A light in the dark.

Her name is Nancy, and today she was like a light in the dark.
Nancy didn't fix me today, being fixed from this problem doesn't happen in just a one hour session with your amazing therapist.
But Nancy rubbed some of the vomit off my vision of the world and helped me see things I didn't know were there. They've been there a long time without me even knowing. I guess that's what happens when you build a wall around.
When I told Nancy that it was like looking over a foggy bridge trying to find freedom from my eating disorder cycles, she told me that there was another way to see it. She told me that it's more like having a string, and every step I take that I am adding a Pearl, and eventually I will have a irreplaceable Pearl Necklace.

I don't know if I'll ever have a full necklace. I don't know what entitles a "step," to be a "step." Finishing a meal? Not purging? But is it really a step when that one step causes you to take ten steps back to make up for it?

She also told me that I needed to keep a feelings journal, where I would write my feelings. She told me it cannot have to do with food, or fat. Because she knows I have lots of those journals, she took one that she still has filled with "pig," stuff. She said I need to face my feelings rather than numb them with my eating disorder. I don't want to feel, I hate feeling. I cannot control rage, but when I am starving I don't have the energy to be in total rages, so it all works out.

The Retirement of my Fingers

Finally, I can purge without doing this to my hands. It has been getting easier and easier to just..blah.. But today for the first time I purged without my hands at all. My stomach muscles just contract just the right way, I push in the right places.. and out it comes.

I couldn't sleep last night, because all I could think about was how fat I am, and now when I see Nancy she's not going to think I'm really doing bad, because I look like an elephant. Even though my father commented yesterday on the fact that I keep losing weight rapidly, my mom told me it is getting way out of control again. I don't see it, I see such a fat person in the mirror. I try clothes on obsessively to make sure they're still baggy, measure myself, weigh myself. I am losing, but I don't see it. I never see it. Wouldn't matter if I was 600 pounds or 60 pounds, I would see something similar. Ha, that's an exaggeration, but you get the point.

Feeding the Hungery

I fed a hungry person today.
A starving person.
I felt good about it.
Because it wasn't me.
I was driving about in my car, and I looked over to see a homeless man digging through the trash, he was pulling out scraps of food and bags that he pawed through, finding morsels of calories to put into his body for nourishment. I wondered what it would be like to be desperate for food and actually eat it with no intention of barfing it out.
I felt sorry for the man, no telling his story. An Alcoholic maybe? Consumed by his addiction to the point of really losing it all, or Cocaine. Maybe something else, but whatever it was, I felt for him. I was scared to do so but I rolled down my window and said, "Sir!" he snapped his head toward me.
I was scared, but I said, "Are you looking for some food?" And held up the shiny green apple from my bag.
He smiled and he ran to take the apple. He smiled at me and showed that he had really straight but yellowed teeth, he was filthy, when he spoke to me I have no clue what he said, it was all mumbles and squeaks, I smiled and just said "You're welcome," and sped away as fast as I could.

He did me a favor, by taking the apple. I was going to waste the apple. If I didn't eat the apple and barf it up, I would have trashed it. So, he took the apple so I didn't have to waste it. And in turn I gave him some nourishment.

Just let me go.

I want to scream this to the world sometimes.
As scared and isolated as I feel with my eating disorder, I also just want to be let go so I can suffer on my own. Not because I sensationalize the idea of being broken and alone blah blah. It terrifies me, I am so scared of my eating disorder I can't even say. I don't want to be seen as dramatic and theatric, but at the same time I don't feel it's right to be needy and greedy and allow other's to sacrifice so much and put so much into a potentially very pointless cause.

I abuse, I lie, I manipulate, I neglect, and I crush all the relationships I have. Therefore I don't create any new ones. I did, back in January reach out, and try to live recovered while still binging and purging, I created a friend in the world, a few friends, a potential boyfriend. It was all a giant fucking mistake. What the hell was I thinking? Two people specifically, the boy and my friend Brandi are both being hurt. And the thing is that I am just going to watch them suffer while ignoring all calls, all messages, all attempts at anything. Everything they did was for nothing, all that we did together was for nothing.

To me friends are useless, because I can't treat them right. Boyfriends are even more useless, because I know that I can't even begin to invest in that sort of relationship in the slightest.

