My thighs are massive. Every inch of them. They wobble. They bounce. They sag. There horrible. I hate them. There like tree trunks and I’ve no idea how to get them smaller. Other than restrict restrict and restrict some more.
My stomach is massive too. It bulges out. For everyone to see. I can’t hide it anymore. Dresses showing off. I look pregnant. I have a bump. A mound. It’s ghastly. I hate how I look. Every part of me. I’ve frantically just done some sit ups. Hoping this will help. I do them every day. I’m determined by stomach will cave in rather than pop out. I hate my body. I hate it. In July I’m going away and there’s a pool. I can’t wear a bikini. Because A) my stomach is covered In scars and B) my stomach is massive. So I have to wear a swimsuit but that will still cling to my stomach and show the size of it off. I can’t wear jeans any more I just hide in baggy maxi skirts or dresses. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it .
Thought it was time I shared a photo of myself. You know. For those that care. For those that want to put a face to the name. For those of you who want to know who lonely Essex girl is. Well here I am. Nothing special. But now you know
Sick of it. Sick of it. Sick of it. I’mNot a slag. I’m not nasty. Im not desperate. I am a human. I have feelings too. I’m sick of being judged by everyone sick of being accused of things. Sick of being made out to be nasty. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m a person by myself. I’ll move on when and how I want to. I will not be made out to be there person everyone is making me out to be. I’m
Not nasty. I haven’t moved on. I do t know when I will. I don’t know if I ever Will. But I’m sick of being told how I should feel and what I should do. I will not apologise I’ve done nothing wrong. I shouldn’t have replied. I shouldn’t have blogged. But I’m fuming
I’m alone. I’m suicidal. I don’t care. That is all
So today we laid my nan to rest. I know it’s a part of life but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I miss her. I long to see her again. I love her. Adore her. She’s my hero. And she’s gone. And me. Well I’m fine on the outside but on the inside it’s a different story. Ever since last night I can’t stop thinking about suicide. It’s there. On my mind. Not at the forefront but it’s there. How I’d do it. When I’d do it. To me my life is a mess. Yes I have a family who love me and yes I have an amazing partner. But that’s it. I have no friends. I’ve just lost my nan. I’m jobless. I’m getting fatter by the day. I hate myself. I’m getting stressed and angry All the time my mood switches like a switch. And I’m starting to wonder what the point of life is. I want to move out but can’t afford it. I want a family but I’ve messed my body up I can’t get pregnant. I bring nothing to life. I just get by. I don’t bring anything I don’t enhance anyone’s life. I do t know I just feel so low. Maybes it’s because the funeral was only a few hours ago. Maybe it’s because I’ve not taken all my meds like I should have. But right now I could close my eyes and never open them again
Yep that’s me a fat f****r. I’m disgusting. I’m grotesque. I’m fat. I can’t stop eating. I just ate a whole Easter egg in one go. I literally sat there an stuffed my face full of it. I purposely missed breakfast and lunch today to diet and lose some weight I’ve put on. But then I undo it all and stuff my far full of chocolate like I’ve never eaten before. I can’t stop. I shove it down. Quicker than I can chew. Food. Food. Food. It’s all I want. All I think about. I’m one fat f****r. I wish I could make myself sick and bring it all back up. But I’m so stupid I can’t. I’m incapable of that. Instead it all sits inside me making me fatter by the second. I’ll soon be up a Dress size. Spilling out of all my clothes. It’s disgusting. It’s horrible. I’m ugly. I should be ashamed. I am ashamed. I’m awful. I’m fat. It’s disgusting. I need to diet. But I can’t. I need to loose this weight but I can’t I need something to change but I’m stuck. Craving food. All the bad food. Chocolate. Pizza. Chips. Bread. Sweets. You name it I want it. You name it I eat it. I’m no longer anorexic I’m just a fat f****r
When will I stop counting calories? When will I stop feeling fat?When will I stop measuring myself by my thighs and the gap I no longer have? When will my day not be controlled by food? When? When will I stop feeling lonely? When will I move on? When will I no longer feel a failure? When will I have something to smile about?When will I stop wishing I was dead? When will I stop taking laxatives?
When will all of this stop?
Im a fat b***h. I’m a fat failure. That’s what I am. A fat ugly horrible person. That’s me. And I hate it. I hate the person I am. I hate my life. I hate everything about me. The way I was in a relationship. The fact I’m alone. The the way I am the person Ive become. I wish it would be over. I bought tablets the other day as I had a headache but had to give the rest over otherwise I’d have taken them all and take yet another overdose. It doesn’t scare me. I don’t think it ever well. I’m So desperate for my life to be over. Or at least change. This weekend has been full of Unknown calories and it terrifies me. I’m dreading weigh in tomorrow. Dreading see the number on the scales. Pure dread. It will effect t my day so much of I’ve gained. And I know I have. I’m so desperate to lose weight. So desperate to see my ribs. For my stomach to cave in. Not stick out. To see a thigh gap instead of see them touch. To see my cheekbones instead of have a rounded face. I’m desperate to go back to how I was.
