Results

Got the latest medical test results.

Trying to solve this chronic health issues.

Guess what was mailed?

There’s basically nothing wrong with me except I’m fat.

Of course I am.

My family doctor says 5’8″ and 146 is normal.

But the specialist says “weight loss” is the only thing that will solve my problems.

Fatty fat fat.

Dumb fat bitch. Stop listening to stupid hippy doctors.

Obviously the specialists know better.

Just stop eating. Stop stop stop. Replace with gin and pills. That’s a better plan anyway.

So much for my months of being free of self-harm.

The silver streaking pain feels so much better.
Feels better this way.

I deserve all I get.

Pictures

I hate being triggered. I hate it even more when I try try try to dig myself out. I can’t anymore.

A well-meaning relative posted a picture he took without my knowledge.

I do not seem to possess the ability to see myself as anything by huge rolling mountains of flab and fat. My thighs are trees. My arms are telephone poles.

I try so hard so hard to just be thin. That’s all I want. Why can’t I do it? Why can’t it happen? This stupid body and stupid mind thwart me at every damn step.

I’m tired of it. I don’t want to look at all those rolls and sausage-like swellings anymore.

In a brief surge of bravery, I tried calling yet another doctor. I know we need meds. Desperately. But no one is accepting patients so the pain and hate and depression just swirls and swirls and festers and I just don’t want to do it anymore.

I tried releasing some of it but even the self-harm felt empty and pointless. Like drawing with chalk on a sidewalk while it’s raining.

Can I please just sleep and never wake up? I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Breaking a promise

(trigger warning for self-harm discussion)

I’m so very angry with myself.  And feeling remorse/regretful.

I broke my promise to myself last night.  I could go into which bit of me did and that it was an insider and not the “whole me”, but I feel like that’s just trying to dodge the blame.  It doesn’t matter “who” decided to do it.  It doesn’t matter.

I broke a promise.

It’s been three months since I’ve actually cut.  I’ve thought about it.  I’ve talked about doing it.  But I haven’t done it since I moved to my new place.

I’ve drank, I’ve self-medicated, and I’ve restricted.  But not cut.  Not that.  I promised myself I wouldn’t.  I promised my friends I wouldn’t.

Why can’t I just keep that one promise?  Why?  Three months is barely anything.  I feel so lost, so remorseful, so…

Sad.

I can’t wear shorts this weekend.  I’ll have to be sneaky with Army if we get intimate unless I want him to lecture me (again).

Mad.

The burn and sting of the freshly opened cuts feels so sickeningly good.  It shouldn’t.  I know it shouldn’t.  I hate that it does and I’m so mad that I would use that feeling to try and justify doing it.

Bad.

I just can’t win.  I thought the promise was something I valued.  I thought I (all of us) truly meant it.  I thought we could keep this new apartment free of that negative energy.

But blood has been spilled.  And blood stains.  It soaks in and ruins everything it touches.

I am worthless.

F-A-T

Wishes about Dad

I lied.  I do sort of have something to say.

I wish my dad was more like this dad or this great-with-acronyms-dad.

The ED is rampant today.  With my birthday being this weekend and a huge bash at a local drive-in movie theater being planned by Texas, I’m feeling fat, ugly, and just….awful.  I just want to not touch food until after Saturday night.

But I know I can’t do that and still keep this struggle a secret.  I have so many social events over the next 4 days.  And birthday dinners with various relatives.

I’m trying not to go crazy.

But it’s hard.

I just wish I had someone to be my rock, my raft, my life vest.

Well.  I wish my father would.  That he could even consider it.
I don’t understand why I try so hard to be a Daddy’ Girl, even though I know it will never happen.  But I always try.

I try to be that daughter he can be proud of.

And that’s why this must remain a secret.

Crash

I definitely crashed today. I expected it. But it’s been a little more than I thought.

I made the (stupid) decision to go to this local health fair yesterday morning. It was mostly because they were giving out free spay vouchers and I wanted one for Zoe.

Good news is I got one.

Bad news is I decided to do some free screenings. My father has instilled in me this drive to take advantage of any free offers, especially if their a “high value” one. No matter how triggering.

And we all know how triggering the medical field is for Pen.

I was deeply disassociating by the mere second screening.

Those face masks.
The snap of the blue gloves.
Squeeze of the blood pressure cuff

Then somehow I end up at a BMI stand.
I know this will go badly. There’s a reason why I don’t own a scale.

The reading seems so high. I am blubber. No dinner for me today. Salad for the lunch I have scheduled with Mom.

And then I have to be social.

Just too much for one day.

So today I am my in my ball in bed. I am not dealing with the world.

I can barely deal with myself.

Not Enough

Trigger warning: ED freakout and talk of self-harm

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A search that showed up in the blog stats directed the trigger from general freak-out into full-blown ED centered.

That of course means that I have the power now.

I can see the scars on my thigh from the last time.  I want to open them up again.  Draw those lines.  I want to remind myself.

