Halfway through my thought and meal diary entry today, I decided I felt like I needed to post something on DT in a blog. So I decided to copy and past my entry. It’s all over the place because it’s just what I think of on the spot that I type.
Saturday 9th April, 8:04pm. standing in my room reading my meal chart. Off to the kitchen to gather tonight’s meal. A piece of rye bread, quarter of an apple, handful of vegetables. Saturday’s meal. By 8:13pm I have forced it down. 8:20pm and the poison is completely out of me again, leaving me still dry retching as my body loses control. 8:30pm and I’m walking from the bathroom holding my blood nose. Got to get to my room before I’m seen. Locked the door to be sure no one enters. Wait for nose to stop. 8:35pm and I go to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mum stares at me and says, “what happened to your eye?!” in horror. I look in the mirror behind me. “sneezed,” I say, heart racing but smiling to myself for the quick, convincing cover up. Cringes as the next door neighbor comes over to invite mum around for drinks, and I have to stand there and listen to mum tell HER how I sneezed and popped a blood vessel then have them both stare at me again.
8:50pm and I’m back in my room writing down properly these notes. Same stressful thoughts of someone finding this that goes through my head with every meal entry. If only I had a dollar every time I wrote that in an entry!
Thinking about things. Lots of things. Did I remember to massage the teeth marks out of my knuckles? Yep.
So many kgs to lose. This week was a shit week because I had a lot to drink almost every night. Thinking about the wine in the fridge.
Lying on my bed with my laptop. Will I spend the whole night on it? Yeah. What will I do? Probably go on facebook and listen to people who call themselves my friends, rant about boys and crap I don’t give a flying f**k about. But I’ll listen anyway. Always do. Go onto DT and sit on the main page, trying to work up the courage to go into chat but not quite getting there. Maybe I should upload this entry to DT. Never occurred to me to blog it before.
Almost time to do my night rounds. Clean my piercings, put BioOil on scars, dress my cuts. Same old routine that happens like clockwork.
Feeling so satisfied at the emptiness of my stomach. But I wish I were ashamed. I should feel like crap, and in a way I do. But not enough for it not to bother me. I can’t help but feel mental. WHY is it always the same questions after every purge? Do I expect myself to have come up with an answer? Wine in the fridge. It’s so cold here. I wonder if I’m shaking from the cold or something else. I wonder what I can do to myself next. I wonder what I WILL do to myself next. I wonder if I should be worried. If a normal person would be. If I would be if it were a friend? If course I would be. But right now, would I care?
Morgan’s brain tumour. That’s all I care about right now. Waiting for the surgery date to be set with a lump in my throat, in my chest, in my heart. Wondering how much worse she must be feeling.
