If you could be ANYthing in the entire world(career, rockstar, actor, thin, etc) what would you choose; and why would that be your first choice?

I would be skinny as hell. Because secretly I want people to look at me and think "Holy crap. that poor girl's gonna collapse any second."

Ask me anything

This has to stop.

I hate purging. Especially bread, especially cheese. I need to stop. Sorry for my angry post earlier. I'll be good now.

So starting NOW, I'm not going to eat. I'm only allowed to purge once a day, and that's reserved for dinner that I can't geto ut of. I will lose all this fat. I will. I have to.

It sucks that every time I see a reflection, all I can think of is "damn, who is that fat ass girl?" And it turns out to be me. I don't even recognize myself anymore. I'm not me.

I miss my collar bones. I miss my hip bones. I miss being able to trace my ribs and my spine. I hate that my thighs touch, and that when I sleep on my stomach, there's a bulge instead of a little curve inwards. I'm so weak. Help me Ana. Help me, followers. I need your strength.

I had a dream that a man with an axe came into my room. Instead of freaking out, I only said "Please leave my diet pills. you can take anything else. And can you cut this ridiculous blubber off?" So he let me take my diet pills, and he cut off my stomach. It was, strangely, the best dream I've had lately.

I've taken to hiding my diet pills under my matress, since there seems to be a theif in the house. I suspect dear old mother, but of course no one listens to me, and I'm the prime suspect. Because I totally stole money and diet pills from myself. Idiots.

I want to move out and live on welfare. Then I can write my books and not eat and be left alone. I can forget about life and work out at the Y, or in the park or something. Working out is totally free. Pigging out is expensive. Economically, anorexia is the way to go.

That's all I can really think of right now. I want to purge the diet coke I drank, but I'm fighting it. Purging more will only fuel the addiction. I feel hopelessly alone here. I wish I could get some comments (hint, hint.)

cheers,
--kristina

Plan for today

FUCK IT. I'm going to binge and purge and purge and then starve. I fucking hate my life right now. I don't care if it'll make my heart arrhythmic again. I don't care if my gums start peeling again (ew. okay, I care a little).

I HATE MY LIFE. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. I'm just....Upset. Upset to the 100th degree. There are no words to explain my need to binge and purge and drink and smoke. all at once, today.

A song I wrote

There you were, looking at me
My heart skipped a beat
And my knees went weak
 
Lookin at you and your
Pretty brown eyes, 
They were holding a secret
And hiding a lie
 
I thought you were a blessing
But you were a curse
And where I saw for better
It was for worse
And I'll never know why I still love you
There you were
There you were
 
A splash of brown coffee
A cup on the floor
I thought it was harmless
Till you walked through that door. 
 
I tried to explain 
But you wouldn't hear it
I didn't think you were angry
Till the very first hit
 
I thought you were a blessing
But you were a curse
And when you said forever
I felt lower than dirt
And I'll never know why I still love you
There you were
 
Through the drugs and the bruises
And every black eye
Through the tears and the bleeding
And every white lie
It didn't hurt as bad as when 
You said you loved me
I'd say it back and cry
There you were
There we were
 
There you were looking at me
My heart skipped a beat
And my knees went weak
The officers held you
And took you away
Your pretty brown eyes
Couldn't hide your lie.

Song lyric time!

I've been meaning to post this for a while, sorry. But these are snippets of songs that I really like.

"And my foot slips
but I don't quit
and my hand grips the rock
something pulls deep
from within me
till I get there I won't stop
... .... .....
I'm headed for higher ground
way up here, the air is thinner
feels like I can go so far."
---Higher ground, Alexz Johnson


"I'm not that ill.
Bad moments come, but they go
some days are fine.
some a little bit harder.
but that doesn't mean
we should give up our dream
have you ever seen me defeated?
don't you forget, what I've been through and yet
I'm still standing."
---your little body is slowly breaking down; madonna and some guy; Evita soundtrack


