Seeing clear

I don't wish to be happy. Is that weird of me? I want an interesting life worth living, that's all. And love, I want true love, but that isn't the same as happiness. I'd miss my sadness if I'd lose it and I don't want to lose it over something as boring as happiness. What has happiness ever brought anyone?

I believe there could lie some kind of wisdom in that statement, that I don't want happiness because I don't think I could learn anything from it. I've had happiness. Not in this life, but I've sure had it and after thousands of years or at least hundreds, what did I ever learn from it? Nada.

I've never thought about it this way before, why am I so damn slow? Of course that is why I can't be happy in this life! I took the crash course to learn about being (or trying to be) human, I haven't got time for fluffy jolly feelings. I'm not meant for it. I'm meant for suffering because it's through suffering that we learn. I might be ancient, but I'm not omniscient. Not by far, and I don't think I ever will be. But it's a work in progress, so to say. The meaning of my entire existence. It's that simple, it's that hard.

And maybe it's one heck of a realisation, that I don't even want happiness. That one thing that everyone is supposed to want more than anything. I seek wisdom, knowledge, a deeper understanding of things above everything but love.

Happiness is just a feeling, a state of mind. How can it be an experience worth dying for, worth living for? When there's so much more? And I know that I want to keep this eating disorder because of what I could learn from it. I want the experience, I want the pain and I want to be close to dying from it.

My prophecy tells me that I won't die from it, I already know how I'm going to die. I've known that for 10 years now. At the time 15:22 sometime during 2016 or 2017. However, I feel like my eating disorder could play a part in my death, even if it's not gonna be the actual cause. My sadness will kill me. And isn't it a bit ironical that I hold on to it so much then? But I'm embracing it, I accept my fate. I have become my sadness.

As life flashes by

Will I look back upon my life when I die and wonder why I wasted my youth on loneliness and mending my broken heart? Or will I look back and think, shit I really did manage to live a whole life in barely 28 years? I'm divided by those two polar extremes, one part of me always worried that I'm not living my life to the fullest and then there's this other part that tells me that I truly have lived my life to the fullest.

At the best of my ability, something deep inside me tells me that haven't I cried, laughed, screamed, dreamed and done everything I possibly could have in spite of everything? I'm broken, I was born broken, but it's never stopped me. Taking a butt load of medication every day for years didn't stop me from drinking and experimenting with illegal drugs.

Being well aware of the dangers of STD's, rape and ending up pregnant didn't stop me from sleeping with everyone who ever wanted me. Living with this damaged mind of mine didn't stop me from trying to study and even work for short moments. Not being able of taking care of myself didn't stop me from trying to live on my own for 3 years.

Being a very impulsive person didn't stop me from getting a thought through tattoo, piercings that left scars, and other scars. Being a mental fuck up and a transsexual didn't stop me from dating and going after people way out of my league. I've been dumped and I've dumped others. Been accused of cheating.

Had threesomes, played with BDSM, transitioned from female to male, believed I've had every possible sexual orientation before settling for panromantic grey area asexual, kissed a celebrity, been to concerts, taken loads of medication all with interesting results and side effects, been bullied, been sexually assaulted and raped on Valentine's Day.

I've become a heavy smoker, been alcoholic, lived in the country and in a city, found a soul mate in my best friend since we were 13 years old, fallen hard and hopelessly for people who never even once considered me and thus I have been in love although unrequited, been through an abusive relationship, had pets, rode horses, had virtually every hair colour, been overweight as well as medium weight and soon also underweight.

I've gotten good grades in art and language, learned how to draw and sew my own clothes, learned how to make fake dreads and played with make up, been living both as male and female, tried to learn how to play guitar, I revolted against my bullies in elementary school, had the best teachers, had the most supportive mother... the list can go on forever.

But you could definitely say that I have lived. Despite the constant anxiety, the isolation and the suicidal tendencies which by the way also are life experiences. But have I lived enough? My life could end at any moment now if K really does die cause so would I if he does. And I mean that literally. I will end my life if he dies, that's what I mean when I say that I can't live without him.

I imagine sitting on a very high roof top one day with a final suicide letter in my hand, wearing the best clothes I have and thinking about what happened to my life. Did I really live it, or was I just waiting for that miracle all along and everything else was just empty activities? Did anything ever mean anything at all? Did I come here by mistake, will death finally take me back home to where I belong? Was it all for nothing, or was it everything?

Hanging by a thread

My neighbour, the guy living right on top of me, was just rushed away in an ambulance. I saw it all from my living room window. What worries me is not his health though, but how little I care about if he'll be coming back home from the hospital again or not, that is to say if he survives or dies. By the way, he is old and this place is mostly like sort of a retirement home, I wouldn't think of him as probably dying if he was any younger than the 70-80-ish I would guess that he is.

But shouldn't I care, at least a little bit? Have I lost touch with humanity so to the point that no human life is of any kind of value to me except from those select few that I happen to know and care about personally? I knew I've gotten a little bit colder, but damn...

No, I feel nothing at all but perhaps a bit of curiosity. Will I get a new neighbour if he dies? Someone who spits a bit less off the balcony and doesn't hopelessly try to interact with me when I really just want to be left alone which by the way is 100% of the time?

I have gotten colder, I just don't know what exact degree. First I just stopped watching the news on TV, stopped reading the newspaper. My friends pretty much abandoned me around the time I moved here and I in turn abandoned them. Or was it the other way around? Not everyone of course, but pretty much the majority of everyone I know.

It was already before that, about a year before I moved here. I was pretty lonely in Gottsunda in Uppsala as well, my last apartment there. I don't remember much of 2012, except from the apartment I rented for free. Don't ask me how I got away with that, technicalities. They never sent me any bills. Anyway, from the end of 2011 until I moved to my parent's place on Gotland in June or if it was July 2012 I think, I was in a pretty lonely place.

There were the random parties, but I don't remember having any friends, or my boyfriend at the time, over to my home. I must have visited others though. Yes, I did that. But it always felt one way, you know. Like I was just blending in with the crowds and no one wanted to see me one on one.

Eventually I shut down, shut out the people that I was living for. It's true, I only stayed in Uppsala for the sake of living close to my friends who didn't seem to care if I lived there or not. So the loneliness, I brought it with me when I moved here. But then it intensified, became hostile. It's almost like the loneliness inside me is like a beast, a monster of some kind, that grows more hostile with time as I let it roam free, unchecked.

Not only do I no longer care about anyone except maybe at most 10 people on this entire planet, I came to despise humanity altogether. I want war and mayhem, I want any kind of government in I don't care which country to create massive mass destruction weapons and erase the entire world. Just wipe it all out, me included. I was hoping for the world to end in 2012, but as many others I did not believe it actually would.

Now, there are 5 people that I truly love in this world, perhaps another 5 that I'd care if something happened to them. I don't care about anyone else, I really, really don't. I've become cold and cynical, bitter and tired of life. And I know I'm not the only one feeling this way. I wish I could take you with me and we could go somewhere far from the rest of the world. To another world, in whatever sense I'm not going to specify even if I had the slightest idea. There aren't that many options, but option, we do have.

I don't know what I'm getting at, you have your own lives now. I'm just a part of them, not the reason why you go on living. I wouldn't even want that much, it's way too much to ask of and a huge responsibility that I wouldn't be able to handle. No, you go on live your lives. I just try to matter to some degree at least.

But it's hard. I feel like I'm stuck here now. Not on this island, but in this situation. I won't let anyone in, I certainly won't let anyone out. I cling to, hold on to old memories, fantasies, a future that may or may not be real some day. I'm not living. I haven't been living for a long time now. It feels like I left something else behind me that day I moved here from Uppsala, something that I won't be able to find just around the corner. My life. Any kind of purpose to go on breathing.

No, I'm still not suicidal, but you know me, I wouldn't tell you if I was. I have my reasons for never telling you. But right now... now I'm just breathing, exhaling and inhaling without much reason at all to do so. I'm trying to kill myself slowly while waiting for a miracle to happen, waiting to be saved. The only thing, or person rather, that could save me. I'm waiting for him, and in the meantime, I'm just hanging by a thread really. Maybe you already knew it, that I'm falling back again, slowly drowning in what I call the darkness.

A neighbour might die tonight, and I'm worried about a miracle that may never happen, that I might never get to truly live, I worry about my own life that is slipping away at the same time.

Ten years

It's quite an anniversary in January for me. I don't remember exact dates but it will be exactly 10 years ago that I: got depressed and stopped practising karate, got my chronic tension headache that's been with me ever since, started cutting myself, had my heart broken for the first time, realised that I'm transgender, the voice in my head became my enemy for the first time and I really started to fail in school.

January 2005 was probably the worst month in my life. And then followed a decade of pain and misery. I can honestly say, in a month, that I've been in this misery for a full decade. There's something oddly comforting in that. Something that makes me smile, a bitter smile, but I can't put my finger on exactly what that is.

I discovered a lot about myself that year, 2005 and in the end of 2004. About who I really am, everything from sexuality to the deepest, darkest secrets I will never reveal. I got in contact with the psychiatry for the first time that following summer, or maybe it wasn't until the fall, I don't remember the details. No cross that, I can only remember the details, not the big picture.

To be honest I never thought I'd live this long, not 10 years ago when I was diagnosed with Asperger, made my first 2 suicide attempts, got borderline psychotic and swore that I couldn't survive without the razor blades. When the war in my head became both mental and physical. When I tried to study in another city and it failed so miserably, I think I dissociated for 3 months. I had so much pressure on myself, I wanted to live a normal life with the abnormal brain that I had.

I was 16 years old through most of 2005 and I will turn 26 in April next year. 10 years have almost passed now and it does feel rather unreal. Maybe that's why I'm smiling and shaking my head - in disbelief. For all that's happened since then. Since I fell down a dark hole and I haven't been able to climb out of it.

