In a few days (perhaps this weekend, I’m not too sure) the inevitable will happen: I will have to go clothes shopping to buy new things for the new school year, as all my other clothes are becoming much too worn and old. As much as I love buying new clothes and having new clothes, I absolutely despise the actual act of clothes shopping – it’s so frustrating! There’s way too much choice, way too many beautiful clothes that look terrible on me, way too many full-length mirrors, eager to point out my flaws and tell me how awfully fat my thighs look in those jeans. Aaarrgh. I hate it. I hate the crying in the changing rooms. I hate the skinny girls with skinny legs looking at the skinny jeans that my FAT self with my FAT legs would never be able to pull off. I hate trying on sizes that would have fit me last year and would even have been too big for me the year before that, yet having them tight and ill-fitting this year. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it all.

I’m not really looking forward to it but oh god I need new clothes, and new shoes and a new school bag (my other one broke on the final day!) so I’ll have to suck it up and go for it. It will probably just motivate me more, when I come home with all my new stuff and they look HORRIBLE on me as always.

Oh dear.


Earlier today, I walked in on my older sister weighing herself in my bedroom. She’s been trying to lose weight for some time now, with my mum, though she’s pretending it’s just an attempt to eat healthily and stay fit. Of course I knew she was lying – that’s such a classic excuse for eating less to lose weight. She’s not fat or overweight in any way, but clearly has issues with her body like most of us.

How does this make me feel? Well, you can imagine. Sisters are usually pretty competitive from what I know, and I’ve always felt like I need to be thinner than my older sister in particular. Reading through my old diaries from when I first started all of this in 2009, I make references to her many times, even listing one of my reasons for losing weight as ‘to make E jealous’. I guess it’s because of the fact that she’s better than me at everything – she’s much smarter, a lot more popular, great at sports, prettier and the list goes on – so this is perhaps my opportunity to be better at something.

Knowing she is on a diet has just motivated me more to stick with my 600 calorie limit and lose more weight than her. If I can’t be smarter/prettier/more popular, at least I can be thinner!

Skinny equals happy(?)

May 13, 2012

With every pound I lose, I feel like I’m peeling off a layer of myself. A layer of fatty sheet that suffocates my bones and weighs down my heart. I say to myself:

‘When I’m done, and I’m at my goal weight, and all this is over, I’ll be beautiful. I’ll be rid of the parasite choking the real me locked away inside. Everybody will love me. I will love me.’

But what if that’s not the case? What if I get down to my goal weight and I’m still a horrible beast? What happens if there is no beauty inside me, and this disgusting monster is all that I am? I keep peeling and peeling, and go through hundreds of layers. I get down to 50lbs and I am still ugly. I am struggling with the fact that skinny (as much as I like to convince myself otherwise) does not equate to happiness, because if that doesn’t make me happy, what will?

Everything is going wrong at the moment and I just want to die cry. I feel like I’ve lost control of absolutely everything in my life—my relationship, my school work, my social life—it all seems to be falling apart. So what’s my solution? Cut my calorie intake. Eat less and less. Fast for days on end. If I can’t control anything I sure as fuck can control this. I’ll be fucking perfect. Who says skinny can’t equal happiness? I’m getting my life back, one jumping jack at a time. Tomorrow I will start the ABC diet, all over again. No more fucking failures.

I’m scared. Quiet and unsure at first, a whisper in the breeze. I’m scared scared scared. Louder with more certainty. I admit it. I am scared, I am lost, I am heading nowhere.

Last week, as my boyfriend lay on the sofa staring at my naked body, he said ”I feel like you’ve gotten hotter and hotter since we’ve been together”. WHAAAAT?! Crazy boy, since we’ve been together I have gained a noticeable amount of weight – I even have photos from then, and comparing it to how I look now… well, let’s just say it’s more than a little bit traumatising. However, when I challenged him he said, ”no seriously, you definitely have!”.

Strange as it may seem, this has not stopped me from wanting to lose weight. In fact (and if you didn’t think I was insane before, that is probably about to change) it has made me even more determined to get smaller. My terribly disordered mind has convinced me that I deceived him, making him think my body is not disgusting. Therefore I now have to improve my body so that the next time he sees me naked he won’t think ‘what a stupid fat lying bitch, pretending she was hot’…

I told you I am crazy.

(Apologies for the lack of coherency; my mind is all over the place at the moment)