Glorious

I feel anxiety-riddled - terrified, to be more precise - realising that I'm flying to Los Angeles in exactly four days from now, and I still weigh 152 lbs. Even more anxiety-provoking, is the fact that I'd like to start properly restricting again (600 calories a day + exercise, plenty of caffeine, and a matching OCD mindset to go with it, whether or not that fits in with my schedule), but being on the cusp of going away is unnerving to me simply because I'm scared I won't be able to keep it up abroad, and the simple act of trying this week will have been a waste of my time if all goes to bollocks out there.

All of this panic induced (surprise surprise) a binge. A weird-ass binge that consisted mostly of seed bread dipped in guacamole and hot sauce, and whole dried prunes. There were other things, too, but it doesn't really matter now, because it's probably the 40th time I've binged already this year, and listing all the foods I shoved into my gob this evening isn't going to make me feel any better, let alone prevent it from happening again.

The point is, I'm freaking out. I'm still freaking out, even after bingeing, which just proves that blanketing your emotions with food does nothing to calm your nerves, or sort things out mentally. In fact, more often than not, it makes things worse. Especially if your nervousness is rooted in the way you look, and how much worse you'll probably look 2,000 calories later.

Normally this sort of terror would propel me into three straight weeks of strict 'dieting' (and by dieting, I mean breaking down when my daily caloric intake exceeds 600). I'm doing everything I can - mentally - to push myself over that edge of sanity and survival instinct keeping me from lowering my weight. I realise, now, it's a mind game. A steady, stealthy period of conditioning yourself into thinking, behaving, and living in a disciplined, regimented way. It's definitely not easy, but I've done it before (see my entries written over last year's study leave, during which I'd hit that stage where restricting becomes easier than bingeing - because even the idea of slipping up by a mere 100 calories is mentally exhausting). There's this huge part of me that thrills thinking about the idea of possibly returning to London a stone lighter than I am now. After all, that's what I've gained, give or take a few lbs, since last summer, and to get that weight back off me at long last would be not only a major relief, but glorious.

We'll see how it goes. So far, I haven't eaten since 10pm, and it's now nearly 2am, which is a good sign. Eating after midnight usually sets me off again.

Tomorrow's projected intake:

-1 c. bran cereal (90)
-1 c. frozen raspberries (30)
-1 c. green beans (30)
-Starbucks skinny cappuccino (96)
-1 c. butternut squash soup (140)

Along with something small, sweet and (hopefully) binge-preventing.

Day 1

-1 c. bran cereal (90)
-1/2 c. soy milk (30)
-Classic side salad (50)
-2 wheat tortilla wraps (180)
-3 slices edam cheese (225)
-2 tbsp. guacamole (28)
-1 c. lettuce (5)

Total: 608 cals

108 cals over my self-imposed limit for the next week, but it's a start. I'm no longer counting coffee, and also am allowing myself up to half a bar of chocolate every night, because I honestly believe it staves off binges. If I tell myself I can have as much chocolate as I want (and I really start to feel ill after a moderate amount of it), I'll tend not to go for the salty carbs or hoummous-y goodness that usually lead to my downfalls. I'll cut the chocolate out (or find a lower-calorie substitute) when I feel like the bingeing is under control, but for now, I'm justifying it by telling myself it's better than a 2,000-calorie break-down in the kitchen every night.

In exactly a week from now, I'll be on a plane to Los Angeles. The big L-A. It would be ideal to get well enough under 150 to deter me from ruining my progress abroad, but we'll see how it goes. Easy does it I guess.

My end goal, besides the obvious losing weight, will be to go long enough without bingeing that I break the habit, therefore deterring that all-too-familiar mindset of 'well, I had one bite, so why not eat the whole thing, and then everything else in the fridge'. I don't expect to never binge again, but when it becomes routine to binge rather than to just leave it, that's when you know there's a problem.

Midnight pity party

Fuck boys and their massive appetites. Seriously. What is it with men? They're obsessed - actually obsessed - with food. And sex. And food. I'm seriously stereotyping here, but having just eaten the world's biggest take out dinner on account of hanging out with Alfie, I do have a point.

Unggggh. Words can't express how full and ill and disgusted I feel with myself. I miss the days when I wasn't disgusted with myself, and I was actually proud of what I'd eaten. It's not even like I can excuse it with saying I burnt off some calories beforehand - or afterwards - if you know what I mean. Oh no. There was none of that. Sometimes I wonder even if he even wants to sleep with me still. It's no wonder, considering I've gained around 20 lbs since we first met (oh, God) and not of those lbs has gone to my boobs, as far as I'm aware. Even now, he's texting me, trying to egg on some kind of late-night-sext-scapade, but I'm pretty sure he'd never actually suggest sex in real life. He seems to be, like, this special breed of guy who is just fairly content with oral sex alone, and never actually wants to make the move to sleep with me. What a little tease.

