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?

Torn

Oh Hazel, they say. Oh how lovely it is to see you looking healthy again. You aren't the bag of bones you used to be. Your eyes are now full of life instead of sunken circles. Your face is fuller now, you look so much better they cry.

I know this is a good thing. My body is better. I make myself eat. I try not to worry when I eat.

But my mind is torn. In the back of my head I still tell myself I should be punished for eating. I still feel I need to excercise like mad. But I don't. Because I know that if I do, she will start winning again.

And as much as I want to be thin, I don't want to fall victim to the disease. It's been a month or so since I threw up, longer since I've used laxatives.

I'm at a crossroads, but I want to take the right path. I have to.

Oh.

I like it when I'm feeling like the clouds are made of cotton and like the wind is helping me to fly with the breeze. When I see his face and smile and know everything is fine. I'm marrying him soon. Just trying to break the news to my mum somehow. She won't approve. But he makes me happy, like my BMI being near 20 doesn't matter, and the fact that my size 8s don't always fit me doesn't matter when he puts his arms around me and whispers I love you.

Then it switches. I feel like I want to scream, like there's a voice inside that can't get out. My head's yelling at me not to, telling me I'm wrong. I feel
torn.

I feel torn. I know what's right and what's wrong. But the thing is, that choices like these aren't as clear cut as whether or not I need to butter my bread.

It's not as easy as deciding whether or not I'm going to eat today.

I'm tearing
               right down
the middle

I'm Done.

Making the effort.
Caring.
Hating my dad.
Loving my dad.
Eating.
Purging.
Starving.
Sleeping.
Nightmares.
Being Awake All The Time.
Being A Good Person.
Not Knowing What I Want.
Blogging.
Not Blogging.


Being Confused.


... I wish I wasn't so confused.
I'm still here, I've just lost myself.
I'll comment on you all soon, I promise. Sorry for being such a shit blogger.
Thank you to those who still love me.

Fuck yourself.

Anonymous said...


Just cos you're mentally ill does not mean you can blame a faith you clearly do no believe and at the same time abuse a faith to justify you mentally sick and disgusting actions.

You need help. Like seriously, go see a doctor.

4 September 2011 01:27

Twigs Can Fly said...

Yo anon,

Stop being a pussy. I'm cleary not falsifying the idea of faith, I just think that the way religion portrays God to be is bullshit.

So fuck off, go educate yourself, and maybe try studying philosophy.

Safe.
~Twigs.

P.S. Go fuck yourself. Zero tolerance to people who have no academic abilities what so ever.




LOLOLOL. I don't care about people anymore.