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.