love is all there is...

All my bank accounts are screwed up. The bank said they fixed it, but I don't see it. I guess I will have to give it a couple of days. *insert another mad face here*

I managed to make it like 2 of the last four days (or is it one of the last 3?) without purging. That is better I guess than none, but not what I hoped for. I keep bouncing the same 3 pounds up and down up and down. Where is my self control?! I must regain it. Tomorrow I will be staying in my room ALL day except for my morning jog and to gather some applications (still no damn job).

I am trying to act happy. I want to go on the forums and post in support of others, but I feel too broken lately. I just can't bring myself to do it, you know?

One good thing at least: I got A's on my exams and essay's that I handed in recently. I so thought I failed them. I don't really even remember writing the papers or taking the exam. I am not going to complain, though. I just hope I can keep the A's coming. I must.

I changed my major to English, though I am not sure it is what I want entirely. I might do a double major in English and Psychology.. or maybe Major in Psych and minor in English. I got some books from the library on writing to see if I can learn how to write better from them.

It's been a while since I wrote anything different than a plain old update in this thing. I suppose I am about due for something weird or new. I will do that tomorrow, in the morning though. I must stay locked in my room the rest of the day. I also have cut out every single food in my life except 1/2 cup yogurt and lettuce with mustard and 1/4 an apple a day. Everything else tempts me too much and as we all can see I am weak.

Damn I feel so huge and fat today, I just want to cut chunks out of my flabby rolls and feed them to the dog. I am sure he would not mind eating them. Let him take my fat. Let him chew my fat.

My room smells like one big pot of vomit. There is vomit in the carpets.. on the trash can.. on the tile.. on the blankets. And I am too depressed to even do anything about it. I just don't care anymore. Don't care don't care don't care.

I just want to be thin. Thin thin thinnnnerrrr. I keep hearing this weird counting in my head. It goes 1 2 3 4 over and over. Everytime I exercise I get all shakey like the world is going to crash on my head. It is kind of interesting. I want to learn to revel in it. It means I am (was) doing well. I just know.

I have only lost just under 40 pounds since September 30th or so. What kind of weakness is that. I will figure out this not eating shit. Because I am determined. I mean, I used to be able to go a week or two, 200 cal/day up to 500 cal/day. Now I am just a weak weak weak bulimic that is fat. I would rather be skinny and purge little things like lettuce every now and then.. or my fatfree hot cocoa, even though it is my only meal.

Don't get me wrong: I rarely (but more often than I would like..) digest more than 500 calories in a day. But I am still fat. I am too fat to announce how fat I am because I am ashamed. I am a sad excuse for an eating disordered individual.

Bleh I am rambling on about that too much. So back to the numbers. What is this echo in my head? Well I don't know. But I also have been narrating my life. It is rather bewildering.. Like if I am outside walking and pacing, I narrate it.. As if I were telling a story to myself about some one who isn't me, yet the main character is acting out every movement I make as if this, too, (I, too am) is another echo. She paces, twisting scarred, dry hands (crumpled milk colored paper appendages) together.. a stale cigarette (good morning, it says..good morning, lets die) in her cracked and bleeding lips. She chews on her lip, chews.. as if she were attempting to devour her mouth, that traitor..betrayal...ever inhaling mouth. (ripping miniscule flakes, raw meat, pointless gash on painted china.. expressionless). She paces, faster and faster.. she can't stop (options, my dear..what are the options?). She eyes the oak tree in the yard; her eyes linger on a flaw in the old tree... a mass of disease, stained dark crimson and black and boiling around the upper branches as if to suffocate the tree with its bumps and curls, texture of cottage cheese or a yeast infection.. a tree infection (cloak encircling, shielding...so cold). Only the tree doesn't notice. (shrug, why should she). She paces, paces..takes a long draw and coughs. Curses at the icy morning air, chews on a blue hued finger and flicks the ash, flicks the ash, flicks the ash...off the cigarette that rests between twitchy fingers (twigs, inkless pens, scratched poetry on a wall...). She paces.. she walks.. It's like I am narrating myself, like another echo. A mimic. A shadow. A farce. The tree is really there, though. I wonder what that is , up there in the boughs of that old dead thing (is it dead?). I wonder if it feels grainy, smells like dog shit.

She doesn't know. She wonders.. I narrate her, er me, er..

So anyway lol enough of that. I don't know why I wrote that. I meant to talk about something entirely different, and well hell that is what came out.

Gonna head off to bed, I guess. I did about 300 crunches so far. I need to do some more. I have this roll of lard right on my abs. I must sound like such a superficial freak.

I really do think about other people..