Family is the worst case for me, I am loved. My mother loves me, my sister loves me.

"I won't give up on you."

God I hate that line. 

I just want to yell at them, "JUST LET ME GO, PLEASE!" Because I am pointless, I am not worth the effort because I will never get better, they will just try and try and it's all for nothing at all.

So close, yet so far away.

So close, yet so far away. It is the story of my life. 

Not always, but most of the time. I am not being a pessimist, I am not being woe is me. I am just stating this as a pure fact, and most of the time it is to no fault but my own.

Today while the family was bowling I had this thought when I bowled and had knocked all pins but one. 

So close.

I rolled and my ball didn't even miss the pin by a centimeter.

I have had the though of, "So close yet so far away," before, but it hit me again.

I am so close to living a life of freedom from my eating disorder, because I know exactly what healthy eating means. I know the "tools," to recovery. I know all the facts about how many calories I need per day, how much exercise, health facts blah blah. Yet, I cannot act upon them. I can say, "I will eat a healthy and balanced diet and exercise moderately!" I can say this and smile even, but can I do it? No.

If I am not bingeing, just the thought of food in my mouth, on my tongue, or the smell or sight of food is enough to make my heart beat harder, and my anxiety sky rocket, my thighs to feel suddenly as if they are growing, my stomach giant. I just hear it over and over in my head.. "A fat cell is forever, a fat cell is forever." 

I see the other side, but I can't get there. 

24 hours, Three 30 minute Meals

Okay, there are 24 hours, 1440 minutes every day period. About 12 hours are spent out and about.. scurrying about the earth doing our humanly tasks.

One of those tasks is supposed to be eating. Food, eating food.

Glorious, Right?

Thinking about eating three times a day, healthy meals that will keep you focused and strong and alert and healthy and blah and blah and oh yea.. blah.. It is easy. Easy to think.. Okay, for breakfast I could handle this.. lunch that.. and dinner that.. It'll all work fine.

Wrong. The emotional turmoil that eating three, even two meals a day and keeping them inside me causes is just horrendous. 

Breakfast, if any would be the easiest for me. I get out of bed, I feel weak, I feel nauseous, sometimes I have that clamping in my chest, sometimes I can't move my limbs for a few minutes, sometimes I black out when I first sit up.. So eating breakfast seems logical and safe. Of course my version of breakfast is picking at the breadcrust of toast or picking small pieces of cereal out of soymilk, consuming about ten flakes then dumping it, while cutting an apple into mico cubes into micro cubes and nibbling the peel off each micro mini cube.

Today I ate breakfast. When I am with mom for the day, I eat. I don't want her worrying, I cannot handle watching her cry over me, or worrying. She loves me, she supports me. When I am with her for the day eating is possible. When I am alone it is binge/purge or just don't eat. Mom is the only person whom I can say, "Okay, I will eat something." 

Three meals though, three meals is hell for me. 

By dinner time, I was a wreak. Of course, my day of calories only totaled around 570, but still that is 570 more than normal. Well, my version of "normal." So, two hours before dinner was due to happen I started crying.. and crying.. and crying.. and punching pillows, and crying. What to do? I was going to eat, but every cell of my being was saying "WHAT?! This isn't our norm here!" 

Dinner.. 

God, I hate dinner. 

I cried for another hour after dinner and didn't stop fidgeting the entire car ride to Grandpas, which was 2 hours. I craved my normal cardio workouts on the elliptical or to go on the 6 mile running trail I love. Or the toilet, to purge. Or maybe an epicac this time, or laxatives even.. I am not into laxatives, but the feeling of food inside me is just torture. I SWEAR that I could FEEL the calories coming out of the food and going into my body, lacing yellow lard into my thighs and around my abdomen, under my chin in billowing mounds of weakness and filth. 

I don't know how to think of food differently, but I hate feeling this way. I don't want to hate food, I don't want to be controlled by my hate for food. 