F-A-T

I need that visual reminder.  So I remember not to eat all those cinnamon rolls.  I need to go to the gym with my coworker.  I need to get rid of all of this.

All of it.

The others forget.  I’m not “normal sized”.  I’m not “thin enough”.  There’s never enough.

I’m not enough of anything.

Just not enough.

But don’t worry, don’t worry.  I’m going to make it better.

I am Ana’s strong will.  I am Ana’s icy breath.  I am Ana’s cold gaze.
I am Ana’s fierce determination.

-Victoria

Is it me?

Slight trigger warning: brief mention of sex, but only in a vague sense

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Army couldn’t perform the other night.  You know, perform. 

I don’t know why.  He wouldn’t elaborate.  We’ve only had this problem once before in our entire on and off again relationship and that time he explained in detail about his issues (which aren’t important at this time, so I won’t expand on that).  He was also strangely distant.

I think it’s me.

I’m worried I’ve gained weight, though I’ve been trying so hard to be good and not.  I guess I haven’t gone up any clothing sizes and my friends and family remind me think about that when I start thinking in a non-logical fashion.  So if I’ve gained weight, it must be not enough to cause me to go up in any sizes.

But obviously something’s changed.  I must be doing something wrong.

It’s sort of funny though because though on one level, I’m upset and confused and concerned, mainly I just don’t give a damn.  I don’t think I’m all that attached this relationship, even though I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise.

I mean, Army is a good friend.  But I just don’t feel any magical chemistry like I used to or like my friends talk about with their significant partners.  I mean, I enjoy the sex, I enjoy spending time with him, sometimes I like how he makes me feel.  However, there’s no craving anymore, there’s no dwelling on him when he’s not there.

Again, I think it’s me.  I think it’s that depression catching up to me and trying to kill my romance.  Not my libido, which is crazy healthy still.  But it’s like if the possibility isn’t right in front of me, I only sort of “itch” in a general sense.  Like “Hm. I could really go for sex right now”, not “Man I wish Army was here”.  I don’t think that much at all anymore.  Most of the time I can’t kick him out of my apartment fast enough after we’ve finished.  He’s the one who’s wanted to stay and cuddle.  I feel like such a boy.
But even the other night he wasn’t cuddly.  I don’t even really know why he came over.  I didn’t ask him, he asked me.  Was it just to throw my own unattractiveness in my face?

Thank you, I’m well-aware of it already.

I’ve buried that desire for actual romance down so deep that I don’t fantasize about it anymore.  Except when certain songs come on the radio or my iPod.

Then it’s hard not to cry.

I don’t understand why I can’t handle anything beyond a casual, secretive physical relationship.  I want to.  I want to so much.  But I just wreck it every goddamn time.

I just want the punishment to end.

$1 Off Coupon

(Trigger warning- relapsed ED talk)

I never thought a dollar off coupon would trigger me and erase weeks of attempted recovery.

I get home after a long day at work.

I go through the mail.

There are the piles of coupons, as per usual.  I rarely use coupons, but I go through them anyway because my father taught me frugality.
There’s a brand of butter I use and I am almost out- set aside.  Dog food, but not the one Zoe likes- discard.

Then I see it.

One dollar off a brand of laxatives.

I stare at it.

I blink.

The walls crumble.  I think about how I ate lunch at work and I shouldn’t have.  I think about how I haven’t restricted that much at all lately.  I think about how I used the last of my laxatives weeks ago and why the hell didn’t I buy more?

But here’s a sign.  Here’s the universe telling me, in my father’s own “coupon language”, that I’m fat, I’m worthless, I’m disgusting.

How about some reduced price help with that?

Yes please.

Splintered

I am splintered.  Really struggling with the whole unity and “I”.  Feeling only like a “we” the past couple days.

And we are not agreeable or allies in any way.
__________________________________________________

I’m not sure what made me decide to confide in him over text about being fat and ugly and needing pills and laxatives.  I’ve never spoken to anyone about it before.  I did take some pills and washed them down with a couple shots of liquor.  It makes it easier to not think about food.  I don’t need food.  Food makes me fat.

Then he texted us.  And sent everyone into a tailspin.  Charlotte is squirming in that nasty way she does.  He asks if I’m all right.  If I’m coping with all my new stress.  He says he misses me.  He asks about the new guy.  I don’t want to talk about Craig.  He says he’s worried about me.  He wonders if I’m handling living alone all right.

And I tell him.

I tell him I’m so fat and I have to take the laxatives on the weekend because otherwise I can’t go to work.  That during the week it’s hard and I struggle so bad to be a good girl.  That the other ladies at work always look so chic.  And they notice when I lose weight.  They notice every single pound.  And they are so happy for me.  So very happy.  They praise.  They congratulate.  They sing and shout and smile.  Their white teeth take up their whole face like fence posts in front of a perfect house.  A house a lady would have.

