Don't Tell Anyone I'm Blogging; It's a Secret

So, I've never been much into blogging. Frankly, I figure I'm ridiculously self-involved enough as it is that there's really no need to add another dimension to my narcissism, but lately I've been so bored that I'm willing to give it a try.

I'm bored because I live by myself in a studio apartment, and though I'm taking summer classes at my university (just for funsies), I am only enrolled in one at present (the summer semester is divided into two parts, and during the first part I took two classes), and it is quite easy. It's a poli-sci course taught by a raging Berkeley liberal.

I am not a raging Berkeley liberal.

I am a proud conservative who believes in gay rights, because honestly, any conservative who truly believes in less government interference should logically believe in gay rights. I am adamant about this, just as I am adamant about my love for guns, low taxes, and books about war.

But you don't need to know about all that; it's just backstory. What you need to know is why this blog is called "Fatless Shrugged." Two reasons, mainly:

1) I'm anorexic; and

2) I'm a smartass.

I am not pro-ana, unless by "pro" you mean "professional," in which case I most certainly am. Anorexia is like my job... more of a career, I've had it so long... and everything I do revolves around this sweet sweet poison. So I'm thinking most of what I write here is going to fall under the category of "distorted anorexic mindfuckery."

To give you the slightest hint of backstory (since I'm working on a book of the same name as this blog, I'll spare you the novella), I've had disordered eating and skewed body image all my life. No, I mean all my life. I have memories of restricting in preschool and kindergarten. I was never externally triggered to do this; not even indirectly. When I was in third grade I began chewing and spitting. I think my eating disorder proper began when I was nine. I say nine because I believe that was the age where I progressed from yo-yo dieting to continual, albeit slow, and for the most part futile, restriction. No, nothing groundbreaking happened in my life at that time. I was formally diagnosed with anorexia nervosa just after I turned 13, at which time I had a body mass index of around 13 and was on the verge of cardiac arrest. Since then, I've been in in five inpatient or residential programmes (technically four, as I was at one twice), one intensive outpatient programme, and three emergency rooms. That's my resume.

I completed my most recent stint in treatment at the end of February this year, and I've currently relapsed myself down to my pre-treatment weight. I plan to lose more. But I want to recover, I really do. I want to start turning this around at the end of the summer. I'm sort of like an addict with a quit date.

Let's just hope it works.