I ended the night by talking to mom for four hours. I told her about how scared I am, and how I am sorry that I keep falling back to this. She cried again for me. I cried for her that she has to deal with me. I told her I was sorry that I am such a dramatic drain ball of sorrow and pity and whine. We laughed at that because I was being theatrical on purpose to be funny. She informed me that if I lose 10 more pounds I will be IP status and she won't hesitate to play interventionist. She said she cannot lose me, and she won't let me die. She said she doesn't understand what I am going through but she supports me and wants to help. She is so different with me these days as opposed to when we did the whole Anorexia bit years ago. It was always fighting and yelling and control struggles and anger and name calling back then. I am so grateful that I have had her for these years because we have both learned so much, and she's never stopped trying or stopped loving me.

I am so grateful to have her, so why can't I just stop this nonsense and 'recover?'

I can preach this, I can ask this, I can say this over and over and over. 

But I will not stop.

I can't imagine my life without my eating disorder. 

It's raining vomit.

MAJOR WARNING: GRAPHIC IMAGES!!!

Right now, I feel like hell.

I am freezing. I can't sit up straight.. I feel like I am curling into myself, like I am going to curl up like a rollie pollie (pill bug) into a round ball and close up to the world forever. 

As I expected, I did binge on the Mazatlan. The pizza too. I binged on that this morning after mom left for work, she wasn't even out the door five minutes and I was in the fridge stuffing it into my mouth as fast as I possibly could, chuggin water and coffee. I binged on other things, lots of things. I am so ashamed for this behavior. I am so ashamed that I eat so much, like a pig. I shovel dollars and dollars of food, food that others would eat, food that starving people in third world countries would love to have. Just so that I can throw it all up.

I think it is selfish and needy and greedy and DISGUSTING, but yet I cannot stop. I get so starving, and once I start eating I am like, "I am going to barf it anyways, eat it ALL." 

After that binge/purge I went to take my dog to the groomers, after dropping him off I stopped by the store to get fruit and raisins and nuts. I ended up getting yogurt too, thinking of how yogurt makes purging so much easier. Then I decided that since I had three dollars in my purse I could buy a cinnamon roll with frosting on it to binge on later. I walked by this pastry around 15 times trying to tell myself I didn't need to get it, but it was only 50 cents, and I only have this day left for binge/purging since mom's off work for the next three days. I got the damned pastry. 

I ended up adding more to it, but this was initially what I binged on for my second binge of the day. I purged it all pretty well, purging seems to get easier and easier. It used to get hard after a week or so because of my gag reflex. But lately it's to where I don't even really need my fingers at all. Just bend over and press on my stomach, contract my muscles just the right way and blaaaaaaaaaaaaah! It all comes out.

Behold, the disgusting reality:

Why post this? Well to show nasty reality of Bulimia, it's disgusting. It's not pretty pretty mia darling. It's nasty and smelly and horrible. 

Bulimia is your hands being raw and bruised. 

Bulimia is your face being puffed and sore.

Bulimia is your mouth raw and burning. Your teeth yellowed and chipped.

Bulimia is your stomach swollen and aching. 

Bulimia is not being able to swallow even drinks after purging.

Bulimia is red broken blood vessles all over your chest and face.

Bulimia is yellow fingernails.

Bulimia is lying to everyone.

Bulimia is spending your graduation money on food.

Bulimia is stealing food.

Bulimia is eating out of the trash.

Bulimia is hell.

Mazatlan - A place of beauty

We went to Mazatlan..

No, not that Mazatlan. But I wish..
The Mazatlan we went to wasn't serine, it wasn't peaceful, it wasn't beautiful.
It was Mazatlan Family Mexican Restaurant.
First off, I do like the restaurant. I love the people there, we've been going there for years as a family. I know almost all of the staff, and even was friends at one time with a girl who works there. They are all a family. The place is a beautiful restaurant, it has tons of historic paintings, and beautiful decorations. I just really like it's atmosphere. It's a beautiful place with beautiful culture. But what isn't beautiful.. The fact that it's a restaurant..
that serves food like this...

The people who own the restaurant are our neighbors. They are very kind. I asked the wife once how they cooked some of their food, because it terrifies me. She assured me that there is no animal lard they cook with, no grease. Only oils from vegetables, and avocado. 