"Avalanche is sullen and too thin
She starves herself to rid herself of sin
And the kick is so divine when she sees bones beneath her skin
And she says:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?
C'mon baby can you bleed like me"
--bleed like me; by garbage


"I overcame my bone structure and metabolism
I made myself engage in mind-numbing conversation
A fad diet left me with skin, bone and bitterness
starved myself to a petite listening to repetitive electro shit
Prey to the fairies
she got her wish
tied up and vacuous
she made the switch
step into her carriage
put on the ritz
saliva laced malicious
skinny little bitch"
----skinny little bitch; by angelspit


"They pull up their chairs to the table
She stares at the food on her plate
At the toast and the butter
Her father, her mother, she pushes away
........
She gets home from school too early
And closes the door to her room
There's nothing inside her
She's weak and she's tired of feeling like this
.......
They call her for dinner, she makes up a reason
She looks at her arms and she rolls down her sleeves
And her mother is starting to see through her lies
And last night her father had tears in his eyes"
---she's falling apart; lisa loeb


"She wasn't born anorexic, but nowadays she suffers,
staring at these half-naked stars on magazine covers.
feeling pressured by the public.
She only weighs 90 pounds but still sucks in her stomach.
On the inside she's dying, lying to herself, thinking:
- 5 more pounds won't jeopardize my health.
One day she might just collapse, she can't avoid it.
Too many sleepless nights spent bent over a toilet.
Spewing vomit, like she was an alcoholic.
Praying to a God she never believed in to stop it.
Hasnt eaten in weeks, drinks water by the heaps
Now she looks like a skeleton she sees in her closet.
So close to death she can taste it, body looks wasted.
Hates life, hates you, hates the way she looks naked.
Now she's feeling drowsy, lousy,
thinking maybe this world's better off without me"
---somebody I once knew; by dead celebrity status



there are more, sure. But these are my favorites. :) What are your favorite lyrics?

What is your favorite alcoholic beverage? (I kindof pronounced it as a French accent in my head.....)

Well...I generally only get wasted when I don't feel like dealing with life, so usually gin with a twist of lime in it or vodka with some diet coke. There was one time I just made a cocktail with everything in the bar. Haha....I got FUCKED up. downside: I gained three pounds from that little experiment. :/

Ask me anything

Wow.

Two followers! In honor of this, I shall post an actual update.

So I'm still huge this morning, even though my muscles are screaming at me for yesterday (you know, the seven minute workout? It works.) I've invested in some 100 calorie right bites for when I'm good. I got the keebler fudge brownie ones and OH MY GOD they are so good. They're so delicious I can't eat more than half the little package without feeling insanely guilty. You should get some.

And I've been doing better with my purging. I made a rule to myself that I will NOT purge at home--which takes most of my opportunities away. So I have a big breakfast at school, or purge dinner when I get to my evening class...you know how it is. But I'm getting better.

God, I love starving. I love hunger. But I hate that every time I;m forced to eat it turns into a binge which I then have to purge. I even found some sea salt, so I may try the saltwater flush if my damn weight doesn't go down soon.

There's really not much more to post today, and my arms are complaining at the muscles that I'm using to type. So feel free to ask me a question, any question. Or comment. Something I can blog about would be nice.

Peace!
--Kristina

YAY!

I finally have a follower! ^_^ I'm so happy.

LONG Post--my history.

When I was eleven years old, every girl in my class got weighed and had their height taken. The boys did too, of course, but at the time it was only the girls that I worried about. We were all put in a line; and behind the backs of the bored-but-glad-to-not-work teachers, we whispered what the scale had told us.

“I’m 93 pounds.”

“Oh really? Well I’m 95. But I’m taller!”

“91 pounds.” This whisper came from the second shortest girl of our class (I was the class midget) and everyone seemed shocked.

“No WAY! You’re like, 80 pounds!”

“Nope, it’s 91. I even took off my shoes.”

“What about you, Kristina?” I hesitated. I knew, even at that young age, that the lower the number, the better. I wrapped my arms around my suddenly-bloated stomach and smiled.