So. The deathlist. Veggie burger (the biggest one I've ever seen); 1/2 large portion fries; 2 slices garlic cheese pizza; and about 4 different, very high-cal condiments. And then the binge that ensued once he'd left, because apparently all that food wasn't enough for me. Jesus Christ. It's a wonder he still wants to kiss me when I eat like this. Obviously, I have very big problems.

Now I'm up at 2am downing glass upon glass of diet coke, hoping it will wash away at least some of the crap currently in my intestines, along with my sorrows.

I've honestly had enough of this. I've had enough of the 150s. I've had enough of looking at myself in the mirror and cringing. I've had enough of over-eating night after night, with no way to get rid of it (bulimia isn't an option when you live in a house with two very weight-conscious women, and only one bathroom). So all of this leaves me with only one option left: restriction. Not that I mind this. If I could go the next week on 300-500 calories a day tops, curbing my desire to binge as best I can, I might actually stand a chance of going to LA with a shred of self-confidence in tact. If I keep this up, though, I'm looking at more depressive episodes over my lack of control, possibly more weight gain, and my self-esteem left in tatters on the floor - indefinitely.

It's fine. It's cool. I have bran cereal (high fibre, and takes a long time to nibble). I also have carrot sticks and mustard (thanks, Wasted) and butternut squash soup, which is about 120 calories for half the carton. I'm not going to count coffee calories, I've decided. It's caffeine, which excuses the calories I get from the 1/2 cup of soy milk I take mine with (in any case, a little soy or skim milk daily is nothing to be feared, in my opinion). Coffee is pretty much ritual for me at this point, anyway, and I don't even care that I might be discounting up to 180 calories by dismissing it from my daily intake totals. Whatever. Anything's better than what I've been doing lately - but a week of pure, dedicated restriction will undoubtedly be the fastest way to get rid of the water weight I've clocked up over the past fortnight. Whether or not I'll keep it up abroad, is a whole other question, and one I find highly intimidating to face at the current minute.

It's time to move my life on. And it's not moving on as long as I stay like I am now. Gabrielle the Fatty. Sometimes I wish I had a new identity and a new set of friends and a new name and a new body and a new everything.

I haven't spoken to Tina in a week, and suddenly I get wind of the fact that she now has a boyfriend?! So glad I'm still in the loop (not)! I wonder about them sometimes. My 'friends', I mean, or who's left of them. Is it really, really pathetic that I'm hurt she didn't tell me? Probably. I'm most likely jealous that it isn't me with the good news. But there you go. That's life.

And something else... Last night, on the longest bloody waitressing shift of my life, I met... a guy. 19 years old, sandy brown hair, cheekbones to die for. Musician - of course. And I can't stop thinking about him. The weird thing is, I'm not sure I'll ever see him again. If I do, I do, and I guess that'll be fate's way of telling me something, right? It's one of life's most profound, but most depressing moments, when you finally click with a person, you just click... and you talk about all this stuff, you share your mind with them over the course of an evening, you give them a little piece of yourself... then you look at them again and you realise you're kind of in love with this... stranger. Except, it's like, they probably know you better than your own friends. Because you just cut to the important bits, you let them see it all in just a few words, you showed them the window to your very soul. You look at them and you see the way their face looks under the streetlamp and how pretty the smoke looks coming out of their mouth, and you think, I wish I could kiss you... I wish I could know you, but I might never, and maybe this will just be a moment. That's the stuff that really, really fucks with my head. I meet these perfect people for a millisecond and then they're gone, without a trace, and it makes my heart hurt, because I might never see them again, and then it'd be like it only ever existed in my mind. I'm so depressed thinking that might have been... it. Motivation to book a shitload of shifts for when I get back in April, on the off chance we might be working together again. Cry. Cry. Sob sob sob.

I'm totally sleep-deprived, which, in combination with being sad and weepy about stuff already, is making me petty. Time to close my eyes and wait until the morning comes.

Vive la revolution!

Sigh.

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.