I sit here and wrote this and feel so alone. I know Facebook glorifies everything but I’m sick of people younger than me having the time of there lives. Having babies. Getting engaged going out partying. Whilst I’m stuck in hospital. My life on hold. And what’s worse is even when I’m out of hospital. I’m not going to be living. As anorexia will still be there and have hold of me. I’ll be restricting like mad. I’ll still be alone. I’ll still be the failure I am. I still won’t have a life.
The unknown. It’s horrible. I’d rather know. Tonight I’m home visiting family and we’re going out for dinner. Going out for dinner where the calories aren’t on the menu. You can’t even really guess. It’s weird. I’m ok drinking alcohol which is calories. But food. Now that’s totally different. Yesterday I barely ate and today I skipped breakfast in preparation for dinner. I hate how my life really does revolve around food. I also ate lunch out today. I ate it. Then had to go back to the counter just to see how many calories were in it. I have to know number. I need to know them. I need to know I’m under the amount I should have. I’ve never been this bad. But it’s awful now. The unknown is far too scary. It’s terrifying. I should be looking forward to going out with mr family. But instead it’s shear dread. I’m anxious. I’m sweating. I’m
Agitated. Already planning if they have a salad. Planning to have a side Instead of a main. But I know o won’t be able to get away with that. My mum was ill so I was hoping this would mean dinner would be cancelled but it’s not. It’s still on. And where nearly there. Wish me luck guys
So I went home this weekend. To my parents and staff at the hospital everything went fine but in reality it didn’t.
I realised I couldn’t move back home. There too many triggers. To many memories that are painful. Too easy to fall back into the same routine. Too easy to restrict. I skipped a total of 4 1/2 snacks one main dessert one light dessert and one lunch. And swapped main meals to light meals. I skipped nearly a total of 2000 kcal this weekend (Friday to Sunday) and that’s with waking a fair amount too. This should make me realise I’m not better but this makes me happy. I’m happy I managed to skip meals. I also took laxatives yesterday. It’s all too easy being back there. Right now though I’m pleased I did all of that. And how wrong is that. It’s not going to get me any nearer to leaving here. It’s just going to prolong it. But I guess when your in my situation and you have no life to go back to it doesn’t matter. My mentality (while sitting on the train going back to hospital) is to tell them if all went well and continue to eat my way out of here leave and diet. I’ve never liked my body and I’ve never been fully happy but before I came I’m here I could tolerate my body more and put up with how it looked whereas now I’m
Still unhappy and hate my body even more. So what’s the point in all of this.
It’s my life. You only live once so why can’t I live it the way I want.
I’m very depressed today. Im
Angry at the hospital over my cpa on Friday. I’m angry I have to go back. Im lonely. (Yes I have family) but I feel so alone so isolated. So lost.
I know I shouldn’t feel happy that I’ve skipped so much of my meal plan but the fact is I do. I can’t help that. I can’t help I still get a buzz when I successfully skip something. I can’t help it. It makes me feel worthy. It makes me feel like I’ve achieved something. It makes me feel good. And yes that may be wrong and I shouldn’t feel that way but I can’t help that I do. I can’t help what Anna is telling me. I know I’ve done enough not to loose weight so staff won’t know. I know I’ve done enough to fake a successful trip home as keep staff thinking I’m ok. I know they won’t realise. Anna makes me a great lier and pretender. It’s like a smile. Can hide a thousand feelings. Ana can hide a million things too and can make you get away with what you want when you want. You just have to be clever.
I’m well and truly under anas thumb the moment I leave that hospital even if for a day. She’s so strong. I think it’s because she lies dormant waiting for the opportunity then hits me like a brick when she can. And she does. I’m not ready to give up ana. I wish I was I wish I could but the truth is I can’t. She makes me feel good about myself. She makes me feel I have a purpose. She gives me a reason to be alive. She gives me meaning. I know it’s wrong. I know that’s so wrong. And I know people will read this and think how I can be that wrong in the head to feel that wY and not understand but it’s the truth. As much as ana is a bitch I’m well and truly still tied to her. I just cover her over with a bubble when I’m in hospital. As the moment I step outside of those four walls it’s pops and she’s there. She’s back. She’s alive.
I want a cuddle. I need a cuddle. I want an alcoholic drink. I need an alcoholic drink. I want my duvet. I need my duvet. I want this to end. I need this to end.