“92.” That was a lie. It was an outright, bold faced, call-me-Pinocchio-and-hang-your-coat-on-my-nose lie. But they believed it. I looked at my little paper, safely folded. I had already memorized what it said.

Height: 4 feet 9 inches. Weight: 100 pounds.

That’s when it clicked. The coaches had been saying this all along! To be healthy, I had to eat less and exercise more. I was not healthy if I was fat. I could not, under any circumstances, eat ice cream or cake or cookies or those Indian sweets my dad loved to bring home. Nothing with sugar, nothing that tasted good. One Hundred Pounds. I didn’t know anything else in the world that weighed One Hundred Pounds. Suddenly, I was too much. I was much too much. I didn’t feel qualified to play at recess or buy hot cheetos at the Elementary school-black market. (Hot cheetos, by the way, were really popular. You could only get some if you had chocolate or if you were willing to share a lunchable. If you were lucky, the “dealer” was your best friend, so you got some for free.)

So that day at lunch I only ate vegetables. But then the coaches said that school lunches were healthy, so I started eating all of my lunch except for the milk. I started skipping breakfast. I didn’t even realize what I was doing. I didn’t do it consciously until that summer, when school lunches were no longer available.

The previous summer, I had lunched on ravioli or canned spaghetti or cookies and a fudge Popsicle. But that summer before middle school I discovered the wonders of the toasted peanut butter sandwich. I found, or convinced myself, that one quarter of the sandwich without crust filled me up for hours. So when we were left alone for breakfast and lunch, I usually had half a sandwich and a small serving of whatever my mother cooked for dinner.

This continued for the whole summer, and I more or less left myself alone when it came to food. At the time, I was strong. I was not fast, and I could not run for any long period of time. But I could do push-ups and the flexed arm-hang with the best of them. I realize now that it may have been the muscles, not fat, that made me 100 pounds in sixth grade.

Nevertheless, I screwed my head on right around Christmas, where our house had turned into Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. It wasn’t until I was thirteen, somewhere in middle school, that I faced the scale again.

Before I continue, I must state that scales, at any given stage in my life, have been both my best friends and worst enemies. Even now, in the midst of recovery, I can’t resist stepping on the scale and praying that it’s not too high.

Anyway, I stepped on the scale that my sister had in our bathroom purely out of curiosity. I remembered my mother saying something about it being six pounds off, and stepped on. 128. Plus six? 134. I didn’t realize I was supposed to take away six, but by then it was too late. No matter what scale I used, my plus-six rule would apply. One-Thirty-Four. Much too much, much too much.

My peers, however, frowned upon anorexia. I only had about three or four friends throughout middle school, and they all thought starving yourself was stupid. (While at the same time, cutting and running away, as I publicly did, was understandable.) So I kept it a secret. I would go to the bathroom after lunch and stick a pencil down my throat until I threw up. One time, I overdosed on aspirin so I wouldn’t be able to eat anything without throwing up.

Overdosing became a hobby of mine. Whenever we had to go to a pizza place or have parties that required eating, but didn’t have an opportunity for me to barf, I would only slightly overdose on pills so I could get a nice little buzz in my head and be “out of it” enough to not care if I ate or not.

So I was a pretty little wreck in middle school. My parents, of course, could not know. They knew, eventually, of the running away and the cutting. They knew of the acting out and the overdoses. But they never knew why. That was my cherished little secret. It was so secret, that I didn’t even know why. I just had to do it. My behaviors were completely normal to me, even the stories I made up.

I told my best friend that I had a daughter. I told her I had been raped. I told her that I ‘adopted’ a little girl and kept her in my backyard until one day she fell out of a tree and died. I told her that my parents were evil, vile creatures and that I would get out as soon as I can and that’s why she HAD to help me run away again.

And she always gave me the benefit of the doubt. She was always there to hold me when my lies became real to me and I started to cry in the middle of class or at lunch. She was the best friend I’ve ever had, even to this day. Of course, every time she “helped” me run away, she would play along until I actually left her house, then she would chase me down, make me dinner or a snack (she made a mean macaroni), and get her mom to drive me home.