Notes on today

Just a short one, but I thought I'd write up my intake for today. I haven't felt confident enough to do that in a long while. For some reason I wasn't hungry all afternoon. Even when I ate dinner I felt like I could have done without it. Either way, 

-2 rusk biscuits and 1 mashed banana with 100ml skim milk and 1tbsp gooseberry yogurt, 300cal (this is my new favourite breakfast. I let the rusks soak with the banana in hot milk, then microwave it for 30 seconds and eat it with a tiny bit of yogurt. Yummy)

-Diet coke, 0cal

-1/2 cup orange juice, 50cal 

-Soy cappuccino with 2 pumps vanilla, 120cal

-Caesar salad, 250cal

-1/2 bar milk chocolate, 250cal

Total: 970cal 

I know it's not particularly impressive, but it's the best intake I've had in weeks. I could have done without the chocolate, I know, but weirdly enough having a couple of cubes at night stops me from bingeing on loads of other carb-y crap. Considering there's wholemeal bread, peanut butter and cereal bars in the house, which on a regular night I would probably just gobble up mindlessly, I think I did pretty well. 

The trick seems to be eating a filling, healthy breakfast, then surviving on coffee, juice and cigarettes until dinner time. It's easy to avoid lunch when you wake up at midday, and no one's home until 5pm. Eating alone during the day has totally depressed me recently. It just reminds me that I feel lonely already. Eating alone, when lonely, is just too depressing for words. 

I need another hobby besides what I do and don't put in my mouth. I need to start writing again, properly this time. And I need Alfie back in my life. Where is he? Who knows.

Somewhere

Increasingly nothing to say. I spend a lot of time indoors, looking at the rain outside, wishing it was summer again, wishing that our friendship group was still in tact. Last night I have a dream. Charlie apologises over text, says she can't believe what went down, she wants me back. In my head, I applaud myself for not responding to her messages. But then I wake up and realise - in that sobering, cold way - that I'm never going to see her again.

On Friday, I spend the night holed up in Caro's dorm room. She's like me, has a box balanced on top of her closet full of food. Silent assurance; fuel for those lonely, hungry times. We devour half of it, washed down with 8 shots of cheap vodka, diluted by litre upon litre of diet coke. We get outrageously pissed. Cigarettes out of her window, cover the smoke alarm. Wrap our backs in curtains. She kisses me, red smudging on her cigarettes, then onto my lips. We talk about everything. Women, men. Weight. Summer, each other.

Alfie's back for Easter break tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about this. I have days and nights where he's all I think about, then others where he's the furthest from my mind. Sometimes, I just think he's shit. Another shithead arsehole guy, wanting wanting wanting, taking taking taking. Known a few too many of those. Then othertimes, my whole body begs to be held by him, comforted, reassured, just for a moment. I yearn to be embraced, completed by someone else. I wish to explore everything; I'm curious, like an innocent, and I want to know. What all the fuss is about, what I've been missing out on. I wonder if it'll be the same for me. Perhaps, I'm just meant to be different.

I'll look at myself, and think, I could be improved. Maybe I don't deserve to be held. Then I catch myself smiling, glimpse a candid reflection of some actual expression of my own joy, and I think, I'm just a human. I'm just a girl. There's nothing wrong with me. I spend approximately 7 hours a day thinking about food, and how I shouldn't be eating it; about myself, and how I should be better. That's a lot of time. When I see myself laugh from the outside, totally unwarranted, I think that I must be pure. Not this messy, diabolical thing I consider myself to be half the time. Evil things don't have an open heart.

I think that things might get better. I think one day I'll feel alright in my own skin. I won't have this crippling low self-confidence, nor this extreme vanity or high level of self-indulgence, forever. I hope. But I'll be me forever. It's about bloody time I got comfortable being just that. Maybe then, I'll start to treat myself more kindly. They say your body's your temple, not your burden. I'd like to think this way. It'll take some time, but eventually, I'd like to get there. I'd like to eat, think, behave purely. Because somewhere, deep down, I know I deserve that. Somewhere. Somewhere. Somewhere.

Being "me"

I decided to give my blog a little make-over, along with my head. I realised I've been a depressed, chaotic mess lately, and I don't want things to be that way anymore. It may sound stupid, but ending up back in the 150s again, has made me reconsider a lot of things. While I should have been eating well, treating myself a bit more kindly, and focusing on other stuff besides food, I turned myself into a food-maniac. I've been so preoccupied with wanting to lose weight, hating the way I am now, and desperately wanting to change myself into something (or someone) I'm not, that I've ended up addicted to stuffing my face, because a big part of me has felt I deserved that kind of treatment. No. I'm not doing this anymore. The self-hate ends here. I have things to look forward to, and things to be happy about, and it doesn't all have to be miserable. I'd like to start celebrating myself, and enjoying life, instead of drowning in a bottomless pit of self-loathing all the time - one that I created.

