And there's no one else to blame

Things have changed. I still with S. I still have a beautiful daughter. I now have a 5 month old son too. 

I keep breastfeeding because he's more important. Because I can't starve or be sick if I'm feeding a child.

But I've lost over 8 lbs in under two weeks. I'm laying in bed exhausted, battered by a chest infection and beaten by my own self pity.

I just want to get better.

But I crave punishment.

I just want to get better.

But I've already pressed self destruct.

Game over.

Lost myself, and I'm no where to be found

Help, I have done it again. I have been here so many times before...

I used to listen to those songs, so often. Back when all of this was a game, and I tried to make it fun. When I was proud of myself for not eating. It never lasted.

I used to listen to those songs when I was screaming silently, crying myself to sleep. When I'd use broken hangers to slice my skin. When I had vodka and pills and didn't understand why I'd still woken up the next morning.

Hurt myself again today, and the worst part is there's no one else to blame.

I don't listen to those songs anymore. I don't read the books. I find it hard to read back, to the person I used to be. It all took on such a sinister edge. It consumed me.

ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME ME.


Now I have my daughter. She's two soon. She's perfect. She's all I need.

So why have I been throwing up?

So why have I been binging?

I used to think that I could just switch off these feelings whenever I wanted to. That, if I really decided that's what I wanted to do, I could eat and feel good about myself.

The worst part of believing your own lies, is that once you realise, the only person you allowed yourself to trust becomes the biggest liar you've ever known.

So who do I turn to now?

Shhh.

It's a niggle. A secret.
It's a whisper that carries you away. A voice sweeping through you.

It's doubt. It's shame.
It's all a horrific game that threatens to consume you.
It's a double life, but you can't choose which to live. It isn't a choice.

It's fear. You can't stand the not knowing.
You can't help feeling every little bit. Questioning everything around you.
It's always there. It doesn't matter how many times you try to run,
because it runs just as fast.

It runs faster. Overtakes you.
Consumes you.

Until running just isn't an option anymore.
Though, it never was, was it?

And in a heart beat, it's all back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you can't show anyone. You can't tell anyone.

It's our secret.

In The Background

I've been contemplating for a long time whether or not to post. It's always been in the back of my mind.

I'm better now.
I eat now.
I have an amazing daughter and a lovely husband now.
I'm happy. Most of the time.

So why do I want more? 

I crave thin. Every bite I take is calculated. Behind every snack or meal, is a head full of loathing and a need to find an excuse for why I am The Way I Am.

S says that I shouldn't be like this, that I'm grown up now, and that it's selfish.

But three years on, the thoughts are still there. It's a battle, and I don't think I'm strong enough to fight.

Only time will tell.

Dinosaur (:

No more weightloss. Not for now.

I'm getting married in January ladies, and I have a baby on the way. I'm 7 weeks pregnant, and I have to get this right. I know a lot of mums call the baby tadpole, but it really does look like a dinosaur.

Because of my weight issues, and having had a bmi of around 17.5 when I found out I was pregnant, my pregnancy is high risk. I've miscarried before and I'm going to do everything I damn well can to get this right.

So I eat now. Whenever I eat a voice in my mind screams at me that I'm doing wrong. Whenever I'm full my head pounds the steady drum of words - This Will Not Stay Down. Whenever I look in the mirror at the little bump I now have, sometimes I want to cry.

But I'm not going to be sick, and I mustn't cry. I have to eat for my baby.
So for now, my bmi is 21.5. And I'm proud.

Recovery is a farce.

I thought I could try recovering and losing weight at the same time, but I knew that wasn't so. Cause my mind still ticks in overtime.

Total calories have all been less than 1000. And after exercise, net calories have all been below 650.

This isn't healthy. But my bones have started to pop out. I won't stop.

Rainbows and Sparkles and Fire galore.

Once there was a girl with long dark hair. She used to sit at her room window everyday and watch the cars go by, imagining what life could be like outside her little world. She wanted this perfection, and she wanted the happiness. Her room became her world, and she made it as close to outside as she could.

When Anger came and brought her food, she'd smile sweetly and eat it all. When Anger left she'd open her mouth and rainbows would fly out. The rainbows were good, because they blocked out everything the room stood for. She controlled the rainbows and that was all that mattered.

Whenever the girl looked outside she saw a little package under a tree, andeven though it was closed, that parcel she knew would contain everything she ever wanted. Because it was outside. But she couldn't go outside. She couldn't control outside.

Days passed and the girl began to cry and make little red crisscrosses up her arms and legs, like the stitching on her dress. The rainbows came more often, and became uglier. But she never let a tear fall. If she did, Anger would win. The fire in her heart started to go out, and the sparkle in her eyes started to die. Maybe it didn't matter what was outside.

One night, with the fire nearly out and the sparkle threatening to go, the girl had lots of magic buttons and burning water. She took the buttons one by one, swallowed the magic elixir and waited to be carried away. She woke up with Anger in a strange room, with straws in her arms taking the elixir away and pillow sheets on her crisscrossed arms and legs.

She was Outside.

But it didn't matter, not really. Because the fire was out, and the sparkle had gone. With one little sob, the embers exploded and the rainbows blasted out. The sparkle had almost never existed in the little girl's eye.

All that she'd wanted was to keave that room.
But satisfying that dream had led to her doom.

It didn't matter in the end if the tears left her eyes, as what had been broken in the first place could never have been put together again.

Disappointment.

Why get your hopes up if they're just to be dashed
back down through the ground again and again?

Why dare to care if it's just
thrown back in your face again and again?

Starve, binge, eat or purge. It doesn't matter really.
What a vicious circle.

Getting better.

I'm getting better, I know this. But I can recover and lose weight too. That's what I'll do.

Just to stop the voices crashing and the tears rolling
down my face
Just for the little smiles, my one saving grace.
I'll eat a little and exercise some more,
I'm not starving.
I'm not starving.

As long as I don't purge, it's okay. Right?