The next day, everything would be back to normal. My depression was still there. My budding eating disorder was still there. My life, to my eyes, was still horrible. But we would laugh and play and talk like nothing was ever the matter.

I’m going to skip over the witch trials (yes, literally), freak outs, interventions, fist fights, and suspensions throughout the rest of middle school primarily because this is not an autobiography. It’s a memoir and about my eating disorder. Just know that these things happened.

Flash forward to high school. I was no longer the witch, the devil, the crazy-weird-psycho-OMG-what-Is-She-Doing-Now girl. I was normal. At the very least, I was anonymous. I started inching back to starving myself and restricting my calories, but I did it a bit more publicly. My friends, to my surprise, were concerned rather than hostile about my actions. That year, cutting was also deemed ‘Not Cool’ because I was in theater and the Stage Rats were not allowed to alter their bodies in any way without the director’s permission.

So I stopped eating and made new friends. “Mr. Sunglasses” was one of these friends, and I became very close to him. He became, and remains, a brother to me. One time, he was giving me a piggy-back ride (one of those epic ones where he would karate fight as I clung to his back) and he said “This is what I’d look like if I was 90 pounds heavier.” I looked at the shadow on the ground to see a huge, bloated figure. Somehow, I took offense.

“Great. So I’m fat?”

“What? No! I said I would look fat. Not you. I was joking.”

I laughed. “Of course… So was I, silly.”

There was another time when he pulled me into the cafeteria and sat me down in a chair. As my heart raced at the thought of food, he sat down.

“What do you want to eat?”

“I don’t have money.”

“Then I’ll pay. What do you want to eat?”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not hungry.”

“Fine, I’ll pick for you. Stay here.” I suppose I could have run out of there and hid until the bell rang. But I stayed. I trusted my adopted brother. He brought back a ham and cheese sandwich, I believe. I stared at it.

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you that.”

“No, it’s fine…” My voice trailed off as I calculated the calories in the sandwich.

“Kristina, what do you see in the mirror?”

“I don’t look in mirrors.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I see…” I tried to think up the biggest thing possible. “…A whale.”

He sighed. “You’re not a whale. You’re just fine the way you are.”

Regardless, I ate only half the sandwich, without the crusts. Later I joined the physical training team with my ROTC class. “Sergeant Egg head” encouraged us—especially when the military ball came around.

“Come on girls, you want to fit into your dresses, don’t you?” I did crunches until my muscles malfunctioned. I ran the mile as fast as I could until I wasn’t able to breathe and was in danger of passing out. But I loved it. I continued to exercise at home and watched my stomach getting smaller and smaller.

In October, I changed schools. The new school had an ROTC class, but not a PT team. I panicked. I started eating less, as moving left me too busy to exercise and too supervised to vomit.

Before the Big Move, I was the lead actress in a play. It was my grand exit. Through theater I learned to be assertive and I perfected my lies. I took in nothing but energy drinks and diet coke. There was the occasional celery stick or apple, but that was rare. Of course, I couldn’t get out of dinner with my parents. But late rehearsals meant no one was there to watch me only take half a serving. I drenched everything I ate in hot salsa, chili powder, or habanero sauce. The spiciness would raise my metabolism.

When the play ended and my character died, I sulked. I had become too integrated with my character, Sophia, who was older and prettier and happier than I was. When the curtains closed for the last time, Sophia died and I returned to my depressed state.

I hid my depression rather well. I was still cutting, but I hid it as long as I could by doing it on my legs or stomach. I would scratch in the names of people who hurt me, or carve out the words FAT COW as deep as I could.

The new school wasn’t all that bad. My first day, I found a friend who would get me cigarettes. I found the cutest little gay man who did what I said. The best part was “Miss Vampire.” Miss Vampire was the whitest, most Victorian beauty I had ever seen. I fell for her instantly.

