I am the most disgusting person on the planet.

I can feel a relapse tugging at me. I decided only yesterday to maintain my weight, but I feel the need to lose more and more. It hurts to think about, honestly. It's hard to even get through the day anymore. I want to starve. Why did everyone stop me? Why did I stop me?
If I don't lose weight tommorow, I'm going back. Back to fucking hell.

It's all flooding back now...

I came across a forum topic on the site Pretty Thin today. It made me think back to when I first got the sense that I wasn't good enough. It started long ago, back in elementary school. Due to my shitty memory, I'm going to write this in a story telling fashion. Prepare yourselves for a mini novel.

I stared out the window. Kindergarten. The room's atmosphere was light but stuffy, and shining rays of sun consistently glineted in the corner of my eyes. There was a dark carpet that kept scratching at my thighs as my class and I sat in front of the teacher. Her name was Ms. Medrich. She was always a nice woman, plump, with messy brown hair and a knit sweater. It was storytime; Everyone was hudled closely together around the red bean bag chair that we were only allowed to yearn for. A few children idled in the farther edges of the back of the room. This happened occasionally, and it always led to Ms. Medrich calling those students lazy and telling them to come closer.
This is just what happened. Numerous kids that were viewed as popular joined us in the half circle around the bean bag chair. The two girls who were best friends and nothing alike (Gabrielle and Taylor), the black kid who always held grudges against anyone who stole the ball in a basketball game (Jamal), and the kid who nobody talked to for picking his nose (Robby). Jamal attempted to get a better seat by stepping over me. He'd stepped right on top of my knee and hand, simotaneously. He glared at me.
"Move it! You're so fat..." He'd said the last part quietly. No one had heard. Except me.

A line, arranged by height. Me in my ugly twilight shirt and shredded up skinny jeans that weren't in fashion yet. Fifth Grade. The same stuffy room. The same atmosphere of self conciousness and discomfort. I was standing beside my old friend, Shelbey. She was pretty at the time, inside and out. I zoned in on the blue carpet, lost in thought. A boy named Matt looked over at me. I used to have a crush on him, and now, all I could think was 'I bet he thinks I'm ugly.'
Later that day, I entered my house. Reaching into the freezer, I grabbed the entire bag of frozen chicken nuggets and sat down to wait for them to cook. My parents looked at me, and jokingly said "You're getting a little chubby, punky-pies," and "You're gonna look like a balloon." They had no clue how much it effected me.

Sixth grade. I was lazing around on the couch, patiently waiting once more for the oven to finish cooking. This time, it was a pizza. I ate the entire thing. I then went to the bathroom, dead-set on purging, only to find myself too weak. I sat crying on the toilet.

Seventh grade. Locker rooms. Pretty girls. Ugly me.

Eighth grade. The year other people really started to criticize me. More specifically, Miranda Marshall-Faulkner. I'm not one to point fingers, but this was a huge role in my eating disorder. She used to say I was fat. All of the time. It's only damned fair that she feels self concious around me now! She deserves it! ...And... that's the vengeful bitch in me talking. Nobody deserves that. Nobody deserves Ana. Anyway, back to the 'story.'
It was Tech. Seventh hour. A girl named Lizzie Schad started talking to me in her 'hipster' way, obviously putting on some kind of fake, annoying personality to fit in. I don't remember much, but from what I do, weight had come up as a topic. She'd mumbled after we were done talking: "But I weigh less than you..." And let's be honest. Lizzie was pretty fucking chubby.
As Miranda and I walked up the stairs exiting the class and moving to next hour, we spoke about the dance coming up. It was a formal dance, I believe. I was talking about where I was going to get my dress.
Miranda spoke. "So you're borrowing a dress from Alex (Notbusch)?" She stared at me, turning her head crooked. She gave me a 'Seriously?' expression.
I felt uncomfortable, so I lied. "Nah. I'm borrowing one from her sister."
"You're not going to fit into her size."
I felt even worse, so I lied even more. "Dude, I'm like two sizes smaller than her."
"I don't believe that."

And that was it. The last straw. The thing that put me over the edge. Thinking back now, I... I don't even know.

