't have time to go home, it was nothing with any meaning to it - my mum actually offered that he sleep in her bed, it was that laid-back. The guy is sleep-deprived. So somehow she heard about this and started bringing it up, saying it was utterly immoral that he sleep at mine, and that she couldn't believe she'd never realised how fake and duplicitous he was before.

Now, let me explain something if I can. Alfie isn't really the type of guy who lets anger get the better of him. He's possibly one of the calmest, most gentle and level-headed people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and it takes a lot to wind him up. But last night, you could just see it was getting to him. He even went to 'get some air' while we were in the restaurant, and when I went outside to see if I could go and calm him down, he was gone. He didn't return for about 10 minutes and when he sat back down he looked appallingly hurt, like I've never seen that expression on him, ever.

Later, when my friends went home, I came back, prickling all over and messaged Charlie, very calmly asking if I could talk to her. All I was intending to do was tell her she'd gone the wrong way about telling Alfie her feelings, because he'd been absolutely stung by whatever she'd said to him. You know, I'm a feminist myself but I hate those girls who are just like 'all men are arseholes'. I have my own hold-ups about males in general, having had some pretty fucked up relationships with several in my life time, and being naturally inclined towards distrusting them can see girls' points of view when they say they have a hard time putting faith in men. But she'd set her status to 'there are too many arseholes in the world' - and it just made my blood boil. At the end of the day, regardless of recent developments in my relationship with Alfie, he is my friend, and I do care very deeply about him. And any person who calls him an arsehole - even if I have had a long-standing friendship with said person - goes down in my bad books.

She replied pretty curtly, saying, 'I don't really think that's necessary'. I was sitting around for an hour with a bottle of Jägermeister wondering what the hell I'd done since she was in my living room at 5pm, having a cup of tea with me and my mother.

We had a rather brutal exchange - well, brutal on her part - and I won't repeat the whole conversation for the sake of keeping this post at an acceptable length, but it culminated in her aggressively berating me for letting Alfie 'hang onto me' over the past week, as she put it, when 'she was the one who needed the attention' seeing as she'd barely eaten 'more than once a day since they broke up'. Now, before that I'd kept very calm but I felt then was the moment to put my foot down. As someone who has suffered pretty serious eating issues in the past and still struggles, I find the fact that she was using her lack of eating to guilt-trip both me and Alfie, highly offensive. I told her this, and wished her good night, because I simply couldn't deal with any more abuse from someone who I consider a 'best friend'. What a shame, that someone whom I've invested such a great deal of time in, has just turned around and thrown it back in my face. What a huge 'fuck you'... or just the verbal equivalent of being beaten up by someone you know and love.

Anyway, she apologised, blamed it on her being paranoid, yadda yadda. I don't even care anymore. I'm just pissed off with her, as you can probably imagine.

But besides that, my mood is lifting - I don't know why, but it is. I woke up, made myself a cup of coffee, and went outside with a blanket, some music and a cigarette. My cat came to curl up on my lap and I just chilled by myself with a smoke for 15 minutes, it was nice. My mum gave me a few of these posh chocolates she got given by one of her pupils, and I never really eat that sort of thing, so I didn't bother declining. So today I've eaten 3 small chocolates (very much worth it), and a cup of coffee with soymilk. I used sugar in my coffee as we've run out of sweetener... so I'm rounding all that up to 250. Later, I'm going cinema with Caro, where I'll probably just get a diet coke. After that we're migrating to Bash's to meet Tina and Alfie and then we're gonna have a PAAARTAYYY. No food for me.

Hope you girls are well. So sorry for the length of this post. Have some apologetic Kate Bosworth in a bikini.

