One - zero - zero - zero

   Please, Dad, bring me there at four. And you take ma at seven.
   Sure.. I'm not doing that.
   Come one, I won't exercise for three hours straight. I'll take breaks.
   Three hours is too much.
   But I WILL take breaks!
   You know what.. I don't care. I'll bring&take you then.


   This was the day I have been waiting for, for such a long time. Three hours at the gym, that must be enough to burn one thousand calories, one damn thousand.

    A few minutes past 4: I arrive. I go into the locker room, it is empty. Thank God. I take my eight laxatives, "I hope I won't be shitting around here. Wait until home, just wait until you get home."

Elliptical:  300 kcal, 3.6 km
               300 kcal, 3.6 km
Bike:       100 kcal, 6.0 km
               100 kcal, 6.0 km
                70  kcal, 4.3 km
Treadmill: 105 kcal, 1.45 km
                 25  kcal, 0.45 km.
              _______________
           1000 calories, 25.4 km


   Then I breathe relieved.

   Seven o'clock, Dad picks me up. We go home, I eat, bathe, eat, the laxatives are not kicking in. If they don't kick in during the night, I will have to skip school. I would rather stay awake he entire night in awful pain and sweat than go to school and have those symptoms there. This can't happen. I have drunk lots of liquids, but I do not even have cramps yet. I hate the human body.

    Finally, one thousand.

Random Journal Entry #4

This is a picture of Chanelle.

Pick up a random object that has a special meaning to you and describe it in as much detail as possible. I have picked a picture of myself.

Nostalgia: A monologue

   I remember the way I felt when I first touched this picture, after a long period of not having seen it. I remember you. At the age of one, you had an honest smile; shiny, glowing eyes; a round, chubby, childlike face and body. You were small and light as a feather.

   You were the first child in the family. Your mother, father, your four grandparents, your aunts, your great-grandmother and her family, your godparents, the neighbors: everyone's attention was focused on you, little girl, little old me, fair-haired doll. You were loved.

   How did you change through all these years? What has changed you, what has made you what you are now? Was it all the love you received, all the attention that was thrown at you, was it the eyes constantly watching you? Was it the loneliness? Was it the fact that you were smart, a lot smarter than all the kids your age? Was it your grown-up mind? What could it have been, that has made your life take a 180° turn, that has turned you against the world, against yourself?

It was you.

   Look at those hands. Really, look at them now. Look at your hands and tell me what you see. You see two hands which played with toys, which hugged family and friends, which turned the pages of picture books and which got dirty. What I see is two hands that go down my throat, that make me vomit; I see a right hand that takes a razor and cuts the wrist of the left hand; I see hands that touch the body of a person who rarely touches back; I see the hands that shove food in the mouth; I see hands that take pills into the mouth; I see hands that clean up vomit. I see hands that are always cold.

These hands are not mine

   

   Also, I invite you to look at the face. The joyful eyes, the happy smile. What I see? Teeth chewing a ridiculous amount of food, vomit coming out, teeth hurting, throat bleeding, nose running, eyes crying, mascara spreading all over my face, vomit and toilet water splashing my entire face. I see the lips and tongue that lick the blood from my cuts. I see the yellow eyes, exhausted because the body did not receive food. I see the lips that kissed boys and girls, the lips that have only kissed one other pair of lips for an entire year -- a pair of lips  whose words have metaphorically killed, murdered. All I see is black.

That face is not mine.

Dare you look at the body? Look how tiny you were, look at the almost non-existing hair, look at the short legs, the chubby body frame, you could fit into a box. The metamorphosed version is tall (long), slim, like a snake. The long, blonde hair is falling out, there are cuts on your wrists, arms, chest, abdomen, hips, legs, calves, ankles. I tried to cut you into tiny, little pieces. I cut you. I took your hand, led you to my bathroom, sliced your skin, cleaned. It hurt you a bit, but I did not care.

Would you dare hurt a child?

   We are two different people. I am here; older than you, typing our story -- together; and each on her own. I know more about you than anyone knows. I know more about myself than anyone knows. I live in a house with my parents and brother, go to a German school, have an ED. I have a passion for writing, I enjoy reading, especially in the English language. I have many friends. They think they know me, but they are wrong. Despite that, I never tell them anything. This is me. You are...

Dead.

And I'm sorry for murdering you, little baby.

The quiet place

   Three days of eating normally. Three days with no binge, no throwing up (or attempting to), only laxatives on Friday and gym on Friday and Saturday morning (today). It has been so different. I planned what to eat. I stuck to my plans and everything went well.
 
