I binged. . . on peanut butter. . . what the hell is wrong with me? Why do I eat if it clearly makes me feel miserable. And by feel, I mean a physical sensation, not emotional. My stomach feels like I should be pregnant. Every couple days I have this binge and every couple days I hate myself. I don't eat in between too much, but I do this fucked up binge thing. And I honestly don't think it is because I starve myself. . . Because I am never fucking hungry.

God. I hate this. And I think I just make myself crazier every day.

You know you are an economist when. . .

• you read the crossword clue "hammers and hoes," you immediately think "capital" must be the answer.
• you check out a 1611 treatise on usury that has never been checked out in the last 32 years.

Fuck, I just at pb/j. . . over 2000 cals, good thing I didn't eat yesterday. But I am blowing up like a balloon. Literally, I don't think this is my mind. I honestly think you can see my stomach expand.

151.5

I didn't eat a damn thing yesterday and it paid off. . . 155 down to 151.5. My body doesn't like it, but if I get skinner, it will all pay off.

Renfrew called back. My insurance won't cover me for Resi or IP. Fuck. Private pay is an option, but at $2000/day. . . I think not so much.

I called Renfrew Center this morning. I know the behaviors aren't life threatening yet, but I see them getting worse and I know my mind is just an absolute wreck. They are going to call me back to schedule an assessment. I am nervous and I don't want to have to give up any school or anything else. I just don't know what other choice I have right now.

Peanut butter is fucking impossible to throw up. What the hell??? Now I am going to be FAT.

On the good side, I am down to 154.

I am confused.

Everything about me makes no sense? Honestly, I did an artistic therapy exercise last night and I realized that I really hate my body. Like I want my body to disappear. I don't want to die, I just want my body to disappear. But where the hell would I go if my body disappear? What the fuck. I don't make any sense. I know those are completely illogical statements. Every CT red light I have is going bonkers, but I don't know how to push those beliefs out of my life. The belief that my body is wrong, ugly, dirty, and should disappear underlies so much of my ED/SI. Underlies so much of my own self loathing. By being attached to such a body, I, myself, am wrong, worthless and need to disappear. And the only way I see to fix this is by being perfect. Absolutely perfect, with no dirt anywhere. God, it sounds like I might die this way. I actually have no doubt right now that I will be my own downfall, one way or another.

For two days

I have not weighed myself. Not for lack of desire, but for lack of ability. I hate not knowing my weight. I think I have lost, but I am not sure. I haven't eaten very much and I have the "losing" feeling. I hope I am down to like 152 or so.

I am not supposed to be thinking about weight. Let alone talking in numbers.

"You don't look like you have an eating disorder"

That's the genius quote of the day from my orthopedist. I am having some issues with numbness in my feet and I asked if that could have anything to do with the ED. Doc's response: "You don't look like you have an eating disorder. Which one?" First, nobody looks like they have an ED, necessarily. It is a MENTAL illness, of the MIND, not of the body. People look like they have the side effects of an ED. Second, I hate the question "which one?" EDs are not like picking candy off the shelf. "Which top did you pick? Which ED do you have???" What the hell. Next, the genius says "don't do that anymore. You have the discipline to ride at Chesterland so don't do that anymore." Okay, sure, I won't as long as you decide to not breathe anymore.

Watch me. I show him that I DO have an ED and hell, hopefully I will look like it. Because then I would be thin.

So Fucking Fat!

Period. That's all there is to it. I am FAT. Screamingly, horrifically FAT. If I were to never eat again and live to be 80, I would still be FAT. Evil, Gross, Disgusting and FAT. Go ahead world, try and tell me I am not. I know I am. People try to tell me I am not, that I am athletic, that I look good, sometimes even that I have lost weight. Who gives a flying fuck?? I am FAT. If I loose fifty pounds, I might have a chance in hell to not be obese. But right now--FAT, FAT, FAT!!!