3am pity pictures

So surprise, I'm nocturnal again. I spent so effing long in front of the mirror I thought I might as well take some pictures because hey, maybe I'll look at these on a screen and realise I'm not really as fat as I think I am. Wrong. I'm just as fat as I think I am, if not fatter. These pictures are hard solid evidence. By the way, I just stepped on the scale and they said 144.0. It's 3am. I will probably be 142.something when I wake up halfway through tomorrow. Not excellent but considering I binged *again* it's better than gaining at any rate. I have to see Alfie some time tomorrow... well, technically today, but you know. I've been putting it off way too long. Mostly because I feel too fat to let me touch him when I'm at this weight but also because seeing him involves energy, physically and mentally, and that's energy I don't have. Also, my thigh gap is fast disappearing. This worries me quite a lot. It was never huge but I have such motherfricking wide hips that it would be unnatural for me to not have a thigh gap. *Squirm*

I actually quite like the last one because the shadow falls on the unnecessary peripherals of my body that I'd really prefer to eliminate altogether.

First successful day in a while

I've finally found a low-calorie drink (besides holy diet coke) that I actually like. I don't know about you lot but I actually can't stand energy drinks in general, the taste just really doesn't appeal to me. Anything that tastes like red bull is a no-no. I perused the drinks section in my local supermarket and found this drink called Neurotrim. It's non-carbonated, 37 calories, comes in a fancy purple bottle (and is therefore a little more expensive than your regular cold drink) and lists Konjac fibre and green tea as its main ingredients. It's delicious and I will definitely be buying more of it, maybe to wean myself off the terrible diet soda habit.

Also - I didn't realise how filling red cabbage is. It's ridiculous. My mother cooked a huge batch this morning and it is absolutely exquisite with onions, apples and a bit of balsamic vinegar. Super healthy too.

I still haven't felt like seeing anyone. My weight is too high for me to feel comfortable enough to just chill with my friends and be myself. The truth is, I'm not myself at this weight. Maybe I am my lesser self or my old self... but my 'new' self only feels right in the 130s. Once I go over the 10 stone mark I begin to feel disgraceful. I have Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday to feel like myself again and then I go away. The passport stuff is coming together - well, I am praying, anyway. 

Oh and I forgot to mention! Yesterday Alfie surprise knocked on my door, I'd pretty much been vague all day while texting him and trying to deflect from my incontestable misery... but it didn't work. He reads me as easily as a children's picture book. I had a mini cry on his shoulder and then sat on his lap for about half an hour while he made me giggle. He also bought me sweets because he knows I have a massive soft spot for them, but they're currently stashed at the back of the kitchen cupboard so I don't scoff them all. 

We are considering sleeping together (we have done a lot of other stuff but not that yet), but I don't know if I am in a good place to have sex before I go away for 2 weeks. I would actually rather wait until I get back in August and am in a better headspace. Right now I would probably just use sex to numb everything out which isn't entirely healthy and I don't want to look back and think 'I used him' or 'I rushed it'. There is no pressure and we're fairly open about it so I'll explain this to him and I'm sure he will understand.

That's all kids, hoping to be back at 141 tomorrow, fingers crossed x

EDIT: Spoke too soon. Binge. Night weight: 145 lbs.

I give up numbering days

I was 142.8 this morning after a bad bad binge last night. Thank God it wasn't any higher. Today hasn't been much better. I think I'm feeling anxious, and lonely. I haven't seen people on purpose for 2 days now, not even Alfie, who previously I was seeing pretty much every waking hour (and I mean waking). I don't know if he is worried or not. Maybe. I am being cryptic over text because I don't want to be all 'I'm so miserable you can look at me but you can't touch' kind of thing... that's Charlie's bag, and I'm not into drawing attention to my depression. Normally I just hide away and ride it out by myself. Others have never helped in this situation and they don't help now. It's something I need to deal with alone.

I am self-sabotaging due to the stress of going away next week... if I get to go away, that is. The passport office have no spaces and if I can't get one by the end of the week, I'm screwed and I can't go away. I need to get out of this place. No offence to any of my friends, or my mother, or any of that. I love them dearly and I love spending time with them. But I have this fantasy, about just disappearing until August (inevitable with the holiday) and then when I finally show my face next month, I'll be pounds lighter, and much much happier. Maybe I am pinning my hopes too high. But that is the fantasy.