Unpureness and Wishing

I feel so sick. Unpure. It's always been this way since my eating disorder showed up in the first place. I can't eat anything without feeling completely disgusting and worthless afterward. Like I feel now. Prepare yourself for some whining, if you can bear it.
I wish I could eat anything I wanted, and never gain an ounce. I wish that I could live without thinking about calories, and food, and all those other things that constantly rest on my shoulders. I wish that I could be happy all the time. I wish that I was truly pure, and beautiful, like nature. I wish that other people liked me. I wish that boys liked me. I wish I was popular. I wish school was out for ever. I wish that people would stop nagging me. I wish I wasn't so quiet. I wish my opinion mattered. I wish my boobs were bigger. I wish my stomach was flatter. I wish I was friends with all of my enemies. I wish that the summer never ended. I wish I didn't have to clean up after myself. I wish I could change someone's view on life for the better. I wish I could change my view on life for the better. I wish there was more diet soda in the house. I wish I could never eat again. I wish I was in a meadow dancing with birds, and a blue sky. I wish I had talent. I wish I wasn't a fake. I wish life was fair. I wish I had more money. I wish I could pass for a model. I wish I was a size 0. I wish I was a better cook. I wish other people wouldn't wish for an eating disorder. I wish I never wished for an eating disorder. I wish people would stop lying to me. I wish the mirror would stop lying to me. I wish I didn't like being afraid. I wish the clock moved faster in between meals. I wish I had more willpower. I wish that other people cared about how I feel. I wish I could fall in love. I wish I could grow wings. I wish that people didn't hate each other. I wish that aliens will come to Earth and set us straight. I wish I could go to Hobby Lobby. I wish I had some Shirataki Noodles. I wish that I was living, not surving. I wish my family could avoid eviction. I wish I hadn't painted my room for Christmas, and instead have gotten money. I wish that the stuff I'm downloading didn't take so long. I wish that everyone would just stop bitching for once. I wish I would just stop bitching for once. I wish we had more variety of foods at my house. I wish there wasn't bugs in all of our noodles. I wish I was inspiring. I wish I could commit to something. I wish that I could think of more things that I want. I wish that I'll get to go to my Grandma's house. I wish nobody ate my Twinkies. I wish I wasn't so greedy. I wish I didn't need so many things to make myself happy...

Rough Days and Weed-Style Tea

Oh God... I seriously need a break from myself. I'm getting to the point where I'm the most annoying person I know. Maybe I should visit Alex Notbusch, for a change. (And yeah, that was mean. But I'm an evil bitch.) My days seem to be getting longer and longer. I sky rocket on the scale, and scare the shit out of it and myself. I feel horrible. My self-esteem is really down. I haven't left the house all week except to get diet soda at the Dollar Tree.
I found some sleepytime tea in the back of the pantry. I've slept a whole day away once because of that stuff. I'm planning on using it. Like, now. I have to go. I don't even know why I bother staying awake anymore.

Pencils in the Eye

Oh, wow. Already broke my 'commitment.' Well, I'm obviously too busy to be writing every single day, so just more often then...
Today it's going to have to be breif 'cause I actually am pretty busy. So I had another weird dream last night. They seem to come up whenever I feel down or sad. This one started off with me sitting on the couch. It seemed to have been at least five days in the future because I was thinner, prettier, and I had my laptop beside me. I recall playing the Sims 2, with a red-headed sim named Veronica. Don't ask me why I remembered something so useless. I had both navy blue pillows from my bed supporting my left side and was poised with my legs lying on top of each other. As usual, the left one was numb. I was wrapped from the waist down in a quilt my grandmother made for me when I was ten.
It appeared to be around 10P.M. when the dream got hazy. I remember being informed by Rachael, a friend of mine, that her brother Josh would be coming to my house. I was slightly shaken, because nobody else was home, and apparently, my sub-concious just finds Josh creepy. The dreams then skips to me openning the front door. He enters and follows me into the backroom, despite my attempts at avoiding him. It skips again to him laying on his back, me on top and also on my back. We were fighting. He was taking a blue, lead-drawn mechanical pencil and stabbing me in the stomach, over and over. All the while I was struggling to get away.
We were then leaning over Haley's bed, where I got the pencil away from him. I took it and started stabbing his head. Then I looked over - once again - my left shoulder, and aimed for his eyes. They looked retarded thinking back now, but at the time, the fact they were crossed and spinning wildly was terrifying. I stabbed him twice in his - again - left eye, right if it were his own. The second time it hit his pupil. I then struggled to stab the right.
The dream fades again. I'm back on my couch. I remember, in the dream, remembering Josh screaming. Horrifying. I was playing on my laptop again when either I called Rachael or she called me, though I believe I called her. I asked her, "So, is Josh blind or anything?" and she responded, almost light-heartedly, "Yep. He's permenantly blind in his left (though technically the one I stabbed thouroughly was the right) eye."
The dream was eerie because of how entirely lightly everything was taken. I woke up feeling really unsettled. I still do. But alas, I have to go. Bye.