“Hi. I’m Kristina. I’m a lesbian. You’re pretty.” She smiled. Turns out her boyfriend (she was bisexual) was my cigarette dealer and I was not to get between the two of them. Whatever. That day I flirted with her and held her hand through the halls. The hand-holding stopped the next day, because of her boyfriend, but I did eventually get her in bed. Once I had accomplished that, I left. I was done with her. She was still hot as hell, but I ‘hit it and quit it’, as the straight guys say.

I became a workaholic. I lived on coffee, diet coke, energy drinks, and diet pills. I didn’t sleep much, preferring to work out or work on homework. Commander and Gunny (from the ROTC class) noticed it. They appreciated my intelligence, but said over and over that I should sleep. And I did. I slept in Spanish class and on the bus. To this day, I’m living in El Paso and not able to speak Spanish.

By the end of that year, I burned out. I had stress attacks, which are very much like panic attacks, only more manic/productive. I had to be better than everyone. I had to be smarter, thinner, happier, more talented, and more commanding. I had to be impressive. Extraordinary. That summer, I quit. I still took my open course psychology classes from Yale, but I wasn’t stressing over it every minute of the day. Without my work to distract me, I had more time to devote to my eating disorder, which was to be in full bloom around the start of the next school year.

In September, my father took one of his business trips. With only one parent to deal with, I stopped eating completely. I didn’t take in vegetables or fruits or metabolism boosters. I drank water and did yoga. This lasted about nine days, until my father got back home.

That night, we cooked chicken curry. Made from all raw ingredients, nothing processed, and minimal oil. It was very healthy in small portions. But I couldn’t eat it. I stayed silent throughout the cooking process and pretended to be asleep when it was done cooking.

When my sister came up to get me, I told her I wasn’t feeling well.

“Do you need anything?”

“I need my medicine.”

“Which medicine?”

“The one that makes me happy.”

I had been taking antidepressants for a while. The panic I was feeling must have shown, but my mother wouldn’t have it.

“No sympathy. You need to eat.”

“I don’t feel well!”

“Then I’ll take you to the doctor. Do you need that? I’ll call your therapist. Hmm?”

“I don’t need them.”

“Then eat.”

“No.” It was the first time I had ever stood up to my mother, ever been anything but submissive. I sat at the table with a glass of water, still crying, and sat there. My sister and father were sympathetic, but I knew there was no way I could skip out of eating the next day. But I was so proud; I had lost 12 pounds that week. Eating would ruin it all.

And it did. A week after I started eating again (apples and celery were as far as I would go); I had my first Binge Attack. I ate and ate and ate. I ate everything I could get my hands on, plus two sodas, and I ran upstairs through the empty house and stuck my fingers far down my throat until nothing but acid came out. Then I chugged water and purged again, just in case.

This is where Bulimia made its triumphant return. I stayed away from food when I could, but when I had to eat anything more than my precious cut up apples or fresh celery or diet coke, I would purge. This continued on, with the diet pills and my mother finding the diet pills and me just buying more and my sister asking if I had a “problem” and the lies, lies, lies. I had control. At least, I thought I did.

I came to school one day and everyone just stared at me. The room went silent. I was working away, having isolated myself by that point so that I was friendly with everyone, but didn’t really talk to anyone.

“Aziz,” Commander called, “You’ve lost too much weight. You need to cut the crap and eat something.” Even I was silent. I translated this into it’s working. You’re getting thinner. You’re on your way! I was about 108 pounds. After the silent spell, I laughed.

“Oh sure, Commander. Don’t worry; I’ve got it under control.” I was wearing my little sister’s shirt. My jeans were falling off. I had to poke new holes in my belt to keep them up. At night, if I lay down the right way, I could feel my ribs and my hip bones jutted out beautifully. I couldn’t stop feeling them. Later, when I was stressed, I would walk with my hands on my hip bones, thinking at least I’m thinner than before.

But it all went to hell the next year. I was binging and purging more often and thus, gaining more weight. I hated my body for rebelling, and I hated myself for being weak. I was back up to 120 pounds. So I collected every kind of medicine I could find and took most of it, about 100 out of 250 or so, and walked out into the desert until I fell.

