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.