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.