For those who care, my weight is exactly the same as yesterday: 129.2 lbs. Which would be alright under normal circumstances (since I lost a pound yesterday), but I ended up finally going to the bathroom after about a week of errr...not going, so I was expecting that to have some amount of impact. I guess not. I even looked fatter and almost bloated in the mirror...and I don't understand why. I have been debating whether my one cup of 120 calorie tomato soup is too much for one day and have been wanting to try bouillon cubes instead, but I need the little amount of energy it gives me, especially now that I'm going to start sweatshopping my costume. I don't know what to do. I'm just glad I finally went to the bathroom, I was seriously considering using laxatives again. I never abused them in the past, never took more than two at a time and used them only once or twice every week or so (sometimes two). I just know that laxatives can easily becoming a trip down the rabbit hole, and a particularly nasty rabbit hole at that. A rabbit hole I never wanted to fall down (even though I'm totally at ease with my body eating away at itself...how do I draw these lines?).
Anyways, what follows is going to be Seafoam sounding depressive and nasty and miserable and you should feel free to just skip it. I'm going to apologize in advance. Alright...
I hate how I can't even allow myself to let my guard down and be myself (be completely myself) even here on this anonymous-floating-in-the-wind-where-almost-no-one-reads-these-thoughts location. I'm trying to be as upbeat and non-depressing as possible, because that's how I always am. I hide everything and just keep burying and burying all the nastiness away, even other people's nastiness until I'm so full I finally break and act ridiculous. I'm such a doormat and a pushover, I can never speak up for myself or let other's know that something is hurting me or that I'm not doing alright. I have to be alright for everyone around me, and I can't even do a good job at that. My family knows that I have an eating disorder and aren't trying to corral me or nag me about it, they are trying to be as considerate as they possibly can by giving me space to get through it. I told them that I'm just going through a SAD (seasonal affective disorder) phase and that winter is really difficult for me (which is true) and that the next month or so I just need to not eat. How much more of a horrible person can I be? A complete stranger could cut off my arm and I would somehow turn the situation into my fault, beg for their forgiveness or somehow believe that I deserved it. But to my own family, who loves me, cares about me, and who I am literally killing inside and out with my problems, I tell them that I don't care enough about them to try and get better. That I have to just not eat. My mother cries at night about me and what I'm doing to myself all the time, my father (who I've not always been close to and have a somewhat strained relationship), has been trying his hardest to have hear-to-heart talks with me and trying his truly best to understand me and my situation. I know so many people have complete and utter horror story families and here I am with mine, I'm the horror show of my family, not them. I hate how my eating comes before my family. They are the only people in this world who love and care about me, I have no one else, and I treat them like shit. I can't even kill myself (and I've tried) because I know it would destroy them. I sometimes wish I had an awful, abusive family, that way I would at least have an excuse for why I am the way I am. But I don't. They are incredible. I am dirt.
And fat dirt to boot. I'm so tired of being the ugly, disgusting one no matter where I go or who I'm with. My entire life I have always been the ugly, awkward, insignificant third (or fifth, or seventh, or twenty-third) wheel. I have had only one person whom I have ever considered a "true friend" my entire life, and only found out it was a lie. Outside of my family, no one has ever cared about me, truly and honestly cared about me. I have always just been "the girl who draws a lot" or "that quiet girl" or "the one over there reading/knitting/crocheting/whatever". I have never been someone's best friend, even though I thought two or three people had been mine at times. I've pretty much given up hoping someone will actually want to interact with me. Not that I blame them. I'm not pretty, I'm fat, I can't talk freely with others, I have odd interests and wear odd clothes, I have no "adventures" or friendships to speak of, I'm terrified of being outside in public and meeting or interacting with strangers or people in general, it's not like I can eat meals with them, I've done nothing with my life, I would never be able to hug them or let them come close to me, I'm a miserable person. I'm insignificant. I just want one person to tell me that they are completely alright with the way I am and that they care. Who doesn't mind just plain old being my friend. But maybe I don't deserve that? Maybe that's too good for me. It probably is.
I want my own pet so badly. Something I can just be with and love and know it loves me back (in its own way). The family has a dog, Bailey, who is adorable and loving. But also lazy and troublesome at the same time. I want my own little bird or hedgehog or...something, that I can play with and know that it's mine and I'm the whole world to this creature. That is possibly the most pathetic thing I have written so far. But the whole point of this was to not hold back. I can't hide anymore, even though it terrifies me to show people who I really am. That I'm just a broken, scared, confused, lost little girl who doesn't know where to turn and what to do. She's going down a dangerous path and is running through it at full force, glad that at least it's a path to something and not just aimless wandering anymore. Even if the path leads to a cliff, she'll probably make the jump. Maybe there is something nice at the end of it.
Look at all of this nonsense. I'm glad hardly anyone will read about. But I'm starting to believe that if I don't share at least some of the gazillion thoughts rushing through my brain at all hours, I will snap. Again. And I don't want that. I'm so pathetic.
I hope everyone is having a good day at least. It's snowing here again, and it's beautiful. But I can't take the cold anymore. The family may be moving south soon, and if it happens, it can't happen soon enough. Alright, I have to start sewing already, I've wasted enough of everyone's time.
Oh, and skinny: Happy Pre-Birthday! I hope it's a really great day for you tomorrow, no stress, no worries. Try not to freak over food or anything. It's your birthday, if you want cake...eat that cake!
Marquise Seafoam