Still, they pile waaaaay to much food onto a plate. Though that is good in ways, if you were a healthy eater. Most people aren't healthy eaters, no, most Americans will just eat what's on their plate well beyond the point of satiety, thinking that you have to be painfully full before you are done. Then there are those obsessed ones like me, who will pick at the food, examine the food, only eat some of it and be treated like an alien for not consuming every last carb on their plate like everyone else. I order a salad that has baby shrimp on it, and I get the dressing on the side. It is a HUGE, HUGE salad. Like, 3 cups of lettuce, and piles of baby shrimp. I only ate about 1/3 a cup of the baby shrimp, and 1 cup of the lettuce, and three chips, and about 3 tablespoons of salsa. I also ate one bite of a tortilla my sister offered me. Okay, not too horrible considering the fact that it was my first and only meal of the day. I drank water, ate all the ice. 

Of course I took the rest of mine home in a box, my mom seemed slightly agitated at the fact that I hadn't eaten it all. Once upon a time at this restaurant I would get a bean burrito, with rice and beans, and eat it all. But that was when I was a weak pig, I was just a kid then. Then I decided that was fatty, I started to get a bean tostada, with no cheese, then I refused to eat there for a long time. Then I went IP, came out "recovered," and for a while got this fajita salad, which I would eat almost all of, and about 10 chips. But now days I do this with the shrimp salad. At least I will eat SOMETHING there, and sit with the family pretending I love every bite. 

My mom offered me a few spoonfulls of her rice and beans into my to-go box. My father gave me two slices of his quesadilla. Jenny will always take your scraps. Always, because tommarow, I am going to binge on it all, then puke it all up. 

I cannot think because I can't stop thinking about it down in the fridge. It's in there on top of the pizza box, which has 2 slices of perfectly good pizza. 

^ That is what I am, I am such a damned pig.^

"You know you're Disordered When..."

Okay, so I see on WE alot that there is a "You know you're Bulimic when.." thread.
I decided that I would come up with my own list of "You know you're DISORDERED when.." and list things that I do, that I am going to take a step back and see that they're illogical and "disordered."

It's sort of depressing, because it's like, yes that is a bit funny thinking about it because it's my little world, but in the grand spectrum of things it's insane and just plain sad sounding...

But, here it goes.

You know you're disordered when...

• You love watching other's carts at the grocery store. 
• You try on your little sister's clothes.
• You ask for other's leftovers for future binges.
• You steal Splenda from starbucks.
• You like going to overweight folks houses because you know they'll have diet soda.
• You know where all the private bathrooms are in your city.
• You do grocery shopping at different stores in one day so you don't look like a pig.
• You eat from the trashcan.
• You eat food that's expired during a binge. 
• You sometimes don't wash your hands (ew!) because the thought of putting your hands in that water sounds too cold.
• You don't like swimming because it's too coooold!
• You like to look in other's medicine cabinets just to see what kind of laxatives they have, or if they have B12
• You always are first to offer when somebody needs something physical done, especially cleaning. (burn every calorie you can.)
• You take the stairs no matter what, even if you might be late because of it. 
• You like to find exuses to go down and up the stairs, even if they are fake. 
• You don't ever go out to eat, with anybody. When you do you already know exactly what you're ordering and how many calories are in it. 
• You love to watch others eating.
• You want to eat scraps or save scraps off complete strangers plates at a restaurant, seeing it being taken away to be dumped just makes your heart jump a beat.
• You take aloooot of "showers." 

There's more, but this is all I can fathom right now..

Dear Diet Dr Pepper

Diet Dr Pepper

Oh your sweet bite on my tongue,

I soak it up like a sponge. 

You are a miracle,

you seem impractical.

That such a great drink,

won't expand my thighs an inch.

Zero Calories,

So many Memories.

I love you Diet Dr Pepper.

Ha! So cheesy I know.

But seriously, Diet Dr Pepper has brought me alot of joy and comfort. Doctor's might have in the past banned me from it, because it was "disordered," and I was "using it to avoid food." 

Note: I don't NEED Diet Dr Pepper to avoid food.

Oh well, I'm 18 now, I can drink all the diet Dr Pepper in the world if I want. 

PANCAKES

Last night, I did the inevitable task of eating dinner. But that's not all...
That's not all at all... Nope.

I am terrified of carbs, unless it's during a binge.
I am mortified of Syrup, at any time.
I am even more terrified of butter, it's satanic.