People seem to forget that even though I am very sociable, I am a loner at heart. I like being by myself, in my own space, alone with my own thoughts, (sometimes) - and left to my own devices. I have never relied on others to make me feel OK. As a child and young teenager, before I really got 'popular' in any way, I sat alone for hours and days and spent whole holidays by myself, and was very happy that way. Social demand scares me. I reach a point where I feel I can't give people what they want, and then I just feel stressed about it. It's not even an anxiety thing. It's purely the fact that I require solid blocks of time by myself and sometimes, going out for 6 consecutive nights drinking with my best friends is just the last thing I want to do.

I need to start restricting again. I have been concentrating too much on what foods to eat rather than how much of it I am actually consuming. It's time for calorie counting to come back into action. 500-800 calories from here on out. Easy peasy. And if I exceed that I have to compensate the next day.

Holy arms :o

Day 5 & 6

The psychiatrist gave me her diagnonsense at the eating disorders clinic this morning. Apparently my eating problems are currently no threat to me because I have advanced innate skills and a stronger survival instinct than most which will help me keep my weight under control and my sanity afloat despite suffering from ED-NOS and dealing with a multitude of childhood trauma and I will be fine once I get released into the real world and cease trying to be the mediating presence in my fucked-up family set up.

So yeah. I may just be discharged, after 5 months of pouring out my fucking soul all for one pointless lengthy assessment of my current psychological state and report of my dysfunctional past that merely determines 'I will be OK eventually'.

Well, as it stands, I aim to lose 30 mother-effing pounds by the end of the year. Take that, exceedingly high built-in survival instinct.

142.0 lbs this morning. I hit 141.6 yesterday (Sunday), which gave me a good boost, but unfortunately I ruined it with delicious street party food and lots of alcohol. My plan is not to be an ounce above 137 by the time I leave, next Monday. I hear we will have the luxury of a pool in America, and with the heat and all the swimming during the day (and only eating out in the evenings) I may actually stand a chance at dropping some on holiday. I can just imagine the thrill of coming back to London on the 1st of August, and weighing in at some delightful all-new weight. That would be amazing. I really DO NOT want to gain weight while I am there. I think that would be utterly pointless and a waste of July if I'm being honest.

What's the point in having fun if when the fun ends, you're up half a stone? No point, I hear you reply, and yes, you are very right.

PS. Charlie is already down to 118 and has lost all appetite. Fuck my life.

Day 3 & 4

143.0 lbs.

This is definitely what failure smells like.

After Day 3's crisp and alcohol binge at Tina's, at Day 4, I start anew. I will be conducting a 2-day liquid fast this weekend, which started at 00.00 this morning and will end sometime on Monday morning. I'm aiming for somewhere in the region of 60 hours total, living off nothing but coffee, orange juice and booze. That is it. I don't give a shit if it's unhealthy. I want to be back at 140 by the start of next week, so I can struggle off a last-ditch 5 lbs before I go away. A mini fast is the only way I can conceive getting me there in time.

Today I'm going to see a film (I don't know which one) with Caro, Tina, Alfie and his godbrother, whom I haven't met before, but, according to Caro who has met him, is a raging alcoholic and just drinks all the time. So this should be interesting.

Charlie texted me and finally told me herself that she and Alfie had broken up. She said she'd been distracting herself with shopping and going out, but that in the evenings she would just break down and cry for 2 hours straight.

Day 2

Today I'm going to be good. Not really 'good', as the kids (Alfie, Caro, Tina) are coming round in 2 hours and I'm planning on getting fucked up. But I am going to stay under 1000 calories in food... I have to. This morning I weighed 143 neat. It's slowly creeping up, out of my control. Well I am going to get this under control. The weight gain I mean. It hit me that I have gained 8 lbs since the middle of study leave when I was crazy restricting, and it's a sickening feeling. The 8 lbs need to go before I leave, it's non-negotiable. I would be happy with 137 right now. Even 139. Just not in the 140s. Please not the dreaded 140s.