It's time for a bit of a life make-over. I'm going to start treating myself well - eating small, healthy meals that satisfy and nourish me, and exercising every day. I'm dying my hair a lighter chocolate brown, and getting a few inches taken off, and I'm going to make sure it looks as shiny and healthy as it can. I've realised how pale I look, and my naturally almost-black hair isn't doing me any favours. I'm gonna start wearing some different stuff, too, so that I can start looking at my figure differently. I'm not interested in hiding myself anymore. I just want to be the best that I can be. Hopefully weight loss will follow, and while that might be a slower process than I wanted, as long as I eventually get to where I want to be, that's all that matters. I've been kidding myself that I could take on this new identity and no one would notice. But transformations don't happen overnight - they're a gradual process, and I'm starting my metamorphosis now.

Things to look forward to -

1. New waitressing job that I've just started - good way to meet new people, get out of my comfort zone, earn some money and not to mention the great exercise!
2. Alfie coming home for Easter next Tuesday
3. Going to LA on March 30 - getting a tan, drinking yummy smoothies, and seeing my dad
4. Bash coming home for summer on April 28th
5. University in October, after a (hopefully!) amazing summer
and finally,
6. Being me. Yes, that is something to look forward to.

Purgatory

Since last week, not much has changed. I've been in this cloud of depression and I don't know why but this time, nothing is lifting it. I cry on average about 3 times a day, usually to the point where I'm hysterical, and every morning I wake up with a throbbing headache because of it. Not to mention I've been ridiculously ill (glandular fever symptoms, not able to stand without being dizzy, etc.) until yesterday, when I felt much better physically, and could see my dad, who is back in London for a few days. That little patch of illness is probably the only reason I'm down to the 151.8 lbs I weighed in at this morning, because I have still been eating relentlessly like a horse whether hungry or stuffed. I feel so terrible giving this miserable update on my life, but on this blog I try to be honest, and let my readers know what is going on. I've been really out of whack with my email lately for obvious reasons, too, so lovely girls who I email: I will be back on the scene as soon as I get my head together.

But I don't want this post to be all bad. I had a massive cry this morning (yes, another one) and afterwards, I felt this massive unhappiness at how badly I've been treating myself lately. Not physically, necessarily - obviously bingeing isn't conducive to a healthy relationship with your body, but it's not been as damaging as it could have been. I guess what I mean is I've been very unkind to myself, mostly psychologically. Really hard on myself, and not giving myself a proper chance to recover from stuff. Last week I made a huge change by almost completely cutting out smoking, and I'm pretty sure if I can do that, I can make other changes, too. In the afternoon I worked out for about an hour. I did pop pilates, ballet workouts, stretches, a bit of yoga, and afterwards I felt like I actually deserved to smile, because I wasn't a total waste of space. My waitressing job properly starts on Wednesday, and that's going to be really active. I figure if I gym it 3-4 times a week, workout at home every morning, and waitress about 15 shifts a month, I'll get in shape a lot quicker, which will, obviously, cheer me up.

The pressing 'thing' (which I can't remember if I've mentioned on here yet or not) is my trip to LA on the 30th March. My sister and I are flying out to see my dad and spend about ten days there. Obviously I'd like to be in the best shape I can be by then, simply because I want to enjoy my time there, feel confident, and not cringe when it's time to bring out the leg-bearing outfits. I stumbled across this plan on Tumblr last year and have always wanted to try it, but it's never quite been the right time, and I could never trust myself to actually work out. However, tomorrow I'm giving it my best shot, because I have approximately 18 days before I travel to the land of the skinny minnies, which kind of freaks me out. So I'll let you know how it goes. I figure if my net intake works out than less than the recommended calories, I won't be too fussed about sticking to exact amounts. Anyway. We'll see if I like it and if not, I'll take a proper mental holiday from dieting, until I'm in a better place, and can make it work on a healthy level. 

I'm kind of done with making myself miserable, though. Being sad is boring. And I really, really want to feel better again. 

Struggling, flailing, sinking.

I am so disappointed with myself it's not true. I finally got a new set of scales (a pair of my own, at last, that actually work). They cost me £16.50, and they were the cheapest ones at the chemist's. £16.50 later and I'm ready to kill myself. I weigh 155 lbs. There you go, I said it. I am thoroughly ashamed of that number, and almost considered deleting this blog altogether after I saw those 3 little black numbers flashing up at me earlier on today. I'm confused, sad, anxious, and just... lost. I don't know who I am anymore. I don't recognise my body in the mirror. It looks distorted, like one of those fun house mirrors that stretches your hips and stomach and thighs and face way out of proportion. Except that's my actual reflection, and I can't get away from it. 

