Day 12

Intake:
-- Steel-cut oats (150)
-- Diet Coke (1)
-- Ham and mustard sandwich (295)
-- Wholegrain chips (120)
-- 1/2 Elderflower cider (x)
Total: 566

The ridiculously low number of calories wasn't intentional, at least not consciously intentional. I had an argument with my mother about why I didn't want to go outside or come downstairs to talk today. I felt so depressed, antisocial and on edge that it took every ounce of will I had not to pack my bags and catch the next train out of London, back to my university accommodation. The thing that stopped me? My skin still hasn't healed. My chin is an exploding volcano. I have scabs from picking. I can't possibly go outside.

Consequently, I didn't leave the house until 10pm, and when I did, it was to call my father on a walk. My father, ranting and raving, told me he did not have the money to fly me out to see him this August. Which is just as well, because I've proven myself to be a truly haphazard and failure-prone person as of late. If I can't get out of bed here, I certainly won't be able to get out of bed in LA when I have an angry parent and sibling yelling at me when their plans go to shit.

For the record, my naive, angry, crazy eighteen year-old sister is supposed to be moving out there for a year (alone) in exactly a month. I won't even begin to go into the ethics of it all. The whole thing just gives me a fucking aneurism.

A 600-calorie diet should officially carry a warning for making you irate, on edge, manic, intensely nervous and moody, but it doesn't, and I forget this every single time. Then wonder why, just short of two weeks into restricting, I feel so bad. The skin thing hasn't helped matters. It took about half a bottle of concealer to actually convince me to leave the house, and when I did, I still worried that people would see the state of my face - in the dark.

I have serious problems.

Technically, I should lose another pound soon, considering it's now customary for me to stay at a number for a maximum of 2-3 days before dropping. Today, before eating, I weighed 161.4. This number doesn't mean anything to me now, when a week ago, it was all I could think about. And I actually felt slim yesterday. Today, alternatively, by some distortion of time or mood or something else, I suddenly look "enormous". This range simply will not do. I don't even think the 150s will do it for me now, but at least they're familiar, and I know I've gotten out of them before.

On the menu tomorrow: those konjac noodles, because my artistic brain recognises it as an opportunity to be creative for a minimal amount of calories. And, coffee. Always coffee.