I'm only 13 lbs under my highest weight and that is an appalling feeling.

It's 3pm and I've already eaten this banana compote granola yogurt which was 203 calories, and some marshmallow sweets that we bought yesterday. I'm rounding that all up to 450 calories to be safe. Alcohol wise I am going to be drinking either rose wine or vodka seeing as I have half a 350ml bottle still in my bag from Tina's. I would just go for the vodka but I will probably kill my liver if I drink the whole thing and I think a few shots will be enough (with the lack of food) to get me where I want to be. Food wise... fuck we'll probably get pizza... but I really don't want to eat. I just want to get drunk. Alcohol makes me feel happier, better, calmer than food ever will. Alcohol and nicotine. If I can curtail my food consumption at 700 calories and have the remaining 300 in booze, I'll be content. I will be sure to lose on that.

My dad is coming to drop off the remaining stuff belonging to my sister and he wants to see me briefly. I will only be around for a 15 minute break with my friends here but I should see him before he leaves the country. This all makes me feel very sad.

I wish I could stop eating from the sadness.

I am also worried about Alfie. He isn't sleeping. He broke up with Charlie yesterday. She seems to be taking it fine judging from the chirpy text she sent me at 11pm last night rattling on about cheap travel around Europe.

Day 1

Yesterday was... interesting. The first day I hadn't been with Alfie, and suddenly the reality of it struck me. Guilt. Terrible guilt. I cried about it to my mother like the 12 year old I am and she said I was a highly moral person and that I shouldn't feel bad; me and Alfie liked each other, and sometimes these things happen. She also made the point that all was not going well between Charlie and Alfie, so it wasn't like I had meddled in a seriously intense relationship and 'persuaded' Alfie away from Charlie. My mum is awesome, really she is. But I still felt guilty.

In the evening I knew that Alfie and Tina were having drinks and a catch-up and wanted me to come, but I started feeling really fearful about everything on top of the guilt. As I got dressed in front of the mirror, the relationship-phobic side of me began freaking out big time.

I can't believe you've fucked this up with one of the closest friends you've ever had.
Everything was great between you two and then you had to kiss him. Just like you kissed every other guy you've ever known.
But this is different. I actually like this guy. I actually want him. That's rare for me. I should seize the opportunity. 
Fuck fuck fuck, I can't deal with this pressure. What if it's all ruined?
Charlie wasn't giving him emotional stability... I was giving that. Now all I'm good for is sex, while the two of them break up and work on their friendship... friendships always last longer than sex...
Shit I don't know what I'm doing.
I hate relationships.
But this isn't even a relationship.
But it's dangerous territory, no?
This guy actually wants to SLEEP with you. And you want to sleep with him. Threat threat threat threat threat male complex coming in oh god oh god I'm so screwed I hate this I'm scared men are evil men are evil men are evil ........

The above demonstrates a typical example of the thought processes I was having yesterday before I left the house. I almost didn't leave the house, but I made myself go, because in my experience, when you don't face things head on, they just bubble up under the surface and over time, small worries turn into huge panics and if I'd left it any longer I think my head would have exploded from curiosity as to whether or not I still liked him and wanted to kiss him every time I saw him. I had two very strong drinks before I vacated my room, and was semi-drunk by the time I turned up at Tina's. Drinking on an empty stomach for the win.

Needless to say, when I actually got there, and I saw Alfie, who was clean-shaven, messy-haired, wearing this adorable long sleeved navy jumper, and drinking straight vodka in Tina's egg chair, my resolve crumbled. It's a good thing I can keep a straight face because the amount of euphemisms that cropped up that night - that could so easily have related to things we'd been doing over the weekend - was ridiculous. All night, every second Tina stepped out of the room to get something we would immediately gravitate towards each other to snatch a kiss before she came back in. During the film we watched, his hands found my hand and he locked fingers around my fingers.
   