I calculated that today I consumed 3,032 calories in total. I don't even feel full. In fact, I feel like I've undereaten today. How fucking disgusting is that? I'm a pig. 

I don't know what to do. I don't know whether to start restricting again, or to start a plan, or a specific diet, or just take a bunch of laxatives and drink water and diet coke for the next 4 days until I see the 140s again. 

Oh, and I'm ill, to boot. Coughing fits every 10 minutes. So I can't smoke, obviously. And Bash is back in London. Worst timing ever. We're supposed to having lunch at her house tomorrow, but I'll just want to curl up in the corner with a coffee and a cigarette and ignore everybody. 

Other people just... don't... understand. 

A weekend in the country

Well, this month certainly started off with a bang. That is, the bang of my foot against my friend's scales as I read my weight on Friday morning. 1-5-4.

I know why it happened. For the past week or so I've been bingeing worse than ever before. A endless train of nonstop binge eating. Every night, I go through the same motions: eat dinner, tell myself I'm full (which, probably, physically, I am), go upstairs, talk to a friend or write or chill out in bed with a book. An hour later I'll decide I want a cigarette, so I'll go back downstairs, get something to drink with my cigarette, and go outside to smoke. Back upstairs, back in bed, probably time to sleep now. Procrastinate going to bed for two further hours. By this time it's nearly one in the morning, but something (my eating disorder? The lure of the fridge? The devil?) possesses me to walk silently back downstairs, creep into the kitchen like the little food creep I am, and begin my night time binge.

If I'm lucky, it'll be a case of nibbling on a few bits and bobs, washing it down with water, coffee or tea (yes, I am so addicted to coffee I sometimes drink it at 1a.m.). If its a bad night, I can keep going up and down stairs for hours to get more food, silently cart it up to my room, eat it as quietly as possible, then rinse and repeat until its 4a.m. and I just want to die so, so much.

154 lbs is appalling to me. It's only 2 lbs under my highest ever weight, and that makes me feel like crap. I don't know how my clothes still fit me, but they do, so maybe some of it is food/water weight, and my proportions haven't shifted as much as I think. Either way, one word springs to mind: ghastly.

On Saturday morning I packed a bag, determined to get shot of home for a few days at the least. I forgot to add that I've been having some horrible arguments with my mum, which haven't helped my state of mind. Luckily we've made up now (for the time being) but all of this makes me just wishwishwish that university would hurry up and come.

I went to stay with Alfie for a night at his uni. We got completey wasted and then all of us went clubbing and got even more wasted and then got drunk McDonald's. By some miracle of God I only ended up ordering small fries and a water. I had my eye set on the veggie wrap but then I was just like 'No.' Then we went home, I went back to Alfie's room, and we ended up kissing and doing... other stuff... in our drunken haze. Got two hours sleep because he had some medics meeting on Sunday morning, and it woke me up. Caught up on an extra hour while that was happening, then got up, met him in the courtyard and we went for breakfast. While the boys all ate their gigantic greasy fry-ups, I got a bagel, a banana, a low fat plain yogurt and a black coffee. Win for me.

Anyway moving on, I then hopped on a train to the countryside to come stay with some old family friends. They are literally the sweetest people and have treated me so wonderfully. I can get on with my own thing, clear my head, feel calm and together again. Today I went into town and had a peruse around the shops. Everyone smiles at you here, even the people you meet walking their dog across the fields are just so friendly and they always say hello. That's something I like about getting out of London. And the sky is so clear that you can see every single star.

Food wise today has been okay: I had a super healthy breakfast of natural probiotic yogurt, stewed apricots and ground flaxseed & almond cereal, washed down by two cups of coffee. In town I got a Shapers hummus and falafel wrap, a bag of crisps and a cappuccino. Then I had some gum, a Shapers bar and a Creme Egg about half an hour ago :/ Luckily it'll be a low cal dinner - mushroom tomato omelette and salad :) I used their scales to weigh myself this morning. It wasn't a nice number. 152 lbs. Better than 154 I guess, and hopefully I'll be down to 150 tomorrow morning. It'll be okay. The important thing is getting out of the habit of night time eating. Once that's under control, I can start to rev things up a bit, revisit my gym membership, and get back to the low 140s.

Well that's certainly enough rambling for one blog post. Thank you for putting up with this drivel. It'd drive me insane.