eeeeurgh I'm coming up against a brick wall this morning. I can't dress myself because I feel horrible and huge in everything. Each subsequent outfit attempt just increases my panic and heightens my distress. It's OK, I'm OK, I'm not giving up... sometimes it is just so fucking hard SAD FACE

139 hours

Since my last purge.


139 hours down the road to freedom.

I'm tempted to starve myself entirely today. I know it is a relapse risk. But I am brutally aware of the immense volume of air my body still displaces, I'm taking up too much space. I know it is the panic to shrink too quickly that usually paves my destruction. I will be careful and if it gets to be to much I will stop. I still have no idea what this new non-bulimic body weighs. I haven't the heart to find out.

Thank you all for you well wishes
I love you so much

Pasco
x

a story of success, especially fo Ancora

I am not bulimic anymore.
I am adamant.
I do not throw up anymore.
I am determined!

I didn't go down to the shops last night, I didn't buy chocolate peanuts, I ESPECIALLY didn't throw up. I did eat a bit too much, about 1500 calories for the day. But that would be OK for a normal person and I didn't let it get me down and I didn't let it lead to a binge. And this morning after a sensible breakfast I did a spin class then ran 10km.

Love,
Pasco
x

it wouldn't be so bad...

...to go down to the local supermarket and buy a big back of cheap horrible chocolate coated peanuts and eat them all and throw them all up. Would it?

Yes, Pasco, YES IT WOULD BE THAT BAD

OK

Mind Flip

I'm not sure if it is a blessing or a curse, but this evening I felt my mind click over into a new place... or a new version of an old place in which it resided several months ago.

I tortured myself at the gym again, and at the end of my workout forced out an extra 150 calories worth of running on the treadmill to "earn" myself a protein when I got home. Then as I went to claim my reward I hesitated. Bank the calories, take advantage of this moment, don't eat it. Or maybe have an apple instead. No! Have the protein bar, it's part of your plan. Why not just nothing? Have nothing! Go on, have nothing... no, the apple. No JUST FUCKING HAVE THE PROTEIN BAR. That screechy internal monologue, the frantic indecision. A week ago I'd have had the protein bar AND the apple and probably a few handfuls of cereal, a slice of cheese and several fingers dipped in peanut butter. Now every decision must be carefully metered and measured against all other options.

I ate the protein bar. It was part of my plan.
But I can sense it, I know it, I've seen it before and I'm seeing it now.

The mind flip.

Yet more punishment

Still eating more than my plan says
But still reigning it in, keeping in control
And punishing myself at the gym each night


I punish myself for everything. Pounding along, pouring sweat, grunting and yelping through my workouts. So many beautiful, tiny, obviously underweight girls at my gym. They all drift along so soft and light, but barely lift a finger on the machines or break into more than a slow jog. And I am made hyper-aware of every bounce and jiggle as I push myself harder and know I need to go harder still. And I burn off all the anguish that the boy brings me. I vocalised my fear and apprehension of impending heartbreak and "I am important to him" but clearly not that important, so I run run run until I can't feel it. And until I can't really feel my legs either. His ex girlfriend who he always loved and will always love posted an emaciated looking photo of herself to her facebook profile. She recently moved away and I guess she's starving herself harder than ever before. And I punish myself for allowing all this fucking fat to get on top of me and smother me when the other girl he has always loved and will always love proudly wears her banner of delicate pain and exquisite beauty. I have a string of old boyfriends who had old girlfriends they would always love. Nobody has ever always loved me. I am a fat nothing. And I eat too much. So I punish myself.

But at least I don't throw up

And last night I threw the half empty jar of lecherous peanut butter into the bin

Punishment

I didn't stick to it.
Couldn't.

I resisted so much throughout the day. Muffins, cake, the lolly cart... the lolly cart... the lolly cart... and then NOT the lolly cart... I didn't go overboard, but I did go over my limit. And later I visited my brother in hospital and ate the majority of his "get well soon" candy.

But this evening in penance I went to the gym and I punished my body. Absolutely worked it until every ounce of strength had left me. I'm not sure that it was adequate compensation, but I didn't throw up and that is the most important thing. I'm at a stage where I am trying to accept that my weight may have to go up before it can come down. It is the price to pay for changing my life for the better.

for the record:

58kg

I won't let it get me down, I have to move forward.

Weaponry

This evening I punished myself at the gym. It felt wonderful. Renewing. Ready for tomorrow. Ready for a better life.

But I can't go in unarmed.

I need a thorough and highly specific meal plan. A meal plan that I will adhere to strictly, because I know all too well that any deviation will lead to disaster. It must be ample enough such that I don't feel too hungry, too deprived, too desperate. Yet light enough that I still feel like I'm making progress, that I'm doing well, that it is not worth laying down my arms.

Breakfast:
- Hot water with lemon
- Green tea
- Vitamins/diet pills/fish oil
- Giant can of hugely caffeinated sugarfree enregy beverage
- 5 scrambled egg white 100cal
- Rockmelon 100cal

Lunch:
- Diet pills
- Diet coke
- Snow peas
- Cherry tomatoes
- Large can of tuna 150cal
- Apple 100cal

Dinner:
- Spinach
- Carrot
- Cabbage
- Snow peas
- Frozen berries 100cal

Snacks:
- A million cans of diet coke
- Carrot sticks
- Salsa 50cal
- Gum

It is 600 calories in total. Perfectly acceptable total. I will try and go to the gym after work. If I do I will consider having an extra 200 calories of chicken breast with my salad for dinner.

No deviations.
No throwing up.
If I break it, it means I can't do it. And I HAVE to do it. I'm at the end of the road, and I'm not ready to turn my gun on myself yet.

it is over

I phoned my Mum in the middle of last night and spat out sobs instead of words at her. She drove straight round to my place and took me home with her.

"Are you pregnant?"
"Did you kill someone?"
"Is it your sister/housemate/boy?"
"What can possibly be so bad, or so embarrassing you can't just tell me?"

It isn't embarrassment, it is shame. And once it is said it cannot be unsaid. I wanted to tell her so badly. Mum HELP ME I have bulimia and my whole body hurts and I throw up continually every day and my whole life is falling apart and everything is completely out of control.

But I just sat there the whole car ride, mute and tearful and shaking my head.

And when we got home we sat and she stroked my hair and we watched shows she'd taped and she fed me pavlova that I didn't even think of throwing up. She knew I needed her, she just didn't know why. And I wish she did but I can't tell her. Because the shame seals my lips shut.


Nobody else can help me. I have to save myself.

I solemnly vow I will never make myself throw up again. Ever. That is it. It is over.