The minute we left the flat and the lift door closed, we were on each other in 10 seconds flat, kissing, pushing each other up against the walls, it was like something you see in a film that is romantic and sexy and hilarious all at the same time.

He didn't come back to mine because I had an early appointment at the passport office this morning to renew my passport (NB: I missed this). Tonight, he is seeing Charlie over dinner (NB2: she's been texting me telling me how excited she is about this for ages) to break up with her.

God, sometimes my life really is like a hilarious sitcom.

I got an accurate reading this morning as I woke up way earlier than usual (but not early enough because I am a lazy excuse for a girl). 142.6. Hot, really hot. But it's gonna change! Honestly, I'm getting back into the mindset, I can feel it. I've decided that I want to be maximum 140 lbs before I do 'anything else' with Alfie. I know he doesn't care and I won't look any different, but it's just a psychological/confidence thing, you know? Then I want to be low 130s by the time I go away mid-July. 128 isn't feasible at this rate.

Food on the cards today, judging by what's in the fridge:
Fresh orange juice. Coffee. Hoummous and a few chips. Hoi sin duck spring rolls.

I also have to go furniture shopping later (hooray... but at least it's a time for me to hang out with my sister). Will try to resist getting food afterwards.

It's been a crazy weekend

I got with Alfie. Multiple times. Not sex, but close. It is way intense. And I'm not even sure I can talk about it here right now as it's kind of overwhelming to think about, but I will tell you all the details soon. He's probably going to break up with Charlie this week but even so, it's not like we'd be able to be open about any of it. So it's on the D-L for the time being and for now, we're just going to be chill about it and see where it takes us...

Meanwhile, my sister moved in on Sunday and it's feeling very strange. I entered a photography competition and I need to start looking for a proper part-time job, rather than the sporadic babysitting that only pays about £30 quid every fortnight. I wish I could get booked for some modelling, and I probably would be able to with the people I know, if only I had the suitable look - around 20 lbs lighter, that is. Which leads me onto food. I've been eating without any proper schedule, and I'd like to say it's been 'intuitive eating' as it hasn't been based on sticking to calories... but that would be a lie, seeing as I eat at all kinds of strange times, like 3 o'clock in the morning, which just feels disgusting. Today was actually the first day I didn't see any of my friends, and stuck to a good schedule. I slept until 2pm after a late night with the friendos at a Mexican restaurant (free sombreros and tequila shots for the win), then took my sister into school so she could drop off her art book. I only had a soy frappuccino to keep me going until about 4, when we came home and had some orange juice, crisps, and hoummous pita breads. Then we watched TV, talked, went out again for a smoke, came home, had some mac and cheese for dinner and a few pick & mix she bought, and that was pretty much my day... not great, but not terrible either. I stopped eating by 7pm and excuse the tmi, but based on the number of times I've been to the bathroom today, I think my body is just trying to get rid of all the built-up junk I have in my system. Flat stomach, finally, but I know my weight is still high - 142, or thereabouts, which is pretty depressing. But the good news is I don't look any different. At least I don't think I do, but mirrors can be really deceiving... either way, I'm still getting compliments on my figure so I think it must be mostly food weight.

Another good thing is that while my 15 year old sister is a natural twig and can eat anything she wants, 'anything she wants' generally turns out to be not that much, and she can go for hours without getting hungry... so being around her is more a blessing than a curse. I was kind of worried that I'd be chowing down food all day long with her living here, but to be fair we both smoke more than we eat so it works out. I need to cut back big time starting tomorrow though, because we leave for America on something like the 17th July, and that only gives me 2 weeks to get comfortably back in the (preferably low) 130s. Eeek. I think it'll be fine if I keep calories under 1000, stick to light drinks and stay the fuck away from the cheesecake in Bash's fridge.