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.