   I lost weight while eating, which seemed totally impossible until now. I knew it was possible for everyone else, just not for me. I have eaten more today, since it is a weekend-day and I am home. But I went to the gym, burned 600 calories and first ate at four o'clock in the afternoon. I came home and ate a little more, then had a proper dinner. I feel full now, but not a "God, I could explode anytime now," but more like "It is okay, I have eaten, and even if the scale shows a major gain, I know it is food weight and even more water weight. I will not eat anything else, not because I feel I have eaten too much* binged, but because I feel satiated."

*I feel I have eaten too much. First, in the "anything-above-zero-is-too-much" way, but I can live with that for now. Secondly, I feel bloated and uncomfortable, but I pray to God it will pass and that I won't wake up and freak out because the scale shows too much.

   I weighed 57.3 this morning, after the laxatives. Since laxative loss quickly comes back, I should be around 57.5, and because I have eaten more today, maybe somewhere around 57.7-.8, because right after eating I weighed 58.9, but I hope I will lose at least one kilo overnight.. That's how it works when I don't binge. One thing I always thought, but never actually said: Eating disorders help you practice Maths.

   I want to play World of Warcraft. I played for an hour at school, it is exactly the same as The Age of Empires (the version I used to play in 2004-2005.. such a long time ago), but instead of humans, it has monsters. I don't like the creatures so much, but I'd love to try something new.

   I should also write some more Random Journal Entries. Just.. not now.

    Check out the quiet place.

Control

   These days have been awful. There is this promise that you make after every single binge, every single purge: I hate myself, I fucking swear I'm never eating anything again in my entire life, I want to die.

   The next day, you have some food, then some more and a little bit more. You are still okay, but then you think "a little more won't do any harm," so you eat a bit more. Soon, you realize what you have just done: You have eaten food. So you start to binge and binge, because you will purge anyways. You make the weirdest mixtures ever, croissants with cheese, toast with cheese, cheese with ketchup, some cereals, some chips, a yogurt, strawberries, tomatoes, some Sprite and Coke, some water, some bread, chocolate, corn flakes, musli, green onion, cucumber, three types of ice cream, croissants with finetti, M&M's, waffles, energy drink: a bit of everything, but it only looks real after you write it down and see it has taken you three rows, all of which is food you eat during one single binge. It is funny enough if you manage to throw it up (though you never get to throw up everything). But wait a minute! It is hilarious when you eat that much food without managing to purge it. Then you cry and cut and are desperate because you only ate that much food because you knew you were going to throw up, but failed.

   That's when I lose control. Because I can't control my body, I can only control my thoughts. Or the other way around. Sometimes I can control my body (hunger/throw up) but can't control my thoughts (eat eat eat, fat fat fat). Sometimes I can't control my body (I can't make myself purge), but I can always control my thoughts (eat eat eat). Thing is, I do not control my thoughts and my body starts listening to them.

 

   Today was an exception. My first plan was, obviously, this: No fucking food. Everything went well until I entered the house and lost control: I ate the top layer of a plate with cream of wheat. Thoughts: I broke my promise. I lost control. Next thought: Let's lose control again, but this time, control how much you lose control.

   Which I did. I planned it clearly: Eat the plate with the cream. Then milk with cereal. Then strawberries. 

I changed my mind after that: Cream of wheat. Salad (onions, tomatoes, cucumber, cheese). Strawberries.

   And it went alright. I had some vanilla milk after, because that was planned longer ago. It is 10 pm, I have eaten, I did not motherfucking binge, I am alright. I want to see some results in the morning. This is the first "normal" night in such a long time. I do not want to purge. I know I would not be able to, either.

   Today was a perfect chaos.

Just a cold

   I met toothbrush yesterday. We started playing and all that, but then we had to stop because she was bleeding. Poor toothbrush ;(

   I have had a cold over the weekend. Fever and all that. But yesterday, a binge/purge session kept me from functioning today, so I stayed at home. Fever, coughing, runny nose, fucked throat (toothbrush!), fucked back of the tongue, pain in the bottom left of my abdomen. Since I wasn't going to school anyway, I took eight laxatives and slept 11 hours. I didn't eat anything until tonight, because I couldn't taste/smell/swallow food.

   Funniest thing ever happened when I went to theater. They all saw I was sick to hell and back, wore no make up, etc. I told one girl I felt like throwing up (laxative nausea). We've known each other for almost ten years now. She asks,
"Have you ever thrown up? I can't imagine you like that."
   No. Of course not. I just want see if I can touch my stomach with my fingers, or am occasionally playing with my toothbrush in my throat to see if I can taste the toothpaste down there. Silly you, why would I throw up?
"Of course I did," I answer and laugh.

   I arrived home just in time to not shit my pants. I don't do it without laxatives, anyway. I could go a lifetime without shitting if I didn't have lax. Even funnier thing! I took Nurofen. One or two pills each day. Hello, my old friends, looks like I'll be swallowing you for other reasons than killing myself. Silly me. You won't ever kill me. I dare you. I double-dare you.


