So much craziness...so little sanity

So mid-terms are this week, and I'll I really have time to say is:
I'm stressed.
I'm a fat cow.

Oh, and I found out that my new roomate has bulimia. So convenient, having someone puking after bingeing when I'm struggling to make it throught the week. I've never had mia (don't get me wrong, I've tried...some of us just don't have the mental strength to go through with it. I turned to compulsive exercising to purge my calories.)

Anyway, just a shitty week to boot, not to mention that I've been having a really hard time keeping my cals under 800 (I boost my cal limit this week to get through midterms without passing out...lol). Anyway, things are only bound to get better.

Not gonna weigh myself this week though. No, nope, naaaaaah.
Thinspo for today: an A on my Poli Sci midterm! wooo

Today

I went frollicking at the beach (that's me)!

It was a great day. I'm down five pounds this week (whaaaaat?)...I have no idea why or how that happened, but I'm obviously not complaining.

The past four days I've eaten:
1/2 cup egg whites
cup grilled zucchini
salad w/ tomatoes, almonds, turkey, and zero-cal ranch
3-4 cups of green tea
1 cup coffee

Apparently, that's like, the magic day of calories for me. You bet your bum I'll be sticking to that for a while!

Oh, and yesterday I went to In-N-Out with all of my friends and didn't eat a thing. It was one of the harder things I've done in a while, but the power that came after leaving was euphoric. Not to mention that everyone was asking me if I had lost weight, and why I wasn't eating, etc. I forgot that being the center of attention, even if its because of an ED, is sort of addictive.

I wanted to tell them:
you wait two months.
It'll be newsworthy.

<3,
C

The Olivia Files

<---Thinspo for today!
I know it’s ridiculous to reminisce in high school memorabilia and journals and think anything fantastic of who you were at that time.

But truthfully, honestly,

As of my junior year I think I was fucking fantastic. And it’s incredibly hard, looking back on those first steps into the stages of anorexia, and then to look at who I am now.

Around November of 2005, I stopped eating, and started over-training…and began the long process of perfecting my body. The date today is September 10, 2009, and I’m…

I’m less than perfect, at best. But I’m on a new turn, and presently I’m venturing into my sixth week of starvation.

God, I forgot how hard this was.

So right now as I hold my old leather sketchbook and journal in my hands—from the section of months I like to call “The Time of Olivia”—I can’t help but feel lowly and pathetic. I was as close to perfect as I would ever be, and I let it all crumble beneath me. I let go of the accomplishment that had taken me so long to reach. Just, let it all go.

I guess this a place where I should be honest with myself. Honest with this revolting point I’ve reached. I should probably also acknowledge the consuming monster that lives inside of me. As of this morning, I was 146 pounds. Not my highest weight, but certainly a number worth puking over. I think the most I’ve ever weighed was last summer when I got back from doing mission work for four months; I remember going to the doctor for a checkup and seeing 174 on the scale. Horrifying, to say the least. Absolutely horrifying. But I started school and crew, which got me back into some sort of level of shape, and dropped to around 160. And I’ve been struggling at that weight ever since. Twelve months, twelve looonnng months, and I’m just beginning to get the fact that I’m sickly obese. Luckily, my newest bout of Ana has dropped me back to around 145 again; the control is addictive...I had forgotten about that.

When I was in high school, I would look at the mirror and see myself for who I was: fat, cellulite-ridden, and in dire need for improvement. I was 140 pounds back then, which wasn’t great (but now that I look desperately back…not bad, either). So I worked. For months, I worked my fucking ass off (pun intended) and dropped to…oh, I’d say my lowest weight was around 114, putting me at a BMI of around 15 (I'm 5'11--categorical amazon woman). And to be frank, I know I was too skinny at that weight—not body wise (my body was to die for!)—but my poor face had sunken in, and my hair had started to fall out.

My grades had also slipped, which ironically enough, is what finally got my parents to force me into recovery. Oh, and need I say that my definition of “slipped” was receiving a C, and possibly another one. What a conundrum of an adolescence I led, really.

Anyway, all of these things I will delve into further and in more detail. This is my way of scraping together what’s left of me, left of Ana, and left of whatever future I have for myself. This journal is dedicated to retrieving what I’ve lost (and hopefully, losing what I’ve gained), and becoming the person whom I used to find pride in.

Ana, please don't let go of me this time.

Flash a Dimple Or Two

Flash a dimple or two
Meet a pupil or two
For a while
It’s all the same.
Collision of skin
Softly, crashin’
I mean,
It’s all the same, really.
Your heart still beats
Faster, faster,
They draw near.
Breath close to yours
Sometimes just a
Voice nostalgically
Echoing in your ear.
Yeah, yeah, can you
Feel the follicles rising?
It don’t matter, a whole lot
It’s still feels the same.
Ignore it, pursue it, do what
You want with it
But it’ll linger.
Oh, the binding knots that
Tie your insides together
Will always stay the same.

Crazy Hormones

Oh, to be a woman. To be categorically psychotic.
Such fun times.

I realized, in my attempts at nothingness this week, that I was also pmsing a week and a half early, thanks to living with a group of other females. No wonder I've been crazy the past five days.

Anyway (past the TMI...apologies to the few--if any--who ever read this), today is a better day. I've stepped up my academic vigor a little, which gave me a little boost in self-confidence. Alas, Ana never fails to bring you back down to your pitiful little place; I also realized my scale has been off by four pounds for who knows how long. Sigh. More the reason to cut back, I suppose.

I've been rocking the no dinner thing, also. Don't get me wrong; it's as hard as hard gets--especially when my freaking roommates are stuffing their faces with macaroni and cheese every night--but I'm somehow managing to stay strong. That's one thing I always appreciate about this disease; while it's seemingly never-ending, the small bouts of soaring control manage to fit their way in, and resisting temptation on a nightly basis is no exception.

Like they always say: you can't taste thin, but you can feel it.

Thinspiration

For tonight is Gossip Girl. Blake Lively is my ultimate thinspo...she's drop-dead gorgeous! Not to mention that she's extremely tall like I am, which gives me hope that I won't be an amazon forever as long as I stick to the plan:

Stop. Fucking. Binging.

Good news, though. After a long day of not eating much and running lots, I weighed myself today and lost another pound! How fate feels the need to bestow me such a gift is beyond me, but I'm definitely NOT COMPLAINING.

I also came across the greatest idea today. Since I need to eat something before class (I'm not paying 25,000 dollars a year to pass out in lecture), I'll just skip dinner instead. They always say that you shouldn't eat late anyway, so I guess I'll be the official tester of that. So. Goal for the week: under 400 a day, and no dinner. That gives me leeway for a decent breakfast and lunch, which I'm stoked about. Then I just need to hold out to the next day.

It's not so bad so far.

Crashing and Burning

I was almost on my last day of my under-400-a-day fast, and was doing wonderfully.

Alas, my other half comes out and proves me yet again, how incredibly weak I am. My mom came in to visit, and immediately I flashbacked to therapy, recovery...all of those things I've grown to hate the most in life. So, to appease her mind (she noticed my weight-loss so far; I told her it was from the flu), I ate. I ate, and I ate, and I ate, and I ate some more.

And this morning my stomach is swollen and grotesque, and I hate myself. I'm not even going near the scale.

Why, why would I let go of such an amazing, euphoric high of accomplishment for one stupid day of pleasing my damn mother?

Fuck.