I just kept hitting new bottoms and falling into more darkness, I never had a chance to learn how to live, and somewhere in that maze, I forgot to care. About life, about learning. All that mattered was surviving and sometimes dying, escaping that maze. Now, it's like I've reached another bottom and instead of trying to climb out I've accepted my cruel destiny and I've made myself an almost cosy home down here.

I'm no longer trying to learn how to live or fight for my sorry life. I say let it come and kill me, I don't care. Maybe I'm only still seeing my shrink for outward appearances, to make people believe that I still care about getting better. I can't get better, 10 bloody years down the line, it's fair to say that I'm a hopeless case. I wouldn't know what or who I am without the darkness. Maybe I wouldn't even like that person?

I'm not fighting anymore, but somehow I still don't think I've truly given up. I just let it have at it while I'm taking a forever long cigarette break and just won't go out into battle again. I'm sorry for all the metaphors, I really don't know how else to say it. That I don't care what happens to me now, that this ED, this chronic headache, my self harm and what more and what not, can kill me if they want to. I'm just here for the show. I'm not scared anymore. I'm not scared of dying, I'm not scared of living.

Is that bad? That I'm completely just giving into madness and let it ravage me however it pleases to? Maybe after 10 years I've only come to learn one thing, and that is that it can always get worse. And worse it gets. It's changed me, but I've forgotten who I was before.

Wrecked lives

The only evil I can tell is from God above, and whoever or whatever put me here. I don't think much about revenge though. But if I'd ever come across those who wronged me, and if I would even recognise them, I don't know what I'd do. Attack, fight, threat, murder. Or just sink in under the floor, dissociate and disappear. Evaporate.

But what about the kids? Well, they're adults now, but they were kids when it happened, should I plot revenge on them too, or just invite them for a drink and chat about it? As you can probably tell I'm fairly divided when it comes to that particular memory.

They messed me up badly, but then I went and did the same thing to someone else. I'm just as bad as them. Just like that, children have no sense of right and wrong and I've got first hand experiences that proves how true that statement is, and I'm still just as clueless because of that. Maybe I just want to see if they're still messed up too.

Maybe that could even bring us together, like "No hard feelings I know why you did it cause as soon as you fucked me up I went and did the same thing to someone else. Thank you for the most unpleasant experience of my entire life that I can't even bring up the courage to tell my shrink about and I also think my memory of it is quite fuzzy could you perhaps fill in the gaps?" Like really, that wouldn't be such a bad idea actually, if they could fill in the gaps for me. But then again, I'd probably poison their drinks and then dump their lifeless bodies in a ditch somewhere.

Perhaps it's best if we never cross paths again. I don't know, I just have a sensation it would be a bad idea altogether. Some things in my past are just too dark for me to think logically around. They just bring out more darkness in me and there's how I can't tell if something is evil about me or not. Was it evil what I did to that other child when I was 9-10 years old? I don't even remember which year it was, how soon after what happened to me. Did they put evil in me, those kids that are adults now?

They should be around 23-24 years old today. If they're still alive, which I just presume that they are. Would probably have known if they're dead. Would have been all over the news, and not a single person that lived in Alunda at that time would have missed it. Oh well, if they end up on the news one day you know who to suspect.

But only one other person knows who they are. Don't tell the cops on me if things go sour, okay? You know what they did to me. I can't promise anything, but chances are that I'll never see them again and that I won't kill them. But you never know. I'm not planning on ever seeing them again, I won't seek after them, or the guy that raped me. They're buried in the past now, but I keep digging them up like this. And even if I could tell what is good or evil, I probably still would contemplate revenge whether I'd actually go for it or not.

I'm a demon incarnate and a Satanist who happens to worship Satan, don't expect me to ever be able to tell if what those kids did to me was evil, wrong or simply human nature. My past has been a bit spotty, spottier than anyone will ever know (but who knows how much I'll end up telling K about myself sometime in the future) and I'll always keep wondering about those things. What others did to me, and what I did to others. Some of those things weren't even that long ago. There's darkness within me, that much I can say.

What's good about it though, is that I'm not afraid of other people's darknesses. I know that what you did or didn't do, doesn't necessarily make you a bad person. In fact, to me, there are no bad people in this entire world. That's what I mean, that's spot on. That's why I can't say good or bad person, cause to me it's all just grey scales and perhaps even a bit of colour, but no one is good nor bad. Not a single soul. Not even the rapists or the paedophiles. Perhaps though, if I truly was what others seem to describe as a good person, I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself for what I've done.

So maybe it's good that I'm not exactly what should be considered a good person? I could have died last year because of so many reasons and the trans team not giving me what I wanted was just what happened to be on top of the list. That was what I couldn't live with about myself, not the memories that came flashing back of the two most awful things I've ever done in my entire life, and believe me, they were awful, subjectively and objectively.

But no one's gonna know. I put my finger on my lips and hush to protect my own sorry ass when what I should do is protecting the people that I hurt. Give them justice or something. But you see, despite my low self esteem, my ego is the size of Mars and I do like to avoid making things complicated. I let them suffer in their own silence for what happened, I wrecked lives and what's really the bugger is, who's life am I wrecking the most: theirs or mine?

The damage I do

So uhm, what to write here today... can start with the boring stuff: the lock to my apartment door has now been permanently changed and I (hopefully) don't have to worry about getting locked out anymore.

Good stuff: my ID-card is now finished and I'm gonna pick it up on Tuesday or Wednesday, and it will say that I'm male and have my new personal identity number on it. Yay! It still makes me smile just thinking about it.

Weird stuff: I've noticed that my digestion is going way better since I started consuming oatmeal porridge like crazy. I get fibres and things are just going real smooth. I've never really thought about how good it can be to have a high fibre diet. That it's good for weight loss too. I get about 20-30 grams per day now, which actually happens to be the recommended amount, though I am getting little else.

Depressing stuff: I'm still fat and I hate my body more than ever. I can't even stand to look at it. I binged last night and I'm denying it somehow.

Annoying stuff: I didn't think of weighing my dreads so I don't know how much that adds to my actual weight... so now I have to go even lower because I still need to see the number 52 in kg on the scale. Nice surprise when I take them out again later on, I hope. That I'll weigh less than the scale has told me, I mean.

Funny stuff: Nope, can't think of anything.

And to finish it off: I sort of plan to fast on Sunday or Monday or both days to get down at least half a kilo. And I need to fix this about the binges, I really really need to. They're destroying me, both physically and mentally.

Did you know it actually hurts physically when I eat more than just child-like portions nowadays? And shifting between literally starving and shoving down food like there's no tomorrow just can't be good for my body. It feels like I'm welcoming digestive problems. And then let's not get into the massive amount of emotional damage it does. I just can't live that way, I'd rather starve to death, so that's what I'm working on.

Trying to be more active here...

So today hasn't been very exciting. I lost 0,2 kg over the time I slept today (8 hours) and I'm down to 54,9 kg. I still feel the need to hide my body when I go outside; in baggy sweatpants and my big, long, black jacket/coat and preferably I only go out when it's dark. Hopefully, I just have to, have lost enough weight to get some confidence back by Tuesday, cause I need to be in Visby on that particular day. And can't go there in sweatpants.

What weight that would be I don't know, but at most 54, more likely 53 kg. If I continue to lose weight every day like this it will be possible for me to be at a more tolerable weight by Tuesday, since it's almost a whole week until then so. Did you guys realise that it's only 3 weeks left until Christmas Eve?! Cause I just did.

My current goal weight for Christmas is "as low as possible" but at most 52 kg. I just need to at least be underweight and hit some kind of goal or I'll feel like a complete and utter failure. (As if I don't already). Cause I wanted to be at 47 kg by then, but seeing as it's only 3 weeks left... that's not gonna be possible to reach.

Oh, well. Then I've also put my dreads back in to my hair just now. It was easier this time and now I know which techniques are best. It still took me a bunch of hours though, but didn't keep track of time. I just don't care to count exactly everything in my life. Some things just has to be approximate.

Cause I'm so obsessed with numbers already, they're taking over enough of my life as it is. I don't need to make it worse by counting hours or other stupid things like cigarettes or whatever. Keep it on a "need to know" basis.

I finished my short story yesterday, that one about a transsexual, goth vampire that no one cared to read. Not that I care about praise or anything, I don't know. I was thinking of posting it on tumblr as well, but thinking maybe that would somehow be outing myself because the main character is a transsexual man, like me.

I'm not out about my gender situation on tumblr, but it's been a lot more about that lately there. I follow 3 or 4 other transguys and they've all been reblogging stuff about it. I wonder when a confession will find its way out to my dashboard. I wouldn't mind that of course, but I'd still hesitate to open myself up about it too. Even if... no, I can't say it.

I'm comfortable being sort of stealth to most people these days. Someone once said something to me that sticks to me still. They simply said "be careful who you out yourself to" or something close to it, I can't find the most accurate translation right now, nor does it matter. I didn't think about it much at first, or well I did, but not that way.

What else... yeah I just started watching a new tv-show that I might or might not like. It's called "Red band society" and I only started watching it because it depicts a person with an eating disorder. It's quite new, created this year, and it's about a bunch of kids/teenagers at a hospital where they kinda live for a lot of different reasons. Like they hang and go to school there while in treatment for random things.

Oh well, I guess that's it for today. I'm still embroidering and watching "Angel", playing WoW and trying to lose weight. Everything is the same.

Save me once again

I haven't been writing here in a while because most of what I write is just the same nonsense or too private or too private nonsense. I have nothing new to report. I've a had a couple of lousy days of weight gain and desperation, binging and self hatred. I feel like I'm losing all control. Having an eating disorder is supposed to make not capable of eating, right? I wish, I so fucking wish. Instead I am eating and hating myself for it. I'd rather not being able to eat at all.

