I have been body checking like a motherfucker. I had a panic attack over a plate of spaghetti this afternoon. The morning started out well. Really well. I made banana fucking pancakes. With brown sugar. But no syrup. I hate syrup. Always have. Then as a snack I had a couple pretzels and some bites of a few other random things that were lying around my parents' kitchen because my body was like, "oh, look. Real food. What does this taste like again? Interesting. Okay, I'm done here." And then I tried to make spaghetti this afternoon. And I freaked the fuck out.
Anyway, I didn't eat much of the spaghetti. But I had some cheese and crackers later after I calmed down, and got back on track. Point is, I ate enough over all today. Probably more than enough to maintain. And I swear I look so huge. My face is so fat. My arms are getting fat. My legs and thighs are fat. I don't care what the body checks "prove." The body checks and measurements lie. The mirror doesn't. The mirror is my god. Since my scale is currently in an airport parking lot 3000 miles away and I'm terrified that the next time I get on it it'll read that I've gained a ton of weight.
This is so fucking useless. I'm sure I look normal. I look beyond normal. I look... I don't know what the right word is. "Puffy" might be a good word. Big. Broad. Boxy. Bulky. I guess we're going for "b" words now? Bloated. It's like I can feel myself getting fatter as I type this. Fucking food, man. Fucking calories and shit.
I miss restricting. See, I told you this was going to happen. This is EXACTLY what I thought was going to happen. I give myself two fucking weeks MAX after fall semester starts until I'm back to 500 calories. Maybe 800 if I'm lucky. Two weeks max. Less if I don't get cast in "Cabaret," which we're doing this fall and which I've wanted to be in ever since I knew it existed. I'd like to play Sally Bowles. But the director has also opened the part of Emcee to women, and I would be more than eternally grateful if I got Emcee. 'Cause nothing screams "accolade" like pulling off an androgynous metaphor for Nazi Germany. I keep going back and forth on which part I'd want more. If I don't get cast, here's what's going to go down in my head between myself and my eating disorder (this is not a diva fit/threat; it's just a known fact based on prior experience):
ED (NOT "Ed." E-D. It's just an abbrev, folks): So... you're kinda fat.
Me: Yeah, I know.
ED: Also, you've really got nothing going for you at this point. No show to work on, nothing to really do... you're a shitty actress. Like, you used to be good. Now that you don't have me, you're not good anymore. I don't know what it is about that, but it's weird, you know?
Me: Yeah.
ED: Anyway... how about you come back to me? We had a lot of fun together. You can wear all your favourite clothes and look all skeletal and shit, and people will stare at you when you walk by and you'll be the skinniest girl when you go out. If you come back right now, it really won't be long at all until you're right back where you were at your sickest. A couple weeks, maybe a month if you're lazy? You'll be successful again. At something.
Me: Yeah.
ED: You'll be so happy. I just... I don't want to see you all fat and miserable. I don't want you to keep eating and eating and gaining weight and being so far away from your lowest point and hating yourself for it. Because let's face it: what guarantee is there that when you're at this disgustingly high "healthy weight," you'll be happy? You know what you'll be? Nothing. You won't matter. You'll feel like toasted shit.
Me: Yeah...
ED: So just take a couple minutes right now... and throw out all your disgusting food. Go buy some nice, anorexic-friendly delicacies and we'll be golden. Back in business.
Me: Okay.
ED: Perfect. Just like you. Someday.
That's roughly how it would go down. Something like that. Lies lies lies lies. It's lies. I can't buy into it. But I will. How could I not? It all sounds so true.
I swear I look so fat. I'm sure nobody thinks I'm skinny anymore. I'm sure of it. I hate it. I cannot do this. It's just... no. I can't do it.
Told you.
Fucking body image. WHY DOES THIS EVEN MATTER?
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