I was still conscious, but I couldn’t get up. I realized what was happening. In a panic, I texted Gunny. “In desert. Need help.” I dropped my phone. I wasn’t able to work with it again, only concentrating my efforts to grabbing more pills and swallowing them, 3, 4, or five at a time. By the time I heard the search and rescue helicopter, I had become unconscious. I’ll spare you the details, but they pumped my stomach and sent me to the psych ward.

The University of Behavioral Health for Mental Disorders and Chemical Dependency—UBH, for short. I spent 29 days there, when the average was 8 to 10 days, and had fights over my potassium levels and why was I hiding food and how was I still purging and “you’re gonna die if you don’t eat something.”

“Well,” I’d quietly reply, “I know that.” In two weeks I had lost another seven pounds. I didn’t understand why they were all shocked. “That’s only half a pound a day. It’s not a lot.” They’d throw their arms up, exasperated. At the family sessions, they’d state “We’re not equipped for this. We can’t make her eat.” I repeated that over and over in my head until I only ate when I had a bunch of junk food that I could binge and purge up.

My roommate, “Laurie”, was anorexic and didn’t mind me purging. She knew me better than everyone else. When everyone was applauding me for eating, she’d sigh and say “That’s not a good thing!” Because of course I was going to purge it up.

Or when I was smiling after coming out of the bathroom or acting drunk because I was so incredibly light headed and oh-look-I’m-flying-hello-everyone-I’m-happy-today, she would shake her head behind the backs of the doctors who thought I was improving.

On her last day, because naturally she came in after me but left before me, I made her a promise.

“I’m going to eat everything you eat for breakfast, and I’m not going to purge it.” I knew, by that time, that my body would automatically try to throw up anyway, but I meant it. We had a banana, a 90 calorie cereal box, and a donut. I made it through the banana and half the cereal before I stressed out.

“This is hard.” I laughed.

“You don’t have to eat it all. Don’t push yourself.”

I took a deep breath. The nurses, Laurie, and all the other patients were watching me. “No,” I answered shakily, “I can do it.” I ate the rest of the cereal and half of the donut before I quit. It took everything I had to not purge it up. But that was the starting point of my recovery.

My heart was hurting, skipping, and arrhythmic. My esophagus was torn, acidic, and tired. There were nicks in my hands from purging and dirty washcloths from wiping my mouth. I couldn’t climb stairs or walk down the hall. I hated my eating disorder. So, while consciously I stayed with it, I unconsciously began eating.

I’d start with what I felt was a “binge” at lunch. Miss Monica pointed out to me, that what I thought was a binge was really a portion-controlled, normal lunch. Still, I didn’t eat dinner. But it was a start.

I'll try anything once.

So I'm trying the infamous "seven minute workout". Here's what it looks like:

"Here are some of the exercises that are on the tape..

It's all about tightening your muscles and holding it for 25 seconds..release and do this 3 more times..changing positions.

1. Your arms: hold your arms out to the side at a 90 degree angle..elbows bent and hands making a fist, facing upwards..now squeeze your arms like crazy for 25 secs and hold in your tummy..Release after 25 secs..Then move your arms 2 inches up..tighten and release..move them again, repeat, and one more time moving them like you were flexing your biceps..

2. Your triceps: bring your arms in back of you, make a fist..tighten your arms and squeeze your shoulders together..25 secs..hold..release..raise your
arms 2 inches higher, squeeze and release..On this one, you can lean your torso a bit forward..Repeat raising the arms until they are as high as they will go in back of you..Squeeze those shoulders/arms..

3. Your fanny: Stand on the floor..on the balls of your feet..have a chair a foot in front of you and use the back of the chair for balance..thrust out
your pelvis and squeeze your fanny for 25 secs..release and repeat 3 more times..You will feel it all down your leg..and as you thrust your pelvis forward you will feel it more..

There is a face one that is really hard to explain..

Does this make sense??"