So I have no idea what to do at all. I'm stuck in this awful binging cycle even though it's not technically binges, cause it's too little. But I wrecked my metabolism so the smallest thing makes me gain. The day before yesterday I was at 54,3 kg, ate around 1.000 calories, yesterday I had gone up to 54,9 kg and ate around 1.000 calories and today I was at 55,6 kg. I eat half of my daily recommended intake and gain steadily. I hate myself so much because of this and I have no fucking idea what so ever how the hell I'm supposed to lose weight now.

I'm just stuck in self hatred but I do get support from all where around so I'm feeling a little bit better now. The crew, K, strangers on tumblr, the eating disorder forum. I'm not entirely alone and people do care. So yeah, this is me feeling better, I was quite a mess earlier today. I couldn't even tell the crew why I was so upset, I just didn't want to talk about it and what would that have brought anyway? They were just curious. And I hate it when people want to know my problems just out of curiosity, like I'm not here to entertain you.

And it wouldn't have made me feel any better, I've learned that now, some people are ju better off not knowing what is bugging me. Look, if they want to comfort me they can just as well do that without knowing what's up. I can tell when they try to mask their curiosity with care.

A few hours later and I still haven't posted this. I'm living on oatmeal porridge and nuts for today and praying to Satan that it won't make me gain. I've thought about it lately, or well, it just struck me earlier today, that about me selling my soul for a better looking body. What if I'll get it, that perfect or close to perfect body, or even worse, what if I already have it, but I'm too eating disordered to be able to enjoy it?

He's so fucking shady, Satan. Yeah, and I have noticed that before. Like how precise do I have to be about my prayers exactly?! He can read my mind, for crying out loud! Shouldn't have to give all the details. That I want to be able to not hate my body, I want to be thin and look good, I want a proportionate sized ass, I want to look like a dude even naked.

He did save my life but he hasn't been doing much of that as of lately. Perhaps because I haven't been wanting to be saved. Not by a shady entity who's too busy fucking up the few prayers I send his way, anyway. I haven't been much into practice of my shady religion lately, or well, for over a year now. No practice at all actually. I totally skipped Halloween for instance and that's a very important Satanic holiday. I was too fucked up to care anymore. I still am.

He's still my one and only god though, even though he's fucked up more times than he's saved me. But he has saved me and that's what's most important, right? When will I need him again? Probably right now, but I don't care. I'm lucid now, no psychotic symptoms in a long time, so I haven't heard him speaking to me either. Don't know if that's a shame or a relief. Perhaps a little of both.

Speak of the devil (haha, literally this time) he shows up and offers me to pay up if I want that change. Of course I said yes. He also told me that my eating disorder is not what's gonna kill me. That's a comfort, I guess. But it still leaves me with that horrible fate that apparently still awaits me in the future: suicide.

Ah well, I suppose it is a comfort. Now I can starve however much I want to. I sort of knew it though, or I kinda felt it somehow. But still, it can lead me to end up almost dying from it. Like being dangerously close to the edge. I hope so. I really fucking do. Am I that bored?

Bad luck and binging

I had a really sucky day yesterday. I was in distress for some reason and went out around 18:30 to buy binge food and sweets and came back from the store with a baguette, a frozen meal, chocolate bars and muffins only to find out that the lock to my apartment door was jammed and I couldn't get in.

Safe to say the day couldn't get any worse but I was lucky as one of the crew, my contact person even, was available at their office in the next building so I could get help right away. I had left my phone inside my apartment. My contact person helped me call for assistance but they could not arrive until after 21:00 or the next day, so I called my mother, borrowing my contact person's phone, to spend the night at my family's place.

So I took my binge food with me but little else over there because I simply had no other choice. It wasn't too bad at my family's place; the cats were lovely, I found a CD of Linkin Park, did some sudoku, watched "Angel" and wrote a short story. Then I binged all night and cried a little inside. I hid it from my family, too embarrassed to show or tell what I had bought and would definitely not eat it in their presence. I'm a sad excuse for a becoming anorexic and a complete and utter failure.

I didn't care about calories that particular evening and had a cup of coffee and one of tea packed with sugar and full fat milk. Just got back home again and they've changed the lock to a temporary one that will later be changed again. I said to my mother that I just get bad luck all the time and it hurt that she agreed with me.

They finally changed it

Woho! Got my new personal identity number in the mail today! It's got both a 7 and a 3 in it, I'm pleased. It ends with the same number as my old number, gotta be by chance. Wow, now I really am a man, even legally, I mean.

Maybe that's why I like odd numbers, it just struck me, because they're male? And I've been wondering half my life which one I'd eventually get. For your information, I got a 3. The number itself holds no specific value to me, it was just curiosity, but that is a good number, right? They say all good things comes in three's.

Now I have no idea what needs to be fixed according to my new number and legal gender, except that I need a new ID-card. Maybe something with the bank, hospital records/my medical chart, and what more it could possibly be. Yay! I'm so happy I finally got it changed! Okay, I just wanted to say that.

I just got a letter...

...from Socialstyrelsen, and now I'm legally male. Woho, finally! That only took 5 years... I don't know what my new personal identity number is yet, but the letter said to wait for Skatteverket to notify me about that. Exciting! Now I can finally get a new ID-card as well, my old one's been falling apart for a while now. And my mother will help me with all the practical stuff that needs changing.

Now I'm not really transsexual anymore, am I? Not technically at least, cause my mind is male, my sex is male and my body is... well, still in progress, but catching up. Damn, I can't believe how much has happened this year... In retrospect, I've been pretty busy. I wonder if the diagnosis will go away now, or if it's gonna be left on paper just to be sure I can still get the remaining surgeries and can continue getting my testosterone?

Wow, you can't believe how amazing this is! I'm no longer FtM, I'm male! Like what I've always wanted, what I've always been and finally society is catching up with my brain. It's finally been done, so very finally. So much has happened this week I've hardly had time to breathe, at least it feels a bit like that. Good things and bad things and neutral things. And this year...

I don't remember much from the first 3 months but in March I had my chest operation. I went from having long back hair to short blonde to short brown. I stopped smoking for a month in February. Went from 70 kg to 53 kg. Got an eating disorder. Got my legal sex change done from female to male. Got eating disorder diagnosed. Still haven't given up on K and don't think I ever will. Got my lip pierced and it stayed that way. Wrote a whole book in 3 weeks.

A lot of stuff has happened and that's just the cliff notes. 2014 ended up being one of the most interesting years of my life, and one of the best too. We'll see what I'll say about that after Christmas and New Year's though. Okay, just wanted to share the great news, and now I have, so yeah.

Diagnosed

I completely forgot about my blog! I should have updated here immediately as I got diagnosed with EDNOS yesterday, or "ätstörning UNS" in Swedish. My doctor said I do meet all the criteria of anorexia nervosa but not the weight criteria so I didn't get that diagnosis because of that.

Whatever, I don't really care which one I got. But I do feel a bit disappointed, even though I shouldn't cause I did get the correct diagnosis. Oh well, in a few weeks (or months) I'll have anorexia, it's just a matter of time either way.

I'm starting to doubt that I'll get to my goal before Christmas, it's only 6 more weeks and I still have 6-7 kg to go. It's possible, but as long as I keep bouncing between 53 and 54 kg it's not gonna happen. Fuck! I will be so beside myself of frustration and anger if I can't be at 47 kg by Christmas!

I still somehow think this is just a crash diet to get down to the dangerously low 47 kg, but then if I didn't have an eating disorder, I probably wouldn't want to weigh that little. It's fucking with my mind a little bit.

Now I can say that I actually have an eating disorder, which I suppose is the point with this entry. That it's not just a possible self diagnosis, it's an actual diagnosis cause I've got an actual problem. It is real, I got that confirmed now. Though EDNOS feels like an "at the time being" -diagnosis for me, like it's gonna be changed to anorexia later on.

I've never really felt this lonely before. I don't consider myself having that many real friends anymore, just a handful if even that. And I don't know what to say to them. I can spew out words like this for literally all eternity and I do but when it comes to actually talking to people, I run out of words.

Passively talking on online forums has become my thing, replying to other people's posts or making my own topics. Making blog entries here or on tumblr. But actually talking, texting or chatting, has become so hard. I want to reach out, want to know what to say but the words fail me and I give up. Even talking to my mother is hard. I don't want to talk to her about my eating disorder and that leaves little else to discuss.

I still worry about Christmas. Not just how much I will weigh by then but also all of the other stuff, like mostly how to go about the food and sweets that will be served right under my nose for the entire holiday. But I've been trying a new tactic to handle that anxiety: thinking about the good stuff about Christmas instead of about what will be expected of me foodwise. Like, it is my favourite holiday and it always has been, there's gotta be things I can still do to make it worthwhile, right?

Like I use to love knitting especially that time of the year and making some seasonal stuff. Gloves, scarves, socks, décor of various kinds. This year I'm also gonna embroider and I've already started a Christmas themed picture. And I can draw similar things too. I can drink cinnamon spiced tea, listen to such music and watch such movies. I can buy fancy cigarillos to smoke or something.

There are a lot of other things to Christmas than just what you stuff your face with, I just have to convince my parents of that too. They are all about stuffing their faces. For like 2 weeks straight. I was too, so I don't blame them, but I'm starting to see "faults" with that now. Of course I don't want them eating disordered too, but they could be okay with realising there's more to that holiday than eating. Just saying.

So anyway, I do find it helps to try and focus on like embroidering and what movies I want to watch, instead of how I'm gonna bring my scale without my family knowing I brought it with me, for example. They do have a scale but you have take out the battery after every time you use it so I'm like gah... I'll bring my own instead. Really should see if it fits into my bag though.

So yeah... still just eating disorder constantly spinning in my head and how to live a half-assed life with it. Cause I've given up on ever living a decent life, that just isn't meant for me, obviously. And obviously I can get by with a half-assed life instead. It doesn't have to be perfect, it's liveable and that will just have to do.