   I could have gone to school, of course. I would not have been able to talk, breathe, stay awake or anything for that matter, but I would have ended up alright. Maybe some falling down the stairs or something like that (like last time I felt sick and went to school), but nothing more.

   I didn't go because, after a week of eating, I feel awful.  I feel disgusting. The laxatives and this "cold" brought my weight down, but I don't know if it will stay stat way. Miss, you are not allowed to go up over night. You should stay down. Down down down, not any higher than 57.5, it can't be that much. I won't gain so much over night, because I weighed 56.8 in the evening after drinking a liter of liquids. I have eaten, but people lose weight over night, so hopefully my body will act like a human body, at least tonight.

   Conclusion: I love being sick. I enjoy it, because it makes you lose weight and you have no appetite. I didn't binge today. I took laxatives today. I should be fine. My nose still runs, my eyes hurt, my throat is numb but still hurts like hell, the abdominal pain will stay there forever (because of the throwing up). I refused seeing a doctor for obvious reasons.

   Because my cold is an eating disorder. My eating disorder is just a cold.

Krypton

   Krypton

• from Greek: κρυπτός kryptos "the hidden one"
• a colorless, odorless, tasteless noble gas
• it [...] is useful in photography as a brilliant white light source.
• it is considered to be a non-toxic asphyxiant
• breathing a gas containing 50% krypton and 50% air would cause narcosis [...] and potentially could affect anyone breathing it. Nevertheless, that mixture would contain only 10% oxygen and hypoxia would be a greater concern.

   I am officially in love with krypton.

Four o'clock, never let me sleep

   I am shivering, I am burning. I am in awful laxative pain, 9 or 10 laxatives I've taken at almost 10 PM last night, while walking down the narrow streets between the blocks. Phone in my right hand, left hand fingers moving around quickly. I watch every stranger's hand that passes by, "Maybe he has a knife and will attack me," or the dark, suspicious cars. The mysterios bushes that whisper terrifying words, that make slow moves.. That watch you and every step you make.

   Then there is me, the girl who desperately takes pills from her wallet, wondering where the fuck the 10th pill is, or if I had already taken it.

  Now I am lying awake, freezing. My very "delicate" blood-and-shit shitting obviously woke up grandma, because she is waken by each and every sound in the house. I feel bad, because she has many more problems and don't want her to worry. On the other hand, I do not want to be questioned, either.

   I'll close my tired eyes, bury my freezing body under this thin blanket and my thoughts underneath my skin.

   It's 4:29 AM.

The lake and the willows

   I choose the route which is more beautiful. I do not like the populated roads, so I choose to go through the blocks. There are trees, there is much shadow and the birds are singing, there are no people.

   Suddenly, I feel pain in my abdomen, I have tears in my eyes and a runny nose. I walk and walk, not knowing where I am, but only the destination. Then I arrive, 20 minutes earlier. I walk down the road and meet a classmate, shortly greet him and walk further. I reach the lake -- I stop by, find a place to sit and watch the water, the willow trees. The wind blows through my hair.

   Twelve minutes left.

   I have ten laxatives in my wallet. Looking forward to 9 PM. I want to drown myself, not because I am depressed but because it sounds fun. Death sounds fun, too.

   I should go.

How I comfort myself

   It is okay, you will be dead someday. It is going to be over someday, everyone you know is going to be dead and no one will know of you anymore. You will be forgotten. Get over it, it is going to be fine someday, you will be dead.. you will be gone.

Real

   Today I was oscillating between "no food", "liquids only" and "let's eat normally." I ended up choosing the last one, because my metabolism maybe needs some food to keep working well, and I want it to work well. So I ate and ate, not much, but still too much. I went home and tried to throw up for a few minutes, panicking after failing. I drank water - loads of it, and vomited hands-free. For the first time in my life, without even meaning to. Then I threw up in the sink. Then in the bathtub. It came up so easily. 

   

   It was the first time ever in my life, that vomiting felt like vomiting, not purging. 

   If you know what I mean. It was so liquid and splashed around in the bathtub, I saw the spaghetti and God knows what brownish thing.. I felt sick, like "car-sick"-sick. It felt natural. It felt real. 

   It is 8:30 and I am home alone. I have a semester paper tomorrow. I want to go to college abroad, far away from my parents. I don't want to see them anymore. I haven't spoken to her since yesterday, neither have I seen her. It feels so quiet and peaceful. All I need is to be left alone. I am getting along well with my dad. I can't be upset with him, despite having fought for and hour with him yesterday. And I can't stand her, despite what I said above. I want her gone. It's me or her.