The Recovery Body

I think I am in “recovery”. After suffering from bulimia with anorexic behaviours I now find myself 18 months purge-free. During those 18 months I found myself becoming less and less scared of the fear foods and I started to deal with triggering situations better every time. I found myself re-educating a love for myself and I really did progress with that self-compassion.

Long gone are the days where planning and panicking about what I would or would not eat that day plagued my mind from the moment I woke up to long after I went to bed.

Those days do exist, just shorter in duration and longer in days apart. However, it would be a lie to say that the ED does not plague my thoughts from time to time.

Does this mean I’m not in recovery? Does true recovery mean every day is a good day? I doubt that…mental health aside, not every day can be a good day. Every day has its own stressors and obstacles to overcome. Being in recovery means you fight the battles…at least that’s what I think right now.

I’m 18 months happier. 18 months healthier. I’ve learnt to value my body for what it can do and what it can achieve. I’m no longer ashamed that I never made it to the Olympics and ashamed of my achievements being (what I thought was) sub-par. Instead I’m proud of my athletic achievements. I have my trophies and medals on display instead of gathering dust in the cupboard and I even framed my World Championship sports kit to hang on the wall.

My mum asked “what if you want to wear it again?”. My initial thought was that I couldn’t fit into the tiny outfits I used to wear even if I wanted to but I said what I really thought which was, “this is me, hanging up my kit and moving onto my next chapter”.

So here I am, in my next chapter. A chapter called “I hate my recovery body”.

I follow a lot of ED-recovery accounts across a series of platforms and whilst they all share positive vibes and scream body positivity, I find myself angry that I didn’t “recover small”. That my body has become bigger in my recovery journey. I’m very short (barely 5ft) and my 34EE chest looks so big. I’ve almost come to terms with my chest though, although its difficult dressing my body in a complementary way. But I just hate my stomach. I hate the loose skin and little rolls of fat. I hate the way my appendix scar sits, a crooked 3 inch red line with loose skin hanging over it.

And I believe me, I try. I try to love my stomach. I really do but I can’t.

I think it’s made worