Journal #4

I guess I will keep this blog as a separate entity from wordpress. I upload that one more, and I think I even have more followers, but fuck it. I like blogger a lot, so I will continue from where I stopped.

Some really nasty things have been going on in my head. Real bad, real dark - and as always I try to deal with it in the wrongest way possible. I got drunk and decided to go back to the ABC diet. That is the only died that ever worked for me, and in all honesty, I feel a bit better now that I have that kind of routine. I know how much I can consume, I know when to fast.

I purged a lot in the time I was away from blogger. And I mean, A LOT. That is also why I opted for starting the ABC diet again. Maybe I will not binge and purge as much.

Apart from that... well. Life is always pretty silent, S. does not help at all, I fought with him constantly, I have trouble waking up due to depression and I draw a lot of scary things. Anorexic women stares vacantly at me from the easel. Tied up girls with loads of tattoos. Mannequins and puppets, as if it was a damn Hans Bellmer picture. I guess my creativity is always positively influenced by my disordered life.

Notes to Myself #1

I cannot sleep at night.
I need to tire myself, collapse – I imagine or maybe dream
of alternative realities.
I do not sleep well, I have nightmares.
I am anxious almost every day.
I smoke too much, I drink, I eat too little.
I am obsessed with Cup-a-soup.
Tea, menthol cigarettes.
I feel confused all the time, and when I think I´m feeling better
I panic.
I can´t talk about anything, but I will
reply to everything.
If you ask me how I´m doing, I will answer that
I am fine.
I will tell you nothing, because
I do not know what is going on.
(Maybe you do not want to talk about it.)
I cannot stay still, and yet
I cannot move.

Breathing #1

(Breath in…)

I had a meltdown recently. Less than a week ago. I could blame the energy drinks, the lack of food and sleep. But I don´t, I blame my inability to live. I truly feel like I cannot function properly. I get damaged easily, and it takes me a lot of time to properly start working again. I shake, I scratch.

I am working on the book cover. I am studying. I go out with S., and only with S. because I have no friends. If we meet someone, S. knows them. I rarely talk to my parents – they do not know how to use the internet and I do not turn on my cellphone. What is the point when nobody is calling or texting you.

I will never be perfect. I will never get to that perfect size that would make people love me. It would make S. treat me better, truly appreciate me. It would make me find friends, come out of my shell…

I have many hobbies. I can hold a conversation – put on this wonderful mask of “normality” and chat about almost anything. History, politics, art, video-games – you name it and I will have something to say. But I whisper to white walls, nobody hearing my voice.

I sleep too much. I have nightmares, but I sometimes dream. And that is enough to keep me in bed, eyes shut and little movie-like situations playing in my head. Happier places, happier people. My name is different and my life is fulfilling.

I try new recipes. I bake cookies and cakes. I cook italian, japanese, korean for an empty table. Sometimes – while I am preparing a new dish – I like to pretend friends will come over soon. I open a bottle of wine, I sip from a fancy glass while I scrub the house. I decide what ambient music I should play in the background during dinner. I find myself taking small bites, chewing slowly in front of my computer screen. Alone, most of the time. Because S. has his dinner and his things to do – he has no time to sit at the table with me. He puts on his headphones and I chew silently in my corner. Sometimes I cry, when I am sure he will not hear me.

(Loneliness slowly chews you. It bites away pieces of you, from the inside. It leaves you empty, dehydrated, starving.)

I do not know if I will ever be perfect. I do not even have a clear mental image of how that would feel like, or how I would look like if I were perfect. And I am aware that perfection does not exist. But what else I have left.

(Obsession, nightmares, starvation…)

I have a boyfriend, but I do not feel loved. I have skills, but I feel worthless. I am healthy, but I know I am sick. I have a fat suit, but I wish I was bones. But I keep smiling, joking, play video-games, do everything a normal young adult does. I try to adapt, I try to shape myself into something common, I try to appear harmless. To not upsets others, because maybe, if I do not upset them, maybe they will love me.

(… breath out.)

I am not alone. Mia is here.

Journal #3 (bonus: Rant #1)

Today I decided to fast. It is a way to punish myself for eating an entire pizza last night. Well, it was the only thing I ate for the entire day, and I used whole-wheat flour and vegan home-made mozzarella, but still. I think I deserve to starve for a day, despite what the scale says. I actually noticed that the less I eat, the less I want to eat. It is marvellous how the human body, and how fucked up my mind can be at times. I actually started to find food somehow disgusting: sometimes it is the consistency of the food, sometimes the way it smells, sometimes it is the color.

(and now a little rant over silly internet shit I happen to read)

Juice does not make me gag though, so I decided to drink only that for a day or two - that and the "Fasting Tea" I found at the local grocery store. Because - and I had no clue this is actually a thing - fasting is a "lifestyle". No, really - look it up. Now, I was aware of what Anorexia Mirabilis is - and found it incredibly fascinating. It is deeply different from Anorexia Nervosa, and a dead phenomenon by now. Nobody starves themselves for religious reasons anymore, it is all about the body image, or a punishment, or pretty much any other reason you could find. But not religion, not anymore.

So, I knew fasting could be linked to Christianity, but I couldn´t even fathom that some people would think of starvation with juices as a lifestyle. A lifestyle mind you, not a diet. Do not worry about the headaches you will get, they will go away. Or the cravings. And no, this diet does not include smoothies or milkshakes. Once the toxins leave your body you´ll feel much better (nevermind that is not how toxins work). Keep on juicing!

There are some people that go as much as do this for 60 days, and this is supposed to be healthy. I am not an expert on nutrition (how the fuck could I, with what I go through everyday), but I am fairly certain that you do need your proteins, and calcium, and K2 to connect said calcium to your bones, and your B12 and D3 and A. Some of those you cannot get from fresh produce, no matter how much you wish it would happen.

You see, you can call it fasting all you want, but at the end of the day, you are still not eating. You are depriving your body of food and nutrients that it needs to survive, so it is no difference from what AN sufferers do. The difference from what I can gather  is in the quality of the juice. DIY your juice with a very expensive machine and fresh, organic produce and there you go. You are not starving yourself, you are detoxifying your body. Why is that different from I do? How is that okay with society, but what I do is not? Why is that promoted on websites as a natural healthy way of living? I am not questioning the harmful way I treat my body - with or without my consent most of the times - I am fully aware that what I do is dangerous, and not okay, I am questioning that lifestyle. Is it in the intentions behind your actions? Is that okay because they can stop, and I simply cannot?

(end of the rant, back to the journal)

An entire pizza has really shaken my day. It made me feel full, and incredibly guilty. And sick to the stomach, too. I didn´t eat carbs in weeks without immediately run to the toilet, and yesterday I did. It made me feel incredibly self-conscious, almost painfully so. It does not matter if the pants are starting to be baggy, if the shirt falls from my shoulders, if the bra has room now. It does not matter, the skinny girl inside my head keeps on screaming I am screwing up all of our conjoined efforts. I am truly developing a fear of food. No, that is not true. I am becoming conscious of my fear of food. In other words, it is getting worse - and I do know that knowing is the first step to get better, but it is not for me. I had set goals for myself, and I have to reach and achieve them.

My fear of being in public for too long, my terror at social encounters with strangers - that might go away once I am no longer ashamed of my body. My artist block, my inability to lift a pencil or a brush. I always feel like I do not deserve to be a creative person, if I do not have the body to sponsor those pieces of work. If I am not beautiful enough, I have no right to create and draw beautiful women and work on those story-lines involving strong confident women. How can I, when the best I can do is hide in flattering shadows? How can I write of beauty, when I feel and offense to aestheticism?

And the strangest thing is, what applies to me - this fucked up logic, does not apply to others. In my head, it does not apply to others. You do not have to be beautiful to paint, or sing, or dance. You do not have to be thin to speak to people and have friends. But I do.

I have to pick a pencil, I really have to. I have a commission due to the end of this month, for a book - and if I do not manage I will not only piss off the publisher, I will also lose a great chance. And that because I have to count calories and check my BMI at any given moment of my day. And research stupid ways of punish myself that do not include a blade and some blood-soaked paper tissues.

Journal #2

My day starts at 6:30 am. That is when the laxative I took the night before kicks in, and the cramps wake me up. I drag myself to the toilet, holding my stomach, the pain enough to keep me awake but not enough to make me fully conscious. I finish, still cramping, and drag myself back to bed, where I sleep and toss around and think about food for about an hour.

At 7:30 I think about having breakfast. I go on websites to check the calories for oranges, slices of apples, berries. I memorized the calories for my greek yogurt a long time ago. I drink my laxative tea and wait. I try to occupy my time, I do stretching while thinking about lunch, dinner, what I will do in the afternoon. I take my vitamins. I try my hardest to postpone my breakfast, but eventually I succumb to the hunger and eat.

The rest of the morning is spent smoking, checking calories and cooking lunch. Cleaning the kitchen, painting or drawing.

At lunch time my stomach hurts from hunger. I truly believe that the appetite suppressant pills do not work on me. I take 3 everyday, but I am still hungry. I sit down at the table, staring at my small plate. They say that eating in a small plate, with a small fork, tricks your brain into believing you are eating more. I am fully conscious that it is just plain stupid, but it is easier to clean afterwards. My boyfriend is at school, and I am alone, free to eat in front of thin girls, or naked looking at my belly. I stare at the plate, and I am already thinking about dinner. It is like doing cocaine: the moment you have it, you are already thinking about the next line you´ll do. I eat my lunch, and I do not feel full, never do. I eat it all, and then - sometimes - I run back to the kitchen and stuff my face. Then I run to the bathroom, throw everything up. 

