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.