The hype says you lose up to ten pounds the first 14 days, and that's WITH eating. we'll see.

Do you believe in ghosts?

I believe if you starve yourself enough, you can look like one.

Ask me anything

If you had to perform at the circus, what trick would you do?

The amazing disappearing girl. ;)

Ask me anything

Do you have depression? what are some effective ways you have fought depression?

I do, but it's pretty much under control. I went to the university of behavioral health and learned how to use coping skills, along with finding the right medication for me. Nowadays, I spend time with my sister or talk with my therapist.

Ask me anything

Bulimia

So yesterday I had my first bulimic episode in a long while. I was reading the blog 'Letters from Ana' (great blog, by the way. Nikki is an awesome writer). and suddenly I had to purge. That one wasn't so bad. Yogurt, some soup....but then we had to go out for dinner at some greasy mexican restaurant.

I ended up purging ALL of it. It was a lot, by the way. My poor body went into shock. I went into class practically crying and shaking like mad. But once I managed to calm down, I liked it. Just like that, I'm addicted again.

I even thought that maybe I could go to Golden Corral today with a friend, and purge everything. As much as I love ana, Mia is just so damn good until my heart starts acting funny.

Barbie world

Last year, Barbie celebrated her 50th anniversary. They went out and made a barbie runway! So here we go:

Also: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4-GRH2nDvw

UGH.

So I COMPLETELY failed today. I was going good until I got home, already tired from just walking home from the bus stop. Usually I average 3 to 4 mph, but today was like a 1.5. THEN I started daydreaming about a toasted spaghetti sandwich. Unfortunately, someone had eaten all the leftover spaghetti, so this led to a binge. Chips, two pot roast sandwiches, 1.5 colas, and two hotdogs. I hate myself. I bet I've already ballooned back to 140. We'll see tomorrow, I guess. I'm horribly scared.

But I'll get back in the swing of things, hopefully. I just need to jack up my willpower.

I love it

So yesterday was good! I'm 136 pounds today. :)

Today I plan on my oranges from yesterday, one regular coke (I might just have half) and a small dinner. Unfortunately, I can't get out of dinner because of my parents. But I just hope it's something healthy.

Other than that, I plan on at least two miles. Then a half hour break, and two more. With a 5% incline and 3mph, I should burn around 400 calories.

Today I felt lightheaded for the first time in a LONG time. I forgot how incredible it feels. But I didn't eat. I drank three glasses of water and went out the door.

Here's hoping!
Starve on, ladies.

follow up

So I didn't, in fact, eat the oranges. But the apples were just soooo good.

All in all, I had a good day. However, my mother went through my room and trashed all my diet pills. >:(
So I'm guessing about...hm....700 calories, max? Not bad, not bad.

Day one (for real this time)

Today I've decided is a fruit/small dinner day. Only diet/ 0 cal liquids are allowed outside of that.

I packed my ammunition--a small apple cut into eigths, sprinkled with lime and cinnamon; and an orange. I may not even eat the orange; we'll see.

If I eat it all, it comes out to about 203 calories. That's overestimating just to be safe.

And tonight, the dinner is pot roast. I'll eat the potatoes and carrots, but not the meat.


Tonight's exercise: strength training.
30 lunges, 30 squats, 30 calf raises, and 30 bridges. I may do two or three sets, depending on the time.


Starve on, lovelies.

Just to catch you up...

When I was 11, I developed anorexia. two years later, I developed bulimia. This went on more or less until I was seventeen (until about 3 months ago). That's it in a nutshell. I got to enjoy three months of recovery, but now it's time to get back to business.

I used to be 107 pounds. Now, I'm a whopping 138. I HAVE to lose this weight.

I'll try to post every day. And I'll post my successes as well as my failures.

Today:
6 in. subway sandwich (about 320 cals)
2 bags of chips during a mini binge (about 240 cals)
a fiber one bar and a coke (about 280 cals)

coupled with dinner later tonight, I'm hoping for just under 1000 calories. I'll be better soon, I promise! I've got to ease my way into 500 cal days.