Cause I'm confident that I'll survive this too, I might even get past it one day. Or if it kills me, I don't know, I don't care. Cause what if I do get treatment for it and it becomes a thing of the past? I'd still be a mess. And right now, I'd rather be in this mess than the mess I was in before.

That's the reality. I can't just get free from all of my problems and become a happy and smiling chap, I have to choose between different messes. This one might be more dangerous, more risk taking and deadly than just an emotional chaos. But I'd rather die from an eating disorder controlling that chaos, than suffer in that chaos without my eating disorder. Cause it's not about what is the safest, it's about what is the easiest to live with.

Why I don't care anymore

Love isn't supposed to come easy, especially not when you fall in love with a broken person. You've gotta be careful not to hurt them, to not cause them more pain and confusion cause you're a clumsy idiot who doesn't know at all how to handle other people and delicate situations.

Ugh, love makes me feel sick. But I don't wish I didn't love him, he needs that love, and I need it just to have a reason to stay alive. But it's killing me. It's been slowly killing me for 18 months even though I have gotten used to it by now. I can't even imagine not being in love with him.

It's become such a huge part of who I am now. I have become external reasons. Love, mental instability and headaches. That's what I am, that's what's left of me. No actual personality, just those three components in various doses throughout the day. I wouldn't exist without those three, I would be an empty shell.

I don't know who I am anymore, cause there's nothing left of me to be. I've been consumed, erased, replaced. Now tumblr posts, cigarettes and self destruction shape me throughout the day. I don't know any other way to live. Now I just exist and breathe automatically.

Am I sad? I don't know the answer to that question, but I know that I'm not happy. And I know that I never will be. And for the moment, I'm fine with that. I don't care. I don't think life was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be a lesson. Something you learn and grow from. And now I know that I can probably survive just about anything.

Is that dangerous? I don't think I'm invincible, hardly, I really don't think I am that anymore. But I know that I can endure a lot. Probably most people can, they just don't think that they can, cause they've never been so close to the edge as I have. And for so many times.

I've learned a lot during 2013 and 2014, that I'm much stronger than I ever thought before. But I don't smile about that, cause I know what that means. It means that more shit will come and keep coming and I will learn new tactics in basic survival that will sooner or later ironically be the ones to kill me before the shit does. Cause my survival tactics are far more dangerous than what I feel threatened by.

I'm not even sure what it is that I feel threatened by. Vague and mysterious feelings and thoughts, mostly. It's all inside my head. Although there have been a few, easily counted, external things that have threatened me in my life up until today, most of it has been and is internal.

There's been some bullying, eviction, sexual assault, money problems. A few things like that but most of it, probably above 99% of everything, can probably be lumped up into the single, vary vague and complicated word: anxiety.

Everything causes anxiety but I don't even know what that word means. I don't even know if it's the right word for it. It's anxiety that is my biggest enemy and I fight it with every weapon that I have, ultimately leading me to nothing but self destruction. I'm destroying myself and my own life, so no matter how or when I die, I believe it will be my my fault either way. Cause I took myself there.

There is no end to self destruction. Maybe the cycle technically can be broken, but I don't believe in the possibility. I don't think I'll ever be ready to even give it a try. I've given up on ever living a decent life. Not because I want to die, but because recovering is too damn hard, requires too much work and I don't care anymore.

I've never known any other way of life. I only still go to see my shrink and other doctors for emotional support, pills to keep me above the surface, someone's figurative hand to hold while I walk through the fire that is my life while I continue to deteriorate.

I don't wish to find other tactics than self destruction, I don't wish to find any better methods, and I certainly don't want to learn how to deal with anxiety without fighting it. I know that now but somehow I've always known it. I wouldn't know who I am without the anxiety, it's such a big part of me. I'm like 90% anxiety and I would even go as far as to say that it scares me to know what I would be without it.

Cause maybe I would be terribly bored and boring? A simple human being without character? I'd rather be a mess than that. Sometimes I even think that I want to be a mess, that I like who I am with the mess included. Of course though, it frustrates me a lot from time to time how incredibly disabled I am thanks to it. There's so much that I can never do. I can't travel how I please, I can't afford anything worthwhile, I'm technically trapped in this apartment with very limited moving abilities.

It's like I'm in an invisible, mental wheelchair. I can walk, take the bus or even jump on a plane if I want to. But it takes a lot of planning, money I personally don't have, and a lot of effort. I don't function very well in any social settings, and you could almost say that my disability is anxiety. It's simple, cause it explains everything and not a daft at the same time. Disabled by anxiety? Yes... it can have quite some crippling effects on you in the long run.

But of course that wouldn't suffice for a full answer. I've got my headaches too, I've got a whole range of mental problems that I don't care to list right now. And I believe that is why I've given up on trying to get better, because all it does is getting worse and more complicated. In new ways that I didn't expect before. And I've become quite laid back about it now. I won't say this out too loud, in case it comes up and bites me in the ass, but I don't think that anything can surprise me anymore.

Broken

I'm so fucking broken today. Last night, before I went to bed I did the huge mistake of weighing myself, and since then it's just been tumbling downhill. I had gained 0,8 kg over the day when I was fasting. That shouldn't even be possible.

However I tried to tell myself it was only water weight and that I was fine but I was so upset I could just barely hold it together. Eventually I had to give up on trying to go to sleep and got back to my computer again, contemplated if I should just skip sleeping altogether, while stuffing myself with 4 large toasts cause I felt like such a failure. But eventually I shuffled back to bed at 5:00 and woke up around 9:00. No difference in my weight what so ever.

Around noon I went for my big shopping spree and since I got back home I haven't stopped eating. Food and chocolate, food again and more chocolate. Then I've drank Bailey's as self medication and to make myself sick. Until now. Now I looked up pro-mia (pro bulimia) websites for tips on how to throw up. With a half bad result, I might add. Suppose it takes practise and isn't as much of a quick fix as I (admittedly) thought it would be.

And now I'm sitting here, wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I was so angry, so sad, so terribly upset over my weight gain that I completely flipped. I wanted to punish my body for its greed, make food disgusting by forcing it down when I'm already full. And just keep pushing it to the limit until something must have snapped, cause I stopped. I didn't go for that pizza, I didn't finish the chocolate cake.

I'm gonna throw it all away tomorrow, but right now... I don't know what to do. I just feel empty, emotionless, like a void, numb. I did eat my way to numbness, that much I managed.

I've never been so upset about a weight gain before, but I know why:
1. it happened after a fast
2. it took me back up to 54 kg
3. it pretty much fucked up my chances of getting to below 52 kg by Tuesday
4. it might mean that I'm back on the plateau
...at least those are my strongest reasons as to why I think it upset me so badly.

Yeah, I'm gonna fast and poop all day tomorrow, cause hell yeah I'm taking laxatives as well to get this shit out of me. Then I'm gonna fast for as long as I can with as little as I can, preferably living on only water and sleep. But I can't function without caffeine... But then again I don't have a reason to be functioning at all, so I guess it doesn't really matter.

Nothing really matters anymore. Only K and my weight loss matter and K isn't here, is he? Damn, I think I'm already getting hungover. Stopped drinking a couple of hours ago. Just couldn't handle that sticky sweet Bailey's and that was all the booze that I bought. I guess my taste has changed since I started starving myself.

One way or another

I'm so fucked up and this is crazy. I'm gonna give my disgusting body what it wants, in masses, shoved down the throat. Not exactly what you had in mind? Well, too bad for you, it's all or nothing and there are no longer any inbetween's. That time has passed and now there's only disordered eating one way or another.

I think I got tired of sandwiches this morning. Good. Then I'm gonna buy food and sweets for a week and have it all in just one day. Any leftovers go into the trash. I'm gonna eat myself past the point of anxiety and panic, all the way down to numbness. Cause that happens too, when all the emotions run out, they leave me with a bitter and ice cold emptiness.

Okay, the eating has officially started. I've had my salad and two large pieces of chocolate cake and I've just gotta rest with a cigarette or several before I dive in again. My plan is to not purge during the day, but start drinking around 17-18 o'clock so that I'll get so wasted that I'll puke up all that I've eaten. And then take laxatives right before I crash in my bed.

I hate myself so much. What am I doing to myself? Starve for weeks and then go all in for a massive binge with the only purpose to harm me. Food is good for you, they say, but I'm turning it into yet another form of self harm, whether it be physical or mental.

I just feel more self destructive than ever, abusing food like this. I have a tendency to blacken good things so that they become bad, to turn everything into negativity. Now chocolate that's always been a treat, almost an addiction at times, already is and will be associated with fear and disgust when I'm done with it.

The word "chocolate" now means binging, fat, dangerous, sickening, guilt and shame. I immediately associate it with lack of control and weight gain, therefore it's been ruined. I don't think I'll ever be able to truly enjoy chocolate again, because of how I feel regarding it.

How can there be so many thoughts and feelings stuffed into just one person? Sometimes I think I got a little too much. But I'm so used to it now, and I can do nothing about it, it's just the way it is.

To the limit

I hope to one day be completely medication free, to not have to start every morning with a cocktail of drugs when I'm so tired I'm barely coherent. But I'm a mess and even though most of my mental conditions have not been chronic or life threatening, it's always something and it's always powerful enough to tip me over the edge.

With time I hope to learn how to live with my darkness, my demons and ghosts and the endless traffic of thoughts in my head, without having to medicate it away. Right now and for the past 10 years that seems and has seemed impossible. Most of the time I don't even want to.

I imagine a future me looking back at who I am now. What will I see from there? I wonder, cause I think maybe I will think it was more horrible than I think it is now. Cause I'm so deep into it, I've got extreme tunnel vision and everything else just seems so... vague.

But that's the thing about obsessions, and right now I have an obsession with food and weight. And I wonder for how long it will last. Maybe just a few months, maybe even decades. If I live that long, that is. With all my chaos and an eating disorder right on top of it, I'm ready to collapse at any minute. It's just that I haven't realised it yet. Not really.

Right now I'm just letting myself submerge into the ocean of numbers, fears, frustration, anticipation and excitement. I do it as if there is no tomorrow. I'm careless, so very careless; restricting my food intake to dangerously low amounts (almost) every day, go several days a week without any food at all, play around with laxatives and other ways of purging, binge eating, exercise on an empty stomach, pushing myself to the limit and one day I will have reached that limit.

It's just a matter of time if I keep going like this. And I just don't care. Not about my health, my well-being or my life. It is a vicious circle and a downward spiral that I'm choosing to keep spinning in. Out of comfort, control, safety. It holds me tight around the neck and I pull it tighter just to make sure it won't loosen its grip on me.

Hold me tighter, I beg it, and the whole thing turns into an obscene bdsm scenario. I'm the masochist and the sadist. Eating disorders are not separated from the individuals, or at least not in my case. I am not my eating disorder, but it's not anyone else forcing me to live this way.

It's me who calls the shots. My fucked up mind is my own and I am my mind. The thoughts that I'm fat and disgusting and don't deserve to eat are my own. And I give in to them, making them worse on purpose because I need this. I need it so damn much.

I'm very mean and brutal with myself, playing along, excited to see where it leads me in the nearest future. I've never quite given a damn about distant futures. They were never meant for me.

So I live my life day by day, one step closer to total self destruction. I have no idea if I will survive this, it feels like a 50% risk of me dying from it. Cause it can only end in 1 of 2 ways. And I still can't make up my mind if I want to live or die, or if neither has any meaning to me.

The appointment

I hope I can maintain this fast for today and not give in to the temptation to have a sandwich or whatever. But I'm so bored with all the drinks, I want something fun to put in my mouth... ugh, gotta wait until tomorrow. Then I'm gonna eat and cry, take laxatives (I bought more), take anxiolytics, eat some more, cry some more and eventually pass out in my bed. Jolly good times.

I have hair plans. What I'm gonna do with my hair when it's grown out a little bit more. Like after New Years or something. I want to shave both sides of my head so that I'll have like a short mohawk that I'll save out to medium length. That one I want to dye black with a little green in the front. Also when it gets long enough to braid I want to finish making my set of fake dreads and put them in my hair. They're gonna be super long, super thin, single ended transitionals going from black to emerald green. And I'll tie them up like a super long, falling mohawk. Gonna look awesome.

That kept me up half the night, by the way, those hair plans. Then I dreamed about being thin. Woke up sad that I was still fat. I think I've come up with yet a new meal plan for a future. That is to fast every other day and to eat the remaining days. Which would be focus on surviving while eating and focus on weight loss while fasting. I think that would be easier to stick to and I could still be able to get the results that I want. Hopefully...

I've been planning food and exercise constantly for almost 2 months. It's been taking up so much space in my head that I forgot how to live without the numbers. Without constantly thinking about my weight, calories in, calories out, what I want to eat, what I'm gonna eat, what I'm not gonna eat, when I will eat, when I won't eat, when to fast and for how long, how to break a fast, when to exercise, what to do while exercising, how to lessen my appetite and how to control my cravings and the ever so present hunger. Constantly.

It's one hell of an escape mechanism, I can tell you. Because you get so totally absorbed that you can't even function right. I can't focus enough to participate in normal (boring) conversations, do any of my hobbies or interests, eat anything without counting the calories or worrying about the amount of calories in it, take walks or doing anything without thinking about how many calories I might have burned, have a cup of coffee without thinking it can suppress my appetite, and I can't accept free food or sweets if I'm offered any. It hinders me ridiculously much, but I feel safe.

Oh, I had almost forgotten. Today I got an appointment with a doctor at the eating disorder clinic, scheduled for the 11th of November. That's on Tuesday. I won't meet the weight criteria for anorexia at that date, but hopefully I'm gonna be at least underweight. It's just 1 more kg that I have to lose to get to that point, so will hopefully be able to manage that.

I'm so excited and scared and nervous! It's my old doctor, I had no idea that she even works in that department these days. It's almost kind of ironical that I'll get her as my doctor again, isn't it? I wonder what to expect. She'll probably mostly just ask a bunch of questions and ask me to explain my situation to her as well.

Maybe I'll be weighed and measured too, so that she will know my BMI. I wanna wear light clothes, but I don't know which ones that would be. I've gotta try on an outfit and see how much weight it adds. Cause you know, I always weigh myself naked to get the number as accurate as possible. I will be underweight by the time of that meeting, but will I show up as normal weight because of the clothes?

I worry about really superficial things, haha. They might not even weigh me at all, might just ask me and take my word for it. But yeah, I worry about that. Also I worry that my doctor will say that I don't have an eating disorder at all and that it's all just in my head and send me off to a dietitian or something. I'm so worried about not being taken seriously and the only thought that crosses my mind is: what am I gonna wear?

Death for a better body

Who ever wants to gain weight? I ask myself sometimes. Cause to me, I just can't understand it, how anyone would want to become bigger or curvier. I suppose what I don't understand is super, ultra femininity and masculinity.

I want to be somewhere in between. I don't want curves, I don't want muscles. Just skin and bones. Well, a dick would be nice too though. But I can't have everything. I don't understand the ideal of curvy women and muscular men. Not when it's to an exaggeration, how people can strive for that. Sure I like women with nice curves and sure a little muscles on men can be really hot, but come on. There's gotta be a limit to it!

I'm not sure what I'm getting it. What I find attractive on others isn't necessarily what I find attractive on myself. Just because I don't want to look like Brad Pitt doesn't mean I don't find him attractive. I've always had that hammering in my mind though, because I'm pansexual and transgender, gender has just been one big chaotic confusion to me ever since I was little.

Somehow I still look at girls, as I did long before as a child and young teenager, to see if I could be alright with looking like them, minus their breasts. Because it's easier to find a boyish looking girl and imagine having her body, than a really handsome man because he would obviously have what I envy so much, what I can literally never have.

And that hurts, what I can't have. Longing for it, wishing I had it, yearning for it, dying to have that. It can even make me cry myself to sleep because my body is so fucked up I literally can't stand it. I think I look like a hairy woman without breasts and I can't fucking deal with it. What I want to see is a man without a dick, it's basically the same thing now, but I can't even see that. If I could, I think that would have been more than enough.

But I can't. All I see is errors and failure, ugliness and fat. All I want to see is a man in the mirror. A slender man, he doesn't even have to be that handsome, just... it's these fucking hips and thighs. They ruin everything. Everything.
And I'm just so very scared that they will never go away with this weight loss. That I'll sit here in two or three months close to 40 kg, crying myself to sleep because the dream was a failure, my body is still disgusting and there's literally nothing that I can do about it.

Could I end up committing suicide for a body that I can not obtain? It's possible. It is actually possible that my transsexualism will be the reason that I will end my life. That's just too damn sad I can't find words for it. That no matter what the state and I myself could ever do to help me live with myself, it was never enough. That it didn't improve my life enough to make it endurable.

Anorexia can't destroy my life, it was already destroyed. It can make it even worse, but you see, that's where I don't care anymore. Cause it's always gonna become worse in one aspect or another. It never ends.

Shake me up

Somehow, this is insane, I feel ashamed over my binges cause it's not anorexia enough. I feel like a failure at my eating disorder, like I should be able to prevent binges altogether. But it is strongly connected to my severe restriction. I've never binged in my entire life before eating disorder came up in it. It wasn't until I had starved for about two weeks that I caved in for my first binge ever.

I know it's just my body going into a frenzy as a means of pure survival, but I do hate my lack of control over the whole situation. Like, it's going so fine for days after days without me experiencing any problems with my restriction and then just bam, I eat everything in the house. It scares me, that greed and it's disgusting.

But I do understand why it happens and I also know that it doesn't make me any less eating disordered. On the contrary, it just proves how fucked up my eating behaviour is. My lack of control proves that I'm being choked by the ghosts of my mind, feeding me with ideas that I'm too fat to be allowed to eat.

Cause it's true, and it desperately holds me on a leash, tightened to the throat. I don't have any control over it anymore. I can smile and pretend that I've got it all under control, that it's entirely my on conscious decision to starve myself beyond what is deadly dangerous just to get thin, because I've tried everything else and I'm fucking desperate. But I can't explain as to why I still think I'm fat even though I'm just a breath away from being underweight.

I'm trying to reason with my own mind even though I know that is pointless. Like looking for air at the bottom of the ocean, or trying to move mountains cause you can't see the horizon. It's pointless, but what else can I do? All I want is to understand it, that's literally all I want. 

It's like I need it, you know, almost like I crave mental instability. It's a form of comfort, I wouldn't know how to deal with normal. And normal is boring. Eating disorder, call it what you want, but it's not boring. It's dangerous, deadly, horrible, scary and frustrating, but at least I'm not bored. And most importantly: I have a goal. I feel like it brings me a sense of purpose in an otherwise meaningless, pointless life that always pushes me to the brink.

Yeah, that's sad. That's really, really sad, but it's how I feel. It's like a race, with a goal to aim for, a price awaiting you at the finish line. But there is no finish line and the prize won't be enjoyable. I'm fighting my own mind again cause to me, I really do think I'll be able to enjoy that prize, which is being thin. I truly believe that. And it's hard, to try to tell myself that it's not gonna be that way. Cause once I'm there, I will still think that I'm fat and in a desperate need to lose more weight.

But I can't. I can ramble the words, but I can't make myself believe in that. Maybe someone else can, maybe K, maybe my mother or maybe a doctor. Maybe being close to death could shake me up. I hope so. I really do. That one day someone or something will shake me back to reality and make me realise that I can't continue living like this.

But until then, I guess you'll just have to watch me getting thinner and thinner and sicker and sicker. There's nothing anyone can do about that, cause I simply cannot force myself into treatment when I'm not ready. When I don't want to, cause no one can teach me how to eat and think like a normal person again, it has to be me. Doctors and hospitals can only support, they can be with you and hold your hand, they can medicate or offer a bed, but that's pretty much it. It has to be me doing the work, and as long as I'm not ready, it's just not gonna happen.

I'm sorry, I really am. Cause I would never want to see a friend or family member giving up to an eating disorder like this. I can't imagine that pain, and even if I could, I would rather not. There's just so much going on right now and I can't tell black from white anymore. All I can do is write about it.

The real reason

"I held on to my eating disorder because I was so afraid that you would kill yourself." Yeah, maybe I'll say that in the future. Is it awful to announce such a truth? Would it only hurt him? But it is the truth and it will be in the future.

I need it as a coping mechanism because I can't deal with the extreme pain that my heart is going through when he's suicidal. I can't cope with that alone, so I found another way, or it found me perhaps. That by focusing on numbers, weight, calories, food, exercise I'm able to unfocus from that fear of him dying.

It's not his fault that I have gotten myself an eating disorder, that's no one's fault except maybe my own. And it's not his fault that I hold on to it either, that too is no one's fault.

It's saving me from an even darker darkness that is digging holes in my heart and soul. I know, just simply know, that I can't live without him. I would die too if he would. But maybe, just maybe I could hang on a little longer with this eating disorder, use it like a lifeline of sorts.

It's my desperate attempt to deal with the cruel reality. That I carry both my own and his suffering and it's just too much for me to bear. When I first got obsessed with my weight and food I instantly found comfort, an escape route from all that pain. That is my reason, why I'm not ready to recover, why I don't want to recover. The real reason.

But I'm scared to put it out here, scared that he will know, scared that he would take it the wrong way. I can't tell him upfront, that would be too dangerous. That I'm willingly messing up my life because I can't deal with... yeah, it's horrible. But I just love him so damn much and you have no idea how much that has been affecting me.

It's just my way of living, it's always been destructive and I just can't find healthy ways to deal with great despair and true misery. Can anyone?

Starving my way to Christmas

I'm fasting today because of my binge yesterday. No food today or tomorrow. I think a 2 days fast is reasonable. Then I'm going back to the 100 calories a day thing for 2 or 3 days before I'm fasting again to get down to 52 kg by Tuesday. Underweight! I'm gonna, just gonna be underweight by Tuesday!

It's been 6 weeks now since this insane battle began and I've lost barely 7 kg. Is that much for 6 weeks? It doesn't feel like much, but I did go from 61 kg to 54 kg. Though I have 7 more kg to lose before I reach my goal and though it's been an awfully tough month I do have twice as much more work ahead of me and I just keep making it harder by speeding it up. Fast more, eat less, exercise more. Instead of losing 1 kg per week as before, I'm opting for 2 kg per week but I'm also a little laid back to it if I won't reach my goal by the end of November.

Cause my goal is to be at 47 kg before Christmas so if I fail following my highly intense weight loss plan in time I do still have a few more weeks to make it right. Then it's the hard part: maintaining that weight or possibly lose more over Christmas...

That's the one holiday you're like doomed to fatten up during. Unless you're eating disordered. I managed to actually lose 5 kg during last Christmas without trying very hard, but I was at a higher weight and now I've wrecked my metabolism (most likely) so if I just have like 2 pieces of chocolate I'll gain.

We'll see how that will go. I imagine being super skinny when visiting my family, shocking my sister and father with my frail frame. And they would try to force me to eat, I'll flip out and threaten to walk back home to my apartment and they'll apologise and be kinder to me. But will I even be skinny enough on 47 kg? I don't know, I can't know and it's freaking me out sometimes.

It freaks me out cause what if I'm not and I'll have to lose even more to get the kind of physique that I'm aiming for? Maybe that's the real reason why I wanna reach that weight in November just to be sure. So that if I'm still not pleased I can lose a little more before Christmas, but taking it than I'm doing now. Maybe opting for losing 2 more kg during the following 4 weeks or something.

It's what I have in mind, but I don't know how it will actually turn out. Cause maybe I have to go all the way down to 40 kg to see enough bones and have thin enough thighs. If that's the case, I just have to aim for that after New Years Eve and continue my journey into 2015. Which I most likely will...

Cause who here thinks that I do have an eating disorder and that I can just choose to stop whenever I feel like I will be done? Cause with an eating disorder, you can't stop. It's a vicious circle and it can only end in one of two ways: recovery or death. But I will probably seek treatment sometime during 2015 when things get way out of hand (they're already out of hand) either on my own or being almost literally forced by my mother.

She can't force me, but she can however persuade me or talk me into it, eventually. I just want this right now, I want to reach that low weight and be on a very low weight for a while and I need this as a coping mechanism to simply stay alive. And anorexia won't kill me that fast. Yeah, when I reach my goal weight I will most likely actually have anorexia. And definitely if I still want to get thinner.

It's a matter of time but I wonder what will come first: extremely low underweight or that first meeting with the eating disorder clinic. It will probably take weeks and in that time I will continue to lose weight for my own winning. I only have 2 kg left to underweight and I'm sooo excited for it! You know it already though and I've gotta stop writing sometime soon now...

No way back

I'm done slipping into an eating disorder, I've landed on its ground face down and strapped down and there's no way back up.
I knew it when I just ate half a slice of toast a few hours ago and hated myself for it afterwards.
I knew it when I had a nightmare about being force fed the other night.
I knew it when I couldn't order and eat a pizza without breaking apart, heart racing, sweating, shaking, the whole lot, a few weeks ago.
I knew it when I stopped strength training exercises because I was afraid to gain muscle mass which would add weight.
I knew it when taking walks to burn calories became compulsive.
I knew it when I broke down crying and screaming cause I had gained a quarter of a pound over night.
I knew it when my body started showing signs of malnutrition and I didn't care, still had to eat less and fast more.
I knew it when I could no longer stop.

Forever

It's a new day again and I haven't lost any weight since before I went to bed. Sigh, this is gonna take forever... Only liquid food now and nothing after 16:00 o'clock to make sure it gets fucking digested properly before going to bed. I believe that's why I'm not losing weight over the night, because I eat too fucking late.

I'm so sick and tired of not losing enough weight! It's been 2 and a half days into my fast and I've only lost 1 kg, I should have lost 1,5 kg at least. That's it, I'm not gonna have even liquid food. Just water and my caffeine based drinks. Yes it will be hard, yes it will hurt, but I don't care. All I care about is losing weight and I want to lose it fast.

Ugh... I could have woken up in a better mood. My weight really depresses me and it's like I'm falling apart every time the scale shows me a number above 54 kg no matter what I do. I just gotta get down to 53 I just gotta, just gotta, just gotta... I'm breaking apart, I can't plateau now, it's not fair. I won't be able to reach my goal in time if I can't get down to 52 kg by next Tuesday. That's a week and I have 2,5 kg left to go.

I don't even know how to tell people if or when it becomes official. Cause I want to tell people, I just don't know how. I'll most likely keep it to myself during school later though, to avoid being kicked out if possible. I don't know for sure if they even can kick me out for being too mentally ill. For possibly not having enough energy to be able to concentrate during the lessons. I don't know what to expect but it's possible that I won't be able to continue studying after a while, sadly.

Cause I do want to study, it's like I need it somehow. To have something to do, to meet new people. To not be stuck in my rut of utter boredom doing nothing all days, living without any kind of purpose except for losing weight and trying to get myself to finish my damn book that I haven't been able to even look at for weeks now. I just wanna try to give life a chance amidst all the chaos.

Tired of waiting

Why do I feel so fat? I can fit my hands around my legs, I use the tightest whole in my belt for the first time ever, my knees poke out, my collar bones show, my upper arms are almost as thin as my lower arms. I don't understand.

But it's not what I want, it's not enough. I want to be able to fit both my hands around my upper thighs, have a flat or even caving in stomach, ribs showing, hip bones showing. I wanna be so thin that people will gasp when they see me.

Cause I've never been thin. Not really, actually thin. I've been overweight, normal weight and on the lower side of normal weight but that's not even nearly enough. I want to be underweight, far beneath underweight. Lower than I ever thought was possible before.

I don't want to look like a skeleton, but close to. Even I have a limit to what is too thin. Even I. And I just want to achieve my goal. I don't even know what I will look like on 47 kg. Will it be enough, too much or too little? Will I be satisfied on that weight, or will I have become too addicted to losing weight to be able to stop? When will anorexia eat me up from the inside?

If I get anorexia, that is. I can't possibly know before I reach a BMI lower than 17 which is exactly 48 kg for me. It's only 6 kg away... If I do however, and if I still want to go lower, I'm pretty damn confident that I will get that diagnosis. God damn, I just want to know if I have an eating disorder! I can't stand this waiting and uncertainty!

And that's really what it's all about, why I'm looking forward to meeting at the eating disorder unit. I just want to know, that's all. But if they tell me that I don't, then I'll flip out. Cause I obviously do, unless they give me bloody good reasons for not diagnosing me. Like that it needs to have progressed over a certain time or whatever. Cause if I don't fit the weight criteria of anorexia nervosa, I can still get another type of eating disorder on paper while their lazy asses wait for me to get worse and thinner.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want to become thinner because of a stupid diagnosis. I just know that I'm heading that way no matter what. And sooner or later I will get that diagnosis, whether I want to or not. It's just that waiting for that appointment takes fucking forever and my patience is wearing thin. I don't have much patience when it comes to anything these days. So tired of waiting, just so fucking tired of it.

It's like it's crawling underneath my skin, like bugs made of anxiety and eagerness. I breathe anticipation and fear. For what's to come, what awaits me in the nearest future. How I long for a slender body, love, school, and how I dread Christmas, hospitalisations, recovery. Everything circles around eating disorder and how it changed my whole life around. For better and worse. Always a bit of both.

The reality

My problem isn't my weight being too heavy, I know that. The problem is my mind tricking me to think that I'm too heavy and making me go nuts about losing that weight. That's what eating disorders are all about, what it does to your mind, and not getting enough nutrition is just gonna make it worse. I'm not stupid, I just choose to ignore that fact.

So my problem is that I'm too fat even though that isn't the actual problem. I've just gotta lose weight so that I can be thin and look good. Cause in my mind I am fat, even though others might not agree with me. I don't know, not many have seen me since I lost those last 5 kg since last time. I've lost 5 more kg since I saw my friends in Uppsala and Stockholm and the only one who's seen me since then is my mother. I hide in clothes cause it's so freaking cold.

That's typical for the illness too, that you get cold cause you're not eating enough. So it's around 5-10 Celsius degrees here now and I dress as if it was 10 degrees colder. My heater is up at max yet I'm freezing. I don't look forward to the winter coldness at all.

Another thing is that I will start losing hair after around 3 months. It's gonna start falling off due to malnutrition. Good thing I keep it short nowadays then, but it's probably not gonna look good.

I really don't look forward to my mother's and probably the rest of my family's comments by Christmas when I'll be visiting them and I'll only weigh 47 kg. I'll bring baggy clothes to hide in. Not that I think it could hide me that much, but still. Cause at that weight, I'll be close to just being skin and bones. Just the thought of that makes me smile.

With a BMI of 16,7 I should be considered thin even if I won't see it myself, right? But... for who will that goal be, if I won't be able to see it myself? It's like painting a picture with my eyes closed, for who is it to see? Hopefully, just so damn hopefully I'll be satisfied at that weight and just want to maintain it. But I know, I just know somewhere in my broken heart that I won't be able to stop.

I don't know what this month of restricting and fasting has done to my body. It sure passed by quickly, yet it feels like it's the longest month in my entire life. So much has happened, yet I haven't been doing anything at all. So much has changed. I'm not the same person anymore.

I'm not well

I still want to believe that I'll snap out of it once I've reached my goal, but how sane am I when I think that 47 kg is a totally legit weight to wanna be at? It's 5 kg underweight at a BMI of 16,7. Those numbers just scream anorexia especially with my mental state... so yeah, I'm quite far gone already and as long as I think 47 is the perfect weight I can't be considered sane. But what the fuck do I care? If I'll honestly be happy at 47 kg, I don't give a rat's ass about what other people think.

But the problem is... if I really do have an eating disorder I won't be happy at 47 kg, I'd still think that I'm not thin enough. I've still put 45 as my limit, and hopefully I can stick to it. Oh well, I won't get that far quite that soon. But I want to be at 47 before Christmas. My mother is gonna hate me for it.

She's gonna try to force food into me when I spend my time with my family during the holiday until I freak out and demand her to drive me back home instead. And if she won't I'll either walk or take a bus. It's about 10 miles, could totally do it if I was desperate enough.

Cause if it comes to that point I'll just say fuck Christmas and everything else that includes food and my annoying family. I'll lash out like a teenager if I'll be treated like one because I'm behaving like one. No, but seriously, if they do try to force feed me they obviously don't know a daft about eating disorders or they don't take me seriously. I'm so scared though. I'm so scared it will have to come to that.

Cause it's not just the food that scares me, it's my own fucking family that has never taken me seriously in anything. Even if I do get diagnosed they will most likely still act like ignorant assholes. It's not even certain I will get diagnosed even this year, but hopefully... I can't stop thinking about it. I have no idea what to expect. I try to not keep my hopes up too high and my fears in check.

Cause I'm always, always afraid of not being taken seriously. In every god damn situation, especially with doctors and the like. I'm gonna try to be truthful, gonna try to sound reliable and maybe even allow some emotional responses for once. I think there will be, cause I've been acting pretty strange recently. I react in emotions whenever people tell me I'm thin or that I should eat more. I even act out sometimes. This is so damn real and it scares the shit out of me.

Standstill frustration

I just need to get down to 52 kg asap, I've lost my patience completely, and it's stressing me out. I'm not losing any weight. Days pass and nothing happens, just that I'm going crazier by the minute. It's been a rough day with loads of frustration mostly. Despite fasting for a whole day I haven't lost even 100 grams. It's beyond me, my frustration and anxiety are beyond me. I can't breathe, I can't think clear.

I want to fast for an entire week, but I don't know if I can go through with it, fasting for 7 or 8 days. I might collapse from it. I don't want to end up in a hospital but I don't want to be fat either. Maybe I'll give it a try and if I think things are going to hell I can let myself have a little bit of food before I collapse. I just want to reach underweight and I can't stand living in this ugly body.

I hate feeling so fat even though it seems I shouldn't. That my body image is so distorted now that I literally can't tell reality from imagination anymore. Cause obviously it appears that the reality I see is very different from the reality that others see. That freaks me out a little bit.

Do I want to get worse? You can hate me if you want, cause I'm gonna say yes to that question. Why? Cause I need to get thin and if that means getting sicker, so be it. And I know that means getting sicker. So sickness there is then. Lots and lots of sickness until there's nothing left of me or more likely until someone close to me has had enough and sends me off to the nearest hospital.

Sometimes I can feel that my upper arms have gotten quite small, or when I measure my hands around my legs they seem pretty slim. But when I look at everything at once all I can see is fat. I don't mean obese or anything, but close to how I looked on 65 kg, "normal" weight at a BMI of 23. That I've lost 10 kg since then I just can't see.

And it scares me cause when will I see a difference? That's the danger, cause I don't want to stop before I am, what I consider, thin enough. That's why underweight is not enough, cause somehow I think I look fat even though my scale and apparently also my mother say otherwise.

I've been ranting all day, but I'm gonna finish this soon. This obsession has consumed me so fast that I couldn't keep up. When did I lose control? I don't remember. It's become my world. Had a meeting with my endocrinologist this forenoon and I was so out of it, tired and starving that I just couldn't pay attention to what he was saying. I'm losing so much more than weight and my sanity. But it's worth it, it's bloody worth it.

It will kill me

It sucks, my lack of self control combined with this anxiety that completely overwhelms me. That I just want to bury myself six feet under and stay there for the rest of eternity so I won't ever have to worry about food again. Maybe this is slow suicide, I don't know. But in that case I wouldn't care if it harms me if I fast again, would I? Maybe I don't.

Maybe I don't care if this leads me to an early grave, it won't kill me instantly. It will take months, maybe even years of disordered eating before I fall apart. Probably just months though. Cause if I continue to drop one kg a week I'll be dead before spring. It doesn't scare me, but it fills me with a sadness I cannot explain.

That I'm so desperate to become thin that I'd do anything, even starve myself to death. Most definitely that, it's my life now. I can't live in any other way, I've forgotten how, somewhere when food equalled fear and numbers became an obsession. I do restrict food heavily and started doing so in a fairly short time and when I fast I don't eat anything at all. And that goes on and on as I see the numbers drop on the scale.

I'm not sure, but I don't think there is a healthy way to reach lower numbers on the scale once you've reached underweight. I'm so close, I'm so fucking close now, just 3 kg away, just a heartbeat away. And I have nothing else on my mind. Nothing else at all and I wonder... I wonder if I lost my life when weight loss became an obsession.

Death and release

I wonder what will come next. My next meeting with my shrink when I will clarify that I don't want treatment cause I'm not ready, but I do want emotional support. Or an appointment with the eating disorder unit in possibly the same building where I don't know what to expect at all. Some kind of psychological tests I suppose. They'll probably weigh me and measure my height. They'll probably ask a lot of weird questions that I haven't thought of.

I'm trying to imagine it. It just swirls a lot in my head now. I've only had psychological evaluations twice before. First time for Asperger and second time for Borderline. Oh, and of course for transsexualism, how could I forget. I've got 3 diagnoses, possibly 4 in the near future then. See, I collect them like flies to sugar. I'm just a mental fuck up trying to survive at least partially on my own. And look how well it's going!

Yeah, I just sigh, never knowing what's next to come, but I'm used to it. It's like yet another hail storm comes along and I just shrug and say "now what?" with a bitter tone in my voice. Cause things always go to hell and I'm not reacting much at all this time compared to before. I'm not panicking, I'm just trying to figure it out as calmly as I can.

Sure, of course I have my moments of utter panic, that's not what I'm trying to say. It's sort of become a way to escape reality for me now. That I'd much rather obsess about calories and food and weight than think about what tears at my heart. Cause this obsession is so huge, so immense and taking up so much space in my head, it's practically a piece of cake to distract myself with it, rather than away from it.

I don't know if that makes much sense, that I choose to drown in this eating disorder thing just as a method to not drown in something else that is much more terrible. Yes, it's a matter of degrees of awfulness and in comparison, I'm riding an ana high worth fucking dying for. So no, I don't think you can imagine the unspeakable torment that my heart is going through right now, under the layers that won't come off in the first place.

I hide it from myself, that torment that would rip me in pieces otherwise. In that, very fucked up way, I'm actually glad that I have an obsession this strong that can sugar coat even the most awful things. Maybe that's why I don't want to recover.

I need this, I need it to survive yet chances are it's gonna kill me. It's so fucked up, but I think I understand it now. It's a way of escapism that has taken control over me, and I let it, because I need the escapism. I fucking depend on it with my life and I'm fucking serious.

I'm not being over dramatic, it's true. The things that tear my heart to bloody pieces are so terrible that if things I fear are to happen, I won't be around much longer. I'm so sure of it that it scares me. I'd rather have untreated anorexia than admit to my fears.

I talked about them with my shrink the time before last and she made me sign a contract to not kill myself if things were to happen. I won't follow that contract if things go to hell. I just lie and please her to let her believe whatever she wants to. Cause if... that would be the end of me, the end of my world, the end of everything. And my fears keep me up at night, they cause panic attacks and make me cry myself to sleep.