The afternoon is the hardest part: I have set a rule for myself, I will only eat at specific hours. And dinner is a long way, so I do anything I can to keep my hands occupied. I cook lunch for S., I play videogames. I paint - and this all affair is doing wonder for my artistic drive. I do all of this, while craving hamburgers, pizza, pasta, sushi. Instead, I drink peppermint tea because I read somewhere that it supposedly reduces your appetite.

Dinner is in the company of S.. He has his own plate, a big, full of delicious food plate. He knows I am on a strict diet, so he does not question the sadness on my plate. If he manages to tempt me into taking a bit from his plate, I immediately think of stuffing myself, and if I do, I excuse myself to the toilet. I blame the laxative, I blame the fish I ate. I wash my face, I use mouthwash. I go back to the main room and drink 3 cups of green tea.

At midnight I drink my laxative tea. It tastes of wet grass, but I gulp it down anyway. I kiss him goodnight, and think about breakfast. I usually collapse fairly soon, and I probably have nightmares that make me nervous in the morning.

And repeat. Everyday. A copy of a copy of a copy, repeatrepeatrepeat.

Weirdly enough, I find comfort in this fucked up routine.

Journal #1

Today I found myself rummaging in the trash bag. Two times. I was desperately looking for the envelope of the fish I bought two days ago. To check the calories, which I already did several times in the grocery store. When I pulled my hands out they were covered in mold, tomatoes seeds and rotting low-calorie cheese...

---

Dinner time terrifies me. It literally gives me chills. I think about it since the moment I put down the fork after lunch. I think about it while I clean the dishes, while I paint, while I smoke my afternoon cigarette. And it scares me - the obsession, the calories, if it is going to be enough to fill me up until the next morning. Until I can get more food inside of me, and hate myself for it.

I think about food constantly. CONSTANTLY. It is in the nature of Mia, to make me think about food all the time. It is in my nature to get easily obsessed and dependent. 

Mia is dirty. I realized that. It is dirty and disgusting, and it makes you crawl on your bathroom floor. That is why today I tried my hardest not to binge. And how hard it is...

And yet I did not. I did not sit down in front of the fridge, cooked for hours, ordered 3 large pizzas. I didn´t, and this, this stupid act makes me a little happy. Makes me feel less empty, as I were in control.

(Unlike yesterday, when you ate bread and sausages and whatever was in front of you until your stomach was hurting of how full it was... and then, empty again - with puffy red cheeks, tears, and bloodshot eyes.)

I had dinner, my usual 3 cups of green tea, my appetite suppressant pill. I can manage. I can go on until tomorrow, and I can go to sleep knowing I managed to survive another day in control of myself.

The entire dinner was about 180 calories. I should not feel guilty, right? Right?

There is a voice, Mia´s voice, inside my head that tells me I should...

Bones #1

She is my ultimate thinspo. Whenever I feel like eating I look at this picture and remind myself that maybe one day I could look like her. 

Fat fat fat everywhere.

I will see my collar bones one day.

I will manage, and I will be thin, so thin I could fly away, bony, bones bones bones everywhere, visible in all their glory. High bony cheekbones, bony collarbones, bony thighs and bony ankles, bony wrists and bony fingers able to grab and hold on something.

There are 206 bones in the human body. And I want to see all of them.

I want my clothes to hang on me, it will be easier to hide, hide in the corners and in the shadows. I want my shadow to be thin, I want it to be confused with the branches of the trees. I want to do this for myself, I want to be perfect.

I want to show off my beautiful bones.

fat fat fat everywhere...

206 bones in the human body.

And in the mirror, I want to see all of them.

Hi, my name is...

My surname is not Becker, but it´s the first thing that came to my mind. My name is not really Mia, but I wish it was because it would be so very fitting. I am a 20-something years old woman, a painter, a wannabe comic-book artist, a chain-smoker, a great cook and lots of other things. But the most important, in regard of this blog, is that I have an Eating Disorder. And this blog is going to be my weight loss journal.

We could say that Mia is me, and it is also the skinny girl that lives inside my head.

Why Mia?

I am not anorexic, I could never even think of fasting that much and eating that little. I just can´t. I did try, but I always failed and found myself in front of the fridge eating whatever was pre-cooked, available or right in front of me. And then, once I am done, and there are empty plastic wraps all around me, like in a daze I move to the toilet and purge. It is a cycle, rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat.

Do I want to be like this? Do I consider this a lifestyle? No, and yes. I wish I didn´t have to struggle constantly to control myself. I wish I was blessed with a thin figure that would make my mother proud, that beast that yelled at me since the day I came out of her womb. But it is a lifestyle, because I am aware that my entire life revolves around this, the cycle and the calories, the pills I take and the depression, and the futile joy I feel when I see the grams lost on the scale.

I am not perfect, but I struggle to be.

I do not want this blog to encourage other people into the life of EDs, but maybe this could be a place for them to find someone to talk to. I have been struggling with depression and loneliness all my life, and maybe, just maybe, I can turn that into something helpful to others.

If you feel like talking, leave me a message at mialifestyle21@gmail.com and I will be happy to reply.