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.