He cuts off my rantings and calms me down.  His encouragement and praise for my body being the way it is skitters into my brain and wraps around me like a blanket.  He dismisses the thoughts of blubber, of fat, of sludge.  I tell him it’s been weeks since he’s seen my anyway.

He says it doesn’t matter.  He doesn’t like me being so cruel to myself.  He says he cares.

How can he care?  He just leaves and dismisses me.  He doesn’t care at all.

He never cared when Audrey was hurting from the mess he made.
(he never thought the pregnancy was a two-person effort)

Why am I the one who feels pain at his words?  I don’t care what boys think.  What is wrong with me?
Charlotte’s affecting me too much.

More pills.

-Victoria

__________________________________________________

I’m not exactly sure who told Craig our address.  My best guess is Charlotte or Kit.  It’s hard to know.  All I know is this boy stands in my living room, offering gifts of chocolate, ice cream, diet coke (Kit’s weakness) to try and make our back pain better.

But I barely know him.  I certainly don’t know him well enough to chose to let him into our residence.  But someone thinks he’s safe.  I think about enlisting Rika to help me boot him out.

It’s Charlotte that surfaces instead.  She entices him into the bedroom, saying they’ll watch a movie.  I wrestle control enough to stiffly watch a movie with him.  The damn muscle relaxers are messing me up badly.  Me, who can handle most pills like a trooper.  It is my talent, after all.

The rest of the evening slips past me.  I doze at one point.

The body dozes.

The boy doesn’t leave.

It’s me who wakes up in the cold light of morning and feels the pressure of an arm slung over my waist.  Rika fights her way forward but is caught by something.  By someone.

And suddenly I am gone.

-Midori

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no one knows self-sabotage like i do.  the boy moves closer, muttering something about mornings and food.  i remain perfectly still.  i am a statue.  i am always a statue when they want me to be.

but he wants to get up and go get food.  i stare at him.  he remarks that i can’t go to a restaurant in pajamas.  i look down and notice that i am fully clothed in a t-shirt and the loose pants that say coca-cola in red.  i glance back up at the boy.  he is fully clothed in jeans and a black t-shirt.  he tilts his head slightly and says something.  then he smiles in a sickeningly honest way.

i run

-daria
__________________________________________________

I could eat.  I change clothes in the bathroom and accompany him to Bob Evans.  Breakfast sounds the best.

I am a little disappointed over the lack of activity last night, but he seems to be the type who isn’t into a quick roll in the sack anyway.

In my disappointment, my thoughts easily drift to Army as he natters on about his antics with friends back during his school days.  I wonder how much Victoria’s craziness scared Army.  It doesn’t seem like much, considering he last texts are about how he’ll always listen to us if we need it and all he wants to do is help.  I idly wonder what sort of help I might be able to get that offer to extend to….

I snap to attention when Craig mentions children and stare at him.  He speaks again, talking about how he-wants-a-family-and-he-has-name-ideas-and-he-thought-his-ex’s-baby-might-have-been-his-but-the-timing-wasn’t-right-and-that’s-probably-a-good-thing-anyway-because-he’s-done-with-her-and-a-child-should-be-with-someone-he’s-attracted-to-and-cares-about…

His eyes focus.  I blink.  And frown.

No fucking way.

I fucked that shit up before.  I am not gonna be the one to crack open that jar this time.  Not to mention that the last time was a complete accident.  This guy sounds like he’d hide our birth control pills.

Fucking hell.

-Charlotte
__________________________________________________

Fat (TW)

I hate having to deal with the aftermath of a self-harming episode.  I hate dealing with the withdraw from Middi’s pill popping. I hate dealing with the stinging of Daria’s mutilation whenever clothes or above-tepid water touch the tiny cat-like scratches.

But what I hate the most is having hide Victoria’s crazy self-mutilation. She cuts and burns actual words into my skin. Not something I can pass off as a dog or cat scratch after a week of healing. Nope. Something I have to hide for months until the scar fades enough that it can’t be read.

It’s been almost a year since she last tried to do this. And someone was able to stop her before she managed anything resembling readable English.

Not this time.

I’m so ashamed.

All it does is give power to her desire to starve us to death.

Every time I look down and see those three letters, I believe them.

It doesn’t matter what others say. Even a completely unbiased (and well-meaning) friend of Shadow Dragon who was over last night said “Where’s the rest of you?” and some other comments about my supposed dramatic weight loss. But it’s so hard for me to see it myself.

Why? Why?

Why do I only see flab and fat? I just try not to be as bad as Victoria. But I see it. Every day.

And now those three letters carved into my skin whisper to me that I’m not good enough. I’m not there yet. Moremoremore.

I don’t want to die. I know parts of me do, but most of me wants to live. Why can’t those parts be stronger? Why do the negative parts get away with so much? How do they get so much power? Why does insecurity always slip back in instead of the compliments I hear from friends and family?

I don’t understand.