I am empty. I am skin and bones. I'm a ribcage.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

She didn't mean anything by it. My hands shook as I reached for the door to my room. My mother's voice careened around my mind confirming every insecurity.

Cow.

"She didn't mean anything by it." I slammed shut the door as if that would shut out the littany of self-loathing. I said the words aloud hoping that would banish her carelessly uttered demolition. "She didn't mean anything. You're too thin anyway." False convictions, I knew.

Who are you trying to fool? Look at yourself. You're disgusting. How could you let yourself get this way? You're...

I cranked the volume on the stereo; sound pounded my flesh. Collapsed on the bed I was content to let the music exorcise my demons. The beat pulsed, dragging me down to where my heartbeat moved blood. The bass hit my outsides, the blood hit the bass.

But it was never loud enough.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight again."

I threw my body to the side, twisting the covers around myself. I wanted them to be the magic shield they had been in childhood, to feel safe wrapped tightly in their folds.

I didn't.

My veins itched. I felt the tingle start in my arms and spread to encompass me. Under my skin a thousand spiders crawled and shuddered and stung.

Worthless. You mean nothing. Your own mother wants you dead. You're a burden. A hideous burden, at that. How much do you weigh? You don't deserve...

I reached for it, my cold avenger. Blindly I groped the bedstand, searching until I felt metal under my fingertips. I hesitated, stopped just shy of picking it up.

You're pathetic.

A fine shaking had begun in my limbs. I waited, letting the anticipation mount.

"I'm glad to see you're gaining weight..." it poked at me, prodded my imperfections.

And still the beat was pulsing against me, and the spiders crawled inside me, and the flesh itched and the veins ached and the blood moved...

And I bled. Looking down I was almost surprised to feel the droplets, warm and wet, staining my sheets and skin.

I've been here before and hate what I've found

I've come back here again with more bones and fewer inhibitions. It seems to be the case more often than not. I have not shed more than five pounds, but the fat is disappearing. As is always the case, I'm torn. I feel the highs of being thin, but also the loss of femininity. Maybe it's an unfounded fear but it weighs on me (haha) nonetheless. Somehow I'm in a good mood, though.

Somehow tonight I feel poised on the verge of a nameless void. Perhaps it's Imbolc. It is the midpoint of my year. I don't know. I don't know a lot of things these days. I'm going to go get my insomniac ass some rest. Good night.

Inside the crushing down, I felt a pang -- the tide was turning

I keep having strange dreams but when I wake up I can't remember them. Sleeping has been more like unconsciousness than anything else. I always remember my dreams, and I can't help but feel like I'm failing Morpheus. Starving exhausts me so much but I saw an oppurtunity and seized it.


I had a dream a few weeks ago about Morpheus's library again. I was reading a version of Little Red Riding Hood and he asked me why I had been away. I told him I couldn't find him as easily anymore and that I was lost in the woods too. He put his hand on my head and I felt like I could see everything that had ever happened and when he took his hand away again he said, "You've seen an eternity. You can always find me." Then he was gone, but it was as if he were behind my eyes watching what I watched. And it's going to sound ridiculous but I could see it through his eyes. On the page where there had been plain print I could see the original manuscript, the scratches, the revisions, the copy edit changes, this print, the pages rotting away, emptiness where this book had been in some distant day.

I've always had vivid dreams and I've dreamed about Morpheus more than once. I don't worry too much about analyzing but it does bother me that I haven't been able to remember them lately. My dreams are important to me for personal reasons. I hope my drought ends soon.

And the sun will set for you

Today has been a relatively good day for the metabolism farming. I had a bowl of Rice Krispies this morning, and a sushi roll for lunch. I also snacked on a slice of cheese, but nothing else today. I need to get rid of my period bloat.

Edit: Damn the girls at work. They went into crisis and I had to eat Doritos with them to prevent it from escalating. Just a handful, but still.

I'm fasting tomorrow. Fuck it. Nothing but coffee. I have a staff meeting in the morning, an interview in the afternoon and a CPR class at night. No time for anything to eat.

These are not good times to be near me.

Of scales and balances

125. That's my new average weight. It's really strange to me to be back in this place but with a new and more destructive outlook. What I've begun doing to myself to lose weight is worse than starving in many ways because my metabolism cannot possibly find a way to adjust. I practice some heavy restriction, forcing my metabolism to remain active and high but not taking enough to maintain my weight. My results are not as dramatic. They don't happen overnight, but my body is slowly thinning itself down to these new balances of low weight and high burn. I don't know that I'll stop when the times comes.

Maybe it already has. When I stretch every rib shows in stark relief and the only reason they don't when i stand still is because I have firm skin that won't sink around them unless pulled. Well, it won't sink yet. I'm getting there. Even my face, which never thins, is thinner. Everyone thinks I can't maintain my body weight because of a high metabolism. I eat regularly now. It's the eating disorder no one will ever be able to spot. I'm too good at what I do now. Too experienced. It's so easy to cut out the fat in my diet, to drop the heavy protein and skip the carbs. It's too easy to get away with, because I am, and no one, not even my husband, would guess it's intentional.

I'm such a bitch. This is a selfish, stupid disease. It's not even a disease. It's an obsession. A phobia of being fat. I'm completely responsible for what I do. I'm not saying everyone with an eating disorder is. I'm saying I am. I know what my nutritional choices herald. I pick and choose what I know will help me get that little bit skinnier, that little bit more skeletal. My husband is trying to eat healthy. It's child's play to steer him towards low fat, lean protein, greens, no breads. These things are healthy for him, but unhealthy for me. I make them unhealthy. How sick is it that I've even found a way to corrupt nutrition to be counterproductive?

I'm so torn right now. I'm in a new cycle of self-destruction, but I feel guilty for what it may do to my husband to worry for me. I know he worries about me. I know he'd love me if I were a whale. I know this, and yet I can't let myself be fat. I can't let myself be healthily thin. I'm borderline too thin for my height now. 5'7", 125, mainly muscle. I haven't done my body composition in a while but I think I'm around 8%, if that. Too low for my frame, anyway.

This post doesn't have a point besides organizing my thoughts on "paper." Paper is too dangerous because it's a physical record. Electronic storage is easier to dispose of if the situation merits.