…to talk about it. Making the occasional post on Tumblr and writing the odd diary entry isn’t enough, it doesn’t move me forward; I just end up circling round and round the same old tracks.
I want so badly to make them listen, but I would never ever do that to them. It’s not their fault, is it? They don’t need to be bogged down with all the details. They shouldn’t need to feel responsibility towards me.
But sometimes I think they forget how miserable I feel about myself. Yesterday, she started a cereal diet. Then I came round for dinner and whilst she had a bowl of porridge, she sat and watched me eat pasta with tomato and mascarpone sauce with cucumber and carrot and pepper - her eyes were so green. She looked at me and said, “ugh, it’s so not fair that you get to be so tiny and eat whatever you want!”.
Oh yes. That’s exactly how it is. Thank you for reminding me how close I was to telling you not to bother cooking for me. Thank you for reminding me how much of a failure I feel when I eat more than you. Thank you, best friend. Thanks a fucking lot.
I crave explaining my unhappiness, but she thinks I’m crazy.
…Christmas. I absolutely adore it, I become a little kid all over again! There’s just something about it that makes me so happy.
What I hate is that I wasn’t able to enjoy it. For just one day I couldn’t not count calories or not feel guilty or not worry that I was being a greedy pig. Yes, I ate a lot yesterday (about 4500 calories, to be exact), but why should that matter to me so much?! I don’t binge, I don’t treat myself very often - so why do I feel like a complete failure because I ate what I wanted to eat?
I want so badly to get help and get over this, because I think about the future and I can’t bear the thought of feeling this way forever. I even made the decision this afternoon to seek help, to talk to my mum and get support, but within half an hour I’d changed my mind.
I need to remind myself that I can do this.