Diary of a Disordered

My eating this weekend was completely horrible. I'm seriously scared to get on the scale tommorow morning. It's probably going to be at least 98. I'm really sick of it. Tommorow I'm drinking 2 bottles of water, flavored water, propel and diet Dr. Pepper. I'm not eating until dinner, and then I'm only eating one serving of waht I want, and that should only be fruits and veggies. (Remember drink lots of water before and during! Stay away from meat, cheese, and grease!) I plan on doing wii fit in the morning, and a walk after school at least. I would like to stretch and maybe do some interval training. There's no excuse for me to be gaining weight.

I spend all day thinking about what I can do. How many calories is in this? In that? How many calories will that burn? How can I avoid eating? Do I look skinny yet? What's my weight going to be tommorow? What's my BMR? Have I lost any inches yet? I bet I look chubby in these pants. My thighs jiggle and my stomach hangs over. My face is still chubby and I have cankles. I am such a pig.

Then I eat. And eat. And binge. And the failure sets in and I feel like I'm getting gigantic by the second. My stomach is huge and I have to purge or I might explode or cry. It's a cycle that won't stop. You think about it every second. You can't stop thinking about how great it'll be to fit into those 00 jeans or that XS sweater. You know that, the tiny, stupid, hateful red number on that scale will never be good enough, and that you will always find a flaw in your body that you have to fix.

Yet, you can't live without it. You have to watch the numbers drop. That control feels wonderful and fasting gives you such a high. The word recovery means nothing to you.

I have to do this for me. I will become skinny! I will reach that ultimate number.