I want to know how much I weigh, damnit!!!!!!!
I miss my scale :(
I miss a lot, but not my extra fat. That can leave, die, burn in a fire. I need barely enough to survive. Food is just so fucking unnecessary. I hate it, actually. I hate the way it makes me feel. I hate how I have to sneak it. Sneak eating. Lol. Because I am embarrassed to eat in front of anyone.
Yesterday: My parents came and took me shopping. In the dressing room I tried on some dark skinny jeans and all I had on top was a white tank; I opened the door to show off the jeans. My mom stared at me. "You've lost a lot of weight. There's nothing to you now".
I said, "I told you that the first week after the fire I couldn't eat." I shut the door in her face and stared at my body, horrified. How dare I feel good after hearing her say that? My arms...are so. fat. and. gross. My stomach. My hips. My thighs.
Yes my face has shrunk. Yes my collarbones are more prominent. Yes my legs look skinnier. Yes I no longer wear a size seven jean, I wear a five. This is all great, but not good enough.
I want to lose more. I will. I want to know how much I freaking weigh. It's gotta be less than it was. I was holding steady around 130 for a while. I wonder if I am in the 120's?? Wouldn't that be grand?
Food is nothing. Nothing. NOTHING!!!
I live with two girls now. One is shorter than me, but definitely fatter. She stuffs her face with carbs everyday. Her favorite thing is canned spaghetti-os. I watched her eat a meatball sub the other night after the bar. I didn't get a sub. I ate nothing that night. Because I hate food and how it makes me feel.
My other roommate (the one I actually share a room with) is skinny and total thinspo. We are exactly the same height. She is definitely a little skinnier though. I know she struggles with Ana, I see it.
I encourage her to eat, muahahaha.
So. Back to yesterday. After trying on clothes and getting some new ones, the three of us (my parents and I) decided to get dinner. Surprise, surprise. We always do that when they come. They love food.
I sipped my water and watched my Dad devour a cream-based soup. It looked disgusting, God, Dad, if you are going to eat soup make it a light broth, a veggie/tomato based broth. Everyone knows that anything with cream is super fattening and artery clogging.
Anyway. I ordered a portabello mushroom sandwich with a side salad instead of fries.I ate the salad, except for the croutons. There was shit-ton of croutons. I used to love croutons, I ate them out of the bag like chips. I used to be fat and stupid too...moving on.
They watched me pile the damn croutons on the table, while I explained lamely that I craved salad, and not hard, old, bread.
Then the food came. I took the top of my sandwich roll off and cast it aside. I ate the bottom of the roll, with the shroom on top, open face style. It was fucking good, like pizza.
And so those two simple steps, no croutons and less bread, saved me hundreds of calories. Maybe 200.
My parents are on to me, though.
Too bad I don't care.
I refuse to be fat. I refuse to feel fat. When I feel fat I hate myself.
I have too much going on to hate myself.
I need to focus.
Stay away from the fattening food, people. Order salad instead of fries if you must go out to eat. You won't even miss them. I did stare longingly at my Dads fries for awhile, until I told myself that I have had many fries in my life. I know what they taste like. I know what they will do to me. One ingested means that I screwed up. So I stayed away. And you know what? I think that is an accomplishment.
I want to know what I weigh. It is driving me nuts.