But lately I've been able to tone them down, to control them even, due to my obsession. It's as real as the other but I can choose what to blindly focus on, and I'd rather die slowly from an eating disorder, than instantly from a broken heart.

It is what I feared

My mother saw me today. I was just wearing jeans and t-shirt cause I was gonna have some blood tests done and I didn't want the nurse to have to shuffle her way through a gazillion layers of clothing to reach my arm. So my mother saw me and stated that she thought I was getting too thin. I was like "what? you kidding?" but was secretly happy inside. Like yay, I appear thin to someone! I'm fucked up...

But I'm not thin, don't understand why she said that. She wasn't giving out compliments, she was worried and told me to eat more fatty food. Like yeah, right... My disordered eating is starting to show and I suppose it scares me a little bit.

The scale told me that I only weigh 52,9 kg now. It's hard to believe, I can't believe that I weigh so little. And now I'm getting scared, cause I still think I look fat, almost having crossed the line to underweight.

I read somewhere that you don't have to have a BMI of less than 17 to be diagnosed with anorexia, that it's enough if you've lost more than 15% of your body weight. This last month I've lost 13% of it... so yeah, technically I could get that diagnosis, cause I'm gonna lose more before I get that appointment at the eating disorder unit.

Though it did shock me a little, my mother's reaction. I still didn't tell her though, but my guesses are that she's starting to suspect it now. I just can't understand how I can have dropped 3 kg over 48 hours. I'm getting a little shocked over the results of my own deeds. Of what I'm doing to myself, and how incredibly effective it is.

And then she talked about feeding me during Christmas... my god, it's so gonna break her when she finds out. But I'm worried about my father too, which I usually am not. I'm worried about hurting him too. Don't know how my sister's gonna react though. I just hope I can get to that evaluation to see if I truly have an eating disorder or not before Christmas. Now I hope for that, cause I need it as some kind of "proof" to the rest of my family.

No doubt about my mother, she's gonna believe in my words and my body that is literally getting thinner by the day. But I'm not so sure about my father and sister, they might not be so easily convinced.

I've lost 7 cm off my waist... okay maybe the number on the scale is correct then. But I have a hard time believing it, and grasp the concept that I'm only 3 kg away from 50 kg and I'm not nearly thin enough. It's close to devastating, cause it means... it means that I really do have an eating disorder.

I'll hold on for you

I'm not pro-ana anymore, if that gives you any kind of solace. I don't want to be that way, but I can't escape it. All that matters to me is to get thin and that scares me. How obsessive I can be about a number on my scale. It terrifies me, it excites me, it taunts me. On how I don't think I'm pushing myself hard enough, how I need to be harder on myself to reach my goal by the time I want to have reached it. On how it makes me smile thinking about reaching my goal weight.

But it's pushing all my other thoughts away, even the good ones. Even the good ones. The ones about K, and some thoughts I can't tell you about. Things that makes my heart flutter and beat fast, things that make me smile because of how amazing they are. Even those are blocked out by this obsession. It truly is an obsession, unlike any other obsession I've ever had, it effects everything. Contaminating everything in my life. And nothing else matters just as much.

What about K? He's the love of my life and this illness pushes him away. Or at least it pushes my thoughts of him away. I try to take control over it, thinking about how amazing he is, how he's kept me alive for so long without even knowing it. I won't let anorexia become more important to me than he is. I just won't.

I love him more than anything, I still have him in the back of my mind at all times, still cling to his pictures, my memories of when we have met in person, every word he's said or written to me, his warming smile that tickles me, his beautiful eyes fixed on me. I can't let that go, he can't ever become less important than getting thin. He always needs to come first. Always, no matter what.

I've never been in love for this long and this hard ever before, he truly is special. I will never stop loving him, and that is more than just a promise. It's the ultimate truth. I miss him though, I miss him a lot, now that I can actually think of him for the first time in over a month. A month is but a glimpse for me, but this month, boy it's been long with all that's happened and is currently going on. I'm so busy with food, weight and exercise it's cramming in my brain. But he will always have a huge place in my heart and soul, even if he's not on my mind anymore one day.

But yeah, I miss him. I want to see him again in real life, but I know I won't be able to bribe my mother into letting me go to the main country again for a while. After all, she'd be paying unless I'll get unexpectedly rich all of a sudden. My book is on ice, frozen for the time being, cause I've been too busy getting an eating disorder and yeah.

I just want to hold him in my arms and never let go, want to look him in his eyes and smile while I'm blushing, cause I'm not afraid anymore. He knows now and I know. Yeah, I told him. I was drunk one night and managed to muster the courage, a few weeks ago. So seeing him again, I don't think it would be quite as hard, cause I really have no reason to hide my true feelings anymore. What was his reaction? Sorry, that's what I can't tell you. But it keeps me alive, he still does, no matter how it will turn out.

Because then I will know that I gave him my best shot, that I never gave up on him, or us, depending on how you see it. Cause if it all goes to hell, at least I tried, at least he will always know that I'll always love him no matter what. And if he doesn't know, I'll remind him again.

Cause even if he'll never love me, though there still is a possibility, I think him knowing that I do, will be good for him somehow. A little glimpse of light. For him to know that no matter what, he will always be beautiful in someone's eyes.

Is that sad? That now, more than ever, I will never be able to move on? I'll wait for him for the rest of my life, I'm perfectly patient yet I'm dying to know what's to come. It's exciting times and I don't think I've ever appreciated that before. Well, better late than never.

I'm having my last drink for tonight now, only 20 minutes to go and I'm not good at drinking fast. But I've had strong drinks to compensate, so I'm definitely tipsy now. Too bad I won't get truly drunk, should have started drinking earlier. But hopefully tonight, I'll be able to hold on to my thoughts of K, hold on to the one strong light in my life, my brightest shining star.

Under control

I felt my ribs while lying down in bed this morning. It was quite an amazing feeling. I got lost in counting them, too tired to really focus. Just ran my fingers across them, over and over in stroking motions. I had not lost any weight since last night, I ate too much and too late in the day, but I felt thinner.

I have a serious caffeine addiction nowadays. Usually I have 2 cups of coffee and 3-5 energy drinks. Sometimes tea as well. Because I barely eat, I need the caffeine to keep me going. I get very tired without my fix, cause I'm not getting enough energy from the food that I eat. Even though it's sort of healthy food. Lots of vegetables (well, percentage wise) lean meats, diary products. Nothing with a lot of carbs in it like rice, potatoes, pasta, bread and what not though.

So I lack in fibres, but I probably lack in everything else too. I just don't want to eat junk food cause it makes me hate myself even more. Knowing that what I eat is healthy makes me feel less horrible after eating it. But I had half a pancake yesterday. Nothing with it though, just salad.

I realised that if I'm gonna go through the whole package of pancakes that I bought, with one half every day, it will take me almost 3 weeks. So, now you know what I mean by not being able to finish something I buy before it reaches expiration date.

I don't really think about it as much anymore, how much work I put into counting calories. I always measure up in decilitres, table spoons or use the food scale. I keep a paper of important items' calorific values written down.

It's fairly simple to calculate it now. Except for salad, cause it's so many different ingredients that need to be weighed and calculated, it can take up to 30 minutes to just fix a salad for me.

Breakfast (11:00)
1 dl potion of cornflakes with ½ dl of yoghurt and 1/4 tbs sugar: 49 kcal.
1 cup of coffee with milk and artificial sweeteners: 8 kcal.

Lunch (14:00)
1 small chicken salad from the buffet: ~100 kcal.
1 energy drink: 5 kcal.
[½ glass of apple cider vinegar]

Dinner (18:00)
½ pancake with salad: 68
1 energy drink: 5 kcal.
[1 tablet multivitamin]
[½ glass of apple cider vinegar]

Late snack (20:30)
½ dl potion of cornflakes with ½ dl of yoghurt and 1/4 tbs sugar: 36 kcal.

Calories spent: 271.

That is my meal plan for today, excluding more energy drinks. I figured I have to eat something as late as possible to not go bananas and start emptying my cabinets, so that's what the late snack is about. I then have 29 calories left to spend on coffee, energy drinks, tea or whatever. It's very thought through, as you can probably tell. So this is my life now, and that is the severity of my obsession.

Just wanted to share it to let you see, just how far I've gone with this. And no, each meal does not make me full, I'm hungry basically all the time, but I just can't eat, not more than that. Because if I do, I'll hate myself for it. If I binge, I'll starve the next day. If I feel full, I'll cry myself to sleep. Cause if I lose control over my food intake, I feel like such an utter failure, almost as if I've committed a crime.

I abandoned the over exercising. Running just isn't for me, and I got afraid of gaining muscle mass which would make it harder to lose weight if I gain muscle weight. So now I just walk, 30 to 60 minutes a day and go to the gym once or twice a week for some cardio. I don't think I burn that much through the exercise alone, maybe a couple of hundred calories a day, but it's something. And it keeps me in shape, which is a bonus.

I walk rather fast now, I'm not the slothy slow me anymore. I also still keep up my circadian rhythm (01:00 to 9:00) cause it makes me feel better and more organised. My life is so chaotic and I try to gain control with my eating habits, it's like the only thing that I can control. At first I thought I couldn't, cause it was so damn hard, but now I know that I can. But mostly it's in control of me, and my control is slipping away. Soon, I won't be able to control what goes into my mouth, this illness will control it for me.

But maybe... maybe I look forward to just letting go. Letting go of my grip of reality and letting this control me. To just go with the flow of it, see where it leads me without fighting it. It scares me though. It feels a little like walking into a labyrinth and getting all the more lost for every turn I take. Soon when I look back to try and find my way back out, I'll be so lost in it that I just have to keep on walking even though I have no idea of where I'm heading. Maybe I've already gotten to that state, I really don't know anymore.