But, I decided that I would eat. I would eat in the name of my future. I would eat in the name of my mother, and my sister. I would eat in the name of my Grandma whom I spent the last year of her life with my head down a toilet never going to see her. I was mad, I was scared.

I allowed mom to make the Pancake mix. (Mix, one Egg, 1 tbsp of Veg Oil, and 1 cup of 1% milk.)
I put blueberries in my pancake. Unlike regular meals, I didn't obsess and stand over her, telling her just how to make it, just how I wanted it, how I wouldn't eat it if ____.. I didn't do any of that. Because my mother works hard damn it! My mother slaves all day at work, and slaves to make the family happy.
She worries to death over me, and always wants to make sure "Jenny will just eat.. at least something."
I didn't want her to stress over me another day.

She made the Eggs, she gave me the last of the Organic eggs, she cooked it in a TINY TINY TINY smear of real butter. (NOT cooking spray chemicals..but BUTTER!) I watched wide-eyed. I wasn't going to put that in my napkin, or my sleeve. But tonight.. I would eat it.

She made Bacon (But that doesn't matter, I don't eat bacon.. she didn't expect me to..)

She got out the syrup, which is real syrup. No High Fructose Corn Syrup, natrual, tree syrup.

My tension rose and rose and rose.. Because this was the first meal I planned on eating and not stuffing somewhere or purging. I hadn't eaten all day long, (I had binged/purged. Doesn't really count.) and I thought, "What makes me so special that I shouldn't eat."

I got my pancake (A little bigger than my hand all opened up.) I put on the thinnest layer of friut preserves, and then got my egg (I did dab off traces of butter.) I got my small apple that I had diced into bird bites.. I finally got to the syrup. Not in YEARS had I eaten syrup outside of a BP cycle.. NEVER.. YEARS!
I poured on a small amount, pulling back to avoid getting too much. I ended up with about one and a half tablespoons.

I sat down next to my mom, with the "root beer," (It was a root beer in a bottle. I felt horrible but I just couldn't drink that 180 calories. So I gave the root beer out of the bottle to Emily and I poured Diet Dr Pepper into the bottle, recapped it, and put it in the fridge for this meal. So the illusion was that I was eating this big meal, and drinking this caloric big drink. I felt aweful for the manipulation, but I just had to get my mom some reassurance that I am doing fine because I can't handle watching her fall to bits and pieces because I cannot just damned eat.

I ate a little over half the pancake, I ate the blueberries inside first, then the outer edges, then the outside layer of some of it. The white of the egg, I chopped and smashed the yellow part so it looked half eaten, I ate the skin off each bird piece of apple. I drank all of the "root beer."

Mom went to take her shower, which is usually my task after a meal so I can purge. I decided to take mine too. I thought I would purge. But instead I talked to mom for a while before my shower, about her day, my day, plans, laughs, anything. I knew I was playing against myself, naturally I would practically kill anyone keeping me from the bathroom. I ended up purging for about two minutes, getting out a little pancake and blue berries, but only about two bites total.. Then I made myself stop. Yes, for the first time in history I sucessfully stopped myself from a potentially sucessful purge.

I felt empowered.

I still did 200 cruches after my shower..

I cried that night because in the sum of it all, I really didn't accomplish anything that will take me to freedom or a truthful life. It was just one night, just one meal. I can't do it for every meal, or every dinner.

I am scared.

 Meet Ed, pictured above. When I think of "Ed," as his own entity, this is what I picture. My mom and I called him "Rupert," at the beginning of my Anorexia. Nowdays I don't enjoy giving it the honor of even having it's own entity, but if I were, I just wanted the world to know that is what he looks like.

I was watching the television after a recent Binge/Purge session, I was exhausted, and thinking about how my day was just going to shit, like most days do. I will waste a perfectly good opportunity filled day, obeying ballon bellied Ed's wishes and destroying my mouth and fingers. I suddenly got this overwhelming sense of hopelessness. Then a commercial came on, and I don't have the slightest clue what the advertisement was about, but there was an old woman, a cute, wise looking old gal. She was titled, "The Voice of Reason." I couldn't help but smile at this new break-through thought I had. If I can have a "Ed," voice in my head, then why not a voice of reason? From now on I have decided to grant my "recovery," or "logical," voice with the title of The Voice of Reason, and it will be pictured like this old woman below. Adorable, and wise, loving and sweet. When I mess up, I will picture her there to tell me words of wisdom. Encourage me to do what's smart. Who knows, I might enjoy the enlistment of this new fake grandma.