Sorry Again, About Not Writing.

I'm in a horrible mood today, and the main reason I'm writing is to let some of it out.

Let's start with last night. I had two - obsessive - dreams revolving around Christofer Drew Ingle. Freaky, right? Don't expect that from a teenage girl... Anyway, the first started right after I fell asleep. I don't remember how it began, but I do remember being in a school cafeteria. The only thing odd was that my hair was long and black - like I said I wanted it to be - and that the table I was walking towards seated a celebrity. I sat right beside Christofer and made a ton of small talk that I don't remember, but the entire situation felt awkward. I only remember saying, 'I came here to interview you, but you're a little too cool for that.' As occupancy in the cafeteria died down, I said: "Maybe I can sit next to you next lunch hour..." Which was dismissed by everyone else. In sudden embarrassment, I ran to the bathroom.

This was when freaky shit went down. I was crying, when my hair started dripping. It was wet, when I hadn't showered, or anything. It started to produce words. I don't remember what exactly they said, but they terrified me. I stared into the mirror, panicking. I kept ripping and ripping the words out of my hair, hoping to eliminate the voices I was starting to hear. When I made my exit, the words were gone. So was my hair. As I left, I kept thinking I wonder how he'll feel about that now.

The next dream kicked off after a little twisting and turning. I was in the backroom of my house, on the computer. (Ooh, betcha didn't see that coming.) I was googling stuff like Facebook, Twitter, Crysandrea Online, ect. When I heard talking on the deck. Out of curiosity I looked out the window implanted into the door. It was sunny, my father was working a rake in the garden. No plants were grown yet. I continued to stare out, but this time turned my glance further to the left. My mom was sitting at a cheap metal table, with a cheap metal umbrella. What caught my eye was that she was chatting with Christofer. And they were drinking pink martinis. And he was only seventeen. And... She was talking about me.

I sat back down at the computer, trying to ignore the occasional chatter that I could hear.Apparently it worked, because I don't remember shit. I only remember once, my mom saying "She's a size B," and Christofer replying slightly less interested, "That's nice." I brought out more martinis for them, and went back inside. Still avoiding everyone, even my idol. Eventually, he left. I had the feeling he wouldn't be back After a brief conversation with my mother, she told me I was too young to date. I felt horrible. The dream ended.

Now I can say why I'm in such a bad mood - I fainted when I tried standing this morning. I'm guessing it's because of my dehydration or more weight loss.I'm down to 110 pounds, and standing alone has become a huge struggle. Yet I'm still not happy. Why can't I just be happy with myself? This leads me to wonder why Christofer Drew is my idol. He's happy a lot of the time. I'm miserable all the time. Life is so short and I can't find one reason why it's even worth living.

Anyway, about my fall. Scrapped up my chin really bad. Yelled at Haley (my neice) some for questioning me. Yelled at my mom. Closed myself in the backroom, started writing about it.

I've decided to become a bit more dedicated to this blog, so I'll try to write a little more. I've got a lot of stuff to do right now though, so maybe I'll catch up a little later. Bye.

