So, that nice healthy bandwagon I was on? It's lost its wheels. And the driver abandoned it. And the horses ran away. And all those kind of doom and gloomy things.
This isn't supposed to be a blog about my mental health. I'm supposed to be writing about food, here, and the new and increasingly shiny relationship I've got (or am making) with my body. And I can't do that right now.
These are the kinds of crazinesses I'm ashamed to talk about. I've gone a bit mad, I think. In the food sense, anyway. I want to be thin NOW. I want the willpower to be anorexic. I'm aware that that's an absolutely horrific thing to say but it's true, and this is my space for honesty here. I made myself sick on Saturday night when my brother was cruel about the way I eat (too noisily? disgustingly?) and whilst I know it wasn't a full purge it's still not something that needs to be happening. I am not able to write the records for the past few days as I've got no idea what I ate. And I'm probably too embarrassed to write it out anyway.
I do wish I could just stop eating. In my defence, I'm having all of these thoughts but not actually indulging in the behaviours too much. I'm not being great, I know, but it could be worse. I'm clinging to that. I'm going to work with a bit of toast in the mornings (or porridge) at about 8:30 am, and I can manage until about 4 until not eating makes me feel ill. I usually take lunch, which is crisps and a pitta bread, but recently have been going to the shop and buying a whole world of food that's really bad for me (re: the doughnut binge in the work toilets, bacon and hotdogs) - and then a dinner when I'm at home probably 60% of the time. Sometimes I just buy food to eat on the way back. Sometimes I even buy something vaguely healthy. Normally not so much.
I don't like the decisions I'm making. I really want to be thin and beautiful.
I'm terrified that the chap I'm pursuing a flirtation with will think I'm hideous if he sees me naked. That he will is 99% certain, ha. I'm rather enjoying chatting and exchanging naughty messages with him, and when he's back in town in a couple of weeks we're going to go out. Play will ensue, I'm sure. Logically I know I've got no reason to worry. The other people I've pulled in town haven't been bothered. A wise lady told me that if you don't care about your size, and just approach everything with enthusiasm anyway and the same as any thin person would, no one else is going to be bothered. There's clearly a reason they've tried to get into your bed in the first place, right? Right. And he's got a kid, so he's probably slept with a fat girl before - pregnancy doesn't leave you a size 8 throughout, normally.
Usually I pursue people who have openly expressed interest in fat girls, those carrying a few (or more than a few) pounds, people who say they love a BBW. I don't call myself that, but at least those chasers are going to find me attractive? Heh.
And the stinging from the healing of my brand is reminding me a lot of self injury pain, and it's really quite triggering on that front. Which isn't great. I'm definitely not about to go start hurting myself again - I enjoy too much the amusing fact that the last time I cut myself was the night of the last general election, when the Conservatives 'won', and I watched the results coming in from the various boroughs from the reception at A&E as I was getting glued back together. Awesome. Heh.
I really want to be thin, and beautiful. I bought new clothes again today and I know I look okay, but I just want to be thin. I feel like when I go out, people don't know what I'm hiding under my dresses and stuff, that my face is really rather lovely and I've got a relatively nice overall shape (also great boobs) but that no one is going to know about the folds and rolls and awful body hiding away and that they'll be shocked and disgusted when we're actually naked together.
*flail*
This is not the way that it's supposed to be.