Isn't she just as cute as a button?

I don't want to go into great detail about my latest and greatest trials and tribulations, so I will write it all in a quick summary..

Mom saw me and freaked, she could tell I'd lost weight. Mom cried, I cried. I told mom about Oklahoma, but not about the purging, I don't know if I'll ever get the courage to tell her about the purging..

I'm home now, I leave this weekend to go back. I am mortified, mom wants me to see an MD before I go, I don't want to. She wants me to see Dr V, I am thinking HELL NO, anyone but her.

Mom's being surprisingly loving and understanding, not getting mad at me at all. Even when she found out I was taking those Metabolism booster pills. She just talked to me about it and told me she knew and talked about the logic behind why I shouldn't. I stopped taking them.

I want to stop it all, I want to stop starving, I want to stop binging/purging. I want to just be NORMAL..

I mean come on..

It's Just F**king FOOD for Christ's sake!!!

 Okay, this book "Wasted," by Marya Hornbacher is by far the BEST Bulimia/Anorexia book I have 

ever read. Most books are all, "Ah recovery! I love life! Nurture yourself and love your rolls! Daises, oh!

Butterflies, oh! Life, oh! Eat greasy pizza and be all smiles and laughs and deny the fact that you can't 

believe the amount of fat and calories it has! oh! Daisies! Okay.. You get the point, anyhow, her book is

brutally honest, it is amazingly well written. I am just astounded that I found a published ED book that I fully could say, Yeah, I understand! This makes SENSE to me! Her conclusion is just what mine is. You cope with it, there is no daisy butterfly pizza nurtureyourselftopia. I would highly recommend it. 

 I bought this a few days ago out of desperation. We'll see. 

 This is what Russell's Sign looks like. Bulimia Beauty Marks! ha!

 Some light, no pun intended, reading. 

Last but not least, what I look forward to every single evening. I only get this if I have exercised enough, and am going to go to bed hungry. To me if I go to bed hungry I have accomplished for the day. I don't really feel "hunger," per say, but I do feel empty. I get myself a cup of ice, filled to the top with ice, and put in a little kool-aide mix, the kind in the packet that hasn't had sugar added yet, and add splenda. I put way more kool-aide mix than needed for a cup filled with hardly any water, but I love the tangy taste, mixed with two packets of Splenda. After I eat the ice and suck the liquid I am usually FREEZING cold. So I can wrap up in my blanket and not be warm the rest of the night. I feel good this way, I don't know why...

The road to Oblivion.

I know, I am posting in the same day, what does it matter. Life is incredibly repetitive yet never ending with an eating disorder.

Shortly after my last post, I did go binge. I simply had to. I am programmed, us humans are easily programmed. Most people are programmed to eat butter soaked buckets of popcorn with tubs of coke when they go see a movie in theatures, some are programmed to think that just because you're eating a slice of toast, it needs butter. I however, am programmed to starve, then binge and purge.

Side note: When I binge, only on rare occasions do I binge as a full on Bulimic would, as in, never have I ever binged on more than 3000 calories at one time. I have binged on 2500 calories or so and then purged and a few hours later done it all again three or four times in the day. But I have never done it all like some say they do, some say they binge on 10,000 calories at one time. The binges here at my grandpa's house range from 1500-2300 calories I would assume or less. I don't count calories during a binge. But due to the fact that he has like, no food here, because he doesn't eat very much and only eats his ridgid foods, there's not much "binge food," and I spent all my money. All of his normally "Fattening" condiments that I smother things like bread with for lubracant effects, are all non-fat,  low-fat, ultra-non-fatfree.. 

Oddly, when I binge and purge, during the purging, I am much to frantic during the binge to think, but while purging I often get very philisophical metaphorical ideas. I thought, while I was toward the end of the purge. I was at what I call the "water flush" phase, finding a few stubborn pasta noodles, that an eating disorder is like a one way street. You are on your "road of life," and you just so happen to see all these Billboards saying: "Want to feel amazing? Want to feel euphoric all the time?! Do you have no control over your life? Take the next Exit on the right onto: ED boulovard."

