Deliriously ill

Got the flu. Not the regular kind, where you can still function, but the kind where I literally couldn't get out of bed for four days, except to pee (and even that was with some considerable difficulty). Missed three days of lectures and an essay deadline. Nice way to start out term, Gabby.

So my weight sort of plummeted to 142 lbs. I don't know what to make of this, because I definitely look thinner than 142 in the mirror. Maybe it's because I'm all ill and frail and gaunted out. But when I went to the kitchen to get some water earlier, I received three comments all pertaining to how skinny I'd gotten, and how my ribs can now apparently be seen through my chest. Excellent.

My sister called me on the phone today. The conversation went a little like this:

Gabby's sister: So how are you feeling?
Gabby: Like someone ran me over with a truck.
Gabby's sister: Shall I bring your Doc Martens up next Friday when I come visit? You forgot them. Oh and shall I bring that sniffy stuff that people put up their noses when they have colds? The stuff in your drawer?
Gabby: How do you... and I'll be better by next Friday.
Gabby's sister: So how's the German? Guess what, I lost so much weight since you left because mum only buys grapefruits and parmesan cheese now.
Gabby: Can't you buy your own food?
Gabby's sister: Well I could, but I can't be bothered. And I quite like grapefruits, anyway.

My sister doesn't HAVE any weight to lose. Last time I checked, she was only half an inch shorter than me, and barely scraping 105 lbs. Is this normal for an almost-seventeen-year-old girl whose primary sources of exercise involve hair-straightening and galavanting up-stairs balancing multiple bowls of ice cream, pizza and apple pudding at once? When I was seventeen, I was heavier than I am now, shorter than I am now, and the idea of eating even half a pizza by myself would probably have given me a hernia.

More concerning is that she's going through my top drawers, or rather, knows what's in them. Oh well. That's all water under the bridge now, I suppose.

I caved and bought a pair of very expensive, digital, bathroom scales. I can't stand not being able to know my weight. Today was the first day that I binged. Actually, properly binged. Luckily none of it was alone in my room... but me and my flatmate shared a big bar of Galaxy, ordered Chinese, and devoured a family bag of crisps/quite a lot of cereal in the space of about 3 hours. I feel sick. And fat. And I started my period.

This calls for a new plan to be drawn up. I bought scales, and I bought food. Healthy food that I could probably use to restrict if I tried hard enough. I shouldn't have to try, but I do, and to be honest, I don't think I can face going home heavier than I was when I left.

Technically, the new plan's daily total shouldn't come to more than 500. Realistically, alcohol exists, my appetite is very much still alive, and random pizza dates in my bedroom with The German have become commonplace. But there you go, an actual set plan for now. I'm hoping I can keep it up for a couple of days, then assess how it's going via the scales.

Wonder if it's possible to come back at Christmas a waif. Dreading weigh-in numero 1 on Saturday morning, when my scales arrive. Perhaps if I work hard enough, start sleeping with The German instead of eating dinner, and watch enough French cinema I MIGHT just get the result I want. 

Confessions of a drama queen

University life is... surprisingly not as strange as I'd thought it would be. Our campus and town are amazing, and I'm in love with my flatmates. Fresher's week ended, and thus began a stream of lectures and workshops. My lectures are great. I sit with two guys and a girl, the gems I've picked out, at the back of the theatre, put on my glasses, and scribble like there's no tomorrow. It's like being in an English literature A-level class, which is comforting. Workshops, however, are a strange hybrid of RADA training and nursery school. They involve hours of leaping around, circle time, making bizarre noises you never deemed yourself capable of, and, of course, trying desperately to impress twenty-odd people you've never met and feel extremely intimidated by.

I also met a boy. He's 21, and a transfer student from Berlin. We act like a married couple, which is ridiculous, because we've only known each other 10 days. My flatmates, affectionately, refer to him simply as 'The German', which I have now unintentionally started doing, and probably will continue to do on this blog. The German, who has blonde hair and blue eyes and lips that would make you weep, goes back to Germany at Christmas. This makes me very sad. But right now, it's beautiful. And totally unexpected.

I'm also rather alarmed not to be weighing myself at all, which has led to some anxiety over the past few days, as I'm convinced I've gained. Technically speaking, the only 'bingeing' I've done has been on alcohol, which generally makes me lose, but I guess I don't trust my own eyes anymore. I've been trying to go by how my jeans fit, and they seem to fit the same. So logically, I've maintained. Emotionally, I'm huge. Now that my timetable has picked up I'm aiming to create some sort of plan I can stick to. In an ideal world, I'd like to survive off fat-free plain yogurt, diet coke, coffee, and either a sandwich or soup for dinner depending on how hungry I am/how cold it is. I've also re-discovered my love for Quaker's Instant Oats and Caesar salad, so those may be factored in too. I seem to struggle when I have too many options, as I want to eat everything. So less variety is probably better, and in smaller, more controlled amounts than I have been allowing myself. It'll be okay. I hope.

That's all for now. Need to find a cosy jumper to go with these leggings, and then heading in to nursery for three hours of yelling like a wild boar.