Car Crashes and Back-Stabbers

I've been super busy lately, and I'm about to say why. Some serious crap has been happening that's literally been throwing me off track.
Yesterday, I went to visit my Grandma. She'd just bought some trees and other plants from my Aunt's tree farm, but she was too weak to plant them all. She also wanted to bring some back. My dad did this - it took most of the day, until dark. I was expecting a long, cold, and rainy drive home. That's what happened, most of the ride. Me teasing Haley. My dad and I laughing. Haley whining. Then, in a single instant, the car lost control and we spun off the road. I was told that is was because of a hydroplane. We made a full circle and a half.
What scares me is that I wasn't afraid. Not of getting hurt. Most certainly not of dying. I told my dad this as he got back into the car after checking our tires. He'd said not to think about it, or I'll scare myself. But I've tried to. It was explained to me, over and over, if we had moved further, just an inch, we'd be at risk of a head-on in on coming traffic. Still. It never phased me. It still doesn't.
I was lucky, and that's for sure. But what I do know is that when I was in that car, and my dad was screaming at me to hold on... Just for those fifteen seconds... a primitive instinct kicked in. I remember whipping my head around to stare behind me, thoughts racing through my head. Is Haley strapped in? Yes, I'd assumed. This process took only three seconds, right when we first hit the hydroplane. With the rest of the time, I stared out the window. The strangest thing had been what bothered me the most. I was thinking: Daddy, look... You got a whole bunch of mud on your Chevy. Then, as we were finally making the last half circle, my mind switched off and I entered a Deja Vu state. I could remember only a single time, when my dad had said, 'If you were in the car, you would've died.' Then we stopped spinning, which was when I saw that we were on the edge of on coming traffic.
Someone was looking out for us, then. I'd be the first to deny it, but in this case... I cried myself to sleep last night. It must have finally gotten into my head that last night could have been the last day of my life. But it wasn't. So why am I still here?
The spin out induced some really odd, impulsive dreams. I dreamt first about a boy at my school. I think his name was Josh. He was tall, and thin, and he had these big eyes... blue, I think. He also had bleach blonde hair. Well, I dreamed that we - the entire student board - were being chased by teachers. I'm thinking it was over a prank, because I had the feeling that I'd done something bad. There was a lot of guilt. I was at the doorway of Mr. Holub's classroom - my 9th period science teacher - when the dream really started. I was running, with a smile on my face, being trampled by crowds of other kids.
Then, Josh grabbed my hand. He yelled at me, trying to talk over the loud crowds of people.
"You need to run faster!" He shouted.
I felt inferior, so I just smiled. That was when he yanked me, and I fell onto the ground. To my surprise, he dragged me. My heels were scrapping the ground, and at times, since we were moving so quickly, they'd come off of it. I screamed to Josh.
"Hey," I started. "You're my new favori-"
I was interrupted because he lost control of his own legs for a moment. It resulted in me face-slamming a locker.
Defeated, I tried to rebound. All I did was mumble. "You're my new favorite person."
After this, we reached the art rooms. They were at an intersection of staircases and hallways. I was being stared at by everyone. Josh and I led the crowd, and it felt fulfilling and amazing. The people directly behind us were actually people I'd once knew. Alison Brackett. Jessica Virzi. Rachael Renner. Jamie Renner. And Shelbey Cecille. Again, Shelbey was here, in my dreams.
Josh had pulled me behind him all the way up to these large stairs that I could swear never actually existed. There was a maze of them, and to get from case to case, and reach the ground, you had to jump from the highest one and attempt to land on it. This was when I saw Brandi Brewer, Megan Grove, and Miranda Marshall-Faulkner. They had all already been on the third staircase. There was maybe four in total.
I tried to jump, and with luck, I reached the first staircase. Then the second. A balcony above the third. The actual third. Then, I skipped over the last staircase and fell. Fell all the way to the ground, mangling my body. But it was slow too, like someone was freezing time, just when my luck had run out. After smashing into the ground, I could hear laughter. It echoed, all around me. Everyone in the entire school was laughing at me.
The dream skipped over at this point, and I was in a very high tech bar. There were barstools with ribbed backs on them, and blue flashing lights everywhere. A blonde girl who I'd recognized as a sixth grader was drinking a pink fluid out of a martini glass. There was a heavy base from somewhere in the room. I glanced over the bar to see if I could find anyone I knew. All I could find was Shelbey, so I talked to her.
The dream skipped again, and I was already talking to her. I was nervous. My knees were buckled. The last thing I wanted was for her to shoot me down.
"You changed a lot," She said. I nodded.
The time lapsed yet again. We entered my house, late at night. We went through the front door in the kitchen. It was really dark, but my mom was still awake. She glanced at me through the laundry room from her room. Her face was lit by a laptop's glow. Shelbey looked over at me.
"I'm gonna take my shoes off." I pointed her towards the living room. This registered, and she carried her shoes over. (Another strange thing about this dream... Everyone was wearing techno/rave clothes, and platform boots except for me. I was wearing all black and converses.) My mom then began to glare.
"Why'd you bring that pot head in my house?" I shrugged this off, and the dream ended.