You get onto the ED street, believing the billboards that never ever ever end.. because there is ALWAYS an exit to this magical place, and you start driving just to find that it gets dark very fast, all of a sudden and you can't see anything. You look up and realize that your rear view mirror is suddenly gone, where did it go? You see nothing, you don't know where you are going, all you see is the dim headlights in front of you, RIGHT in front of you, keeping you in the now. You are absolutely terrified to go any faster (eat any more) because you might run into something, you might crash. You are stuck on a one way street, your reverse is gone too, and the road is so narrow, you can't turn around on it, you just keep going forward. Because you forgot how to turn your brights on for some reason, you don't realize all the side roads and turn arounds that you pass, leading you back to the highway.

It is only you in the car because your car suddenly only has a one person compasity, you are alone.

You never will see the ledge until it's too late, and you drive right off and fall into oblivion.

The only one a sure way out, is to remember how to turn on your headlights. But you can't find the switch, you have to find the switch.

I have searched everywhere and my switch does NOT exist.

There's a Balloon inside my stomach.

I lost more weight, I don't know if I am happy, or if I am sad.
I of course, feel better the lower my weight drops, I feel more clean, more pure, more able. I feel accomplished and deserving. My ability to starve makes me sane.

Today I weighed the same exact weight as I did the day before. But my weight drops about 2 lbs every two days. Weird, but that's how it always goes when it's dropping.

I am unsure of how I can hide it, my initial thought is "I want to go HOME!" because it is way to easy to get away with this here, and I am trapped with it. I can't get away, and my grandpa sure as heck isn't going to notice or give me support to stop. If anything, Mr.Self-Control makes it a bit worse.

Don't get me wrong, I love my Grandpa, I love him so much. I want to take care of him while I live here to go to college, and I want to make him proud of me. He was a man who invented many things, who has his NAME along with a whole bunch of folks, printed on a rock on MARS. He had his own buisness with my Grandma, and was even a pilot. But he is a competitor. He is a perfectionist. He likes to be Pure too. He hates the thought of messy, needy, humanities such as eating. That is why about seven years ago he went from 200+ pounds to weighing somewhere in the 115 range.

Now, he will eat, but he eats to maintain. He eats and denies himself certain things. It makes him feel empowered.

Today, after lunch (his life revolves around lunch most days.) Where he had one english muffin, two eggs, 2 slices of ham, cheese on top, three of four bites of salmon, and 1/2 cup of frozen yogurt ice cream. When we walked out he said. "Oh god, I'm so full of calories, I am going to be a Blimpie! Oh I look like a Blimp." As he looked over in the mirror at the exit of the restaurant. I think they put it there to torture people since they are a buffet style Brunch place with only ceasar salad and everything swarming in calories and grease.

It was the first meal I have eaten in days that I kept in. I had about six raw scallops, one raw shrimp (not literally raw, raw as in no seasonings or crust) 3 small bites of egg, the crust of french toast, three bites of the crust of a waffle (no butter, no syrup) 3 strawberries, 5 blueberries, 5 blackberries, four cubes of random fruit, some lettuce I took that was meant to be decoration on a pasta tray, it was romaine, it was better than that ceasar salad they had. Some random veggies (about 1/4 a cup) 4 bites of salmon, 1/2 tsp of crushed walnuts, 2 cherries, this funny twig thing that probably wasn't meant to be eaten, 2 bow tie pasta noodles. 4 cups of straight black coffee.

I felt like I wanted to purge afterwards, but I couldn't. I swear my stomach was going to explode, like... not because I was binge full, I didn't binge. I ate, but just eating feels like it's tearing my insides to shreds, probably because it's not used to digesting food normally.

I came home, and went on a run/walk. I intended to run alot more, but the pain was absolutly unbearable. So I ran about 1.8 miles, and walked really fast for around four. Five miles. Hopefully that's more calories that I ate.

I should, but I don't have the mental compatibly to calculate the calories right now. Normally they would already be calculated, written somewhere, and I would be torturing myself over them. But I just feel too bad.

I feel like shit.

I binged and purged early this morning. My throat is fucked beyond belief.

I know if I even step into the kitchen I will binge and purge dinner foods, but I really want to just skip eating dinner all together. I can't take it, I don't have the energy for a binge/purge. Everything hurts too bad, and I am sick of the alternate life. 

"I fell into a ring of fire.
I went down, down, down, and the flames got higher.
And it burns, burns burns."

Johnny Cash wrote the "Ring of Fire," about falling into a bad relationship, love burning but he kept falling.

My ring of fire doesn't include any love, no.
No love, I don't fall in love, I don't fall into love's arms.
But I am perfectly obedient and willing when it has to do with vomiting, stuffing myself, or starving.

I can't stop falling. I am falling and even though the flames and caotic mess it causes is hopeless and pathetic, I can't stop, I need it, I crave it, it is my secure place, it is the only way that everything makes sense and flows correctly. Everything beyond the world of food of course.

When I eat, and I keep it. I feel:
-Messy
-FAT
-Weak (psychologically, not physically)
-Needy
-Disgusting
-Stupid

When I starve/purge I feel:
-Pure
-Strong (psychologically again..)
-Clear-Minded
-Safe
-Euphoric

I feel empowered with my abilities to starve, I feel disgusted when I eat. I feel even more disgusted when I binge, that is why my hands are swelled up and my knuckles are covered in Russell's Sign, and my face looks like a fat, weak, pathetic bullfrog. 

I am a fucking pig. Everytime I allow food past my lips I am a god-damned, smelly, swollen, messy, needy pig. PIG! PIG! PIG! PIG! PIG! PIG! PIG! 


I am desperate to find a land where I can eat like a normal person, a healthy person, and still feel all of what I listed under "Starve/Purge."

I want to be able to eat some sort of carb, even though I pick at it and only eat the crust, hiding the rest or flicking it under the table without having to go home and run 3.6 miles. Despite the gnawing pains in my stomach and abdominals from the tearing effects after my days and days of purging. Ignoring the sharp twist in my chest, and the fact that I have to tell each leg to move even though I can hardly identify that they are really there because I feel like I am floating.

I want to be able to sit to eat a meal and not instantly after the first bite of usually something green and crunchy think: SHIT, food! And think, that if it's going to come back up anyways why not eat everything I can get my hands on... afterall that 3.6 mile run really really left me hungry. I eat and eat, and eat... and eat.. I take food into the upstairs bathroom with me... I pull open the drawer to get out my secret giant cup and box of baking soda. I turn the shower on, the fan on, I close the door... Look in the mirror briefly, at my distended stomach, my disgusting tits above it.. lumps of disgusting fat, showing that I am a needy pig woman, and my ass.. it can giggle. I feel hopeless and disgusted, I felt so thin before I binged, before I ate anything. I felt empowered. Now, now I felt as if I had grown into a massive hog with no self-control whatsoever.

So, for the third time that day, I fill my cup with my concoction, drink the whole first cup, and slide my fingers deep down my throat, I have to go deeper every month it seems.. And I feel empowered when I get that first large spurt of filth that comes flowing up from my stomach, through my mouth, over my fingers and makes that loud splashing sound into the toilet where it belongs.

I still am fat, so I go and go.. despite the burning and tingling in my throat, the pain from the sores on my lips, the pain in my hand as it scrapes, back, forth, back.. against my translucent acid stricken teeth.

I go and drink more so I can flush more out. I go until it hurts too much to bear, until I see black and red spots, my face feels like it's going to explode right off my shoulders that I hate seeing. I imagine that if my head exploded, there would be yellow lard from my face all over the place. Everyone would see what I had been doing and think of how needy, disgusting, and vain I was. I am not vain, I hate myself , I am my worst enemy, I am constantly fighting the existence of my body.

When I am finally done, I see that I am obviously not quite as fat as I was before, I am swollen, everything hurts.. everything is disgusting...
I turn and see the battlefield and the mess it has left. My disgust is everywhere. So I start to clean up after the pig.

Welcome to my blog..

My name is Jenny, I have anorexia, and bulimia. I either eat nothing, if I eat I purge, or I eat it all and binge, then purge. I am a compulsive exerciser, I love running, I love the elliptical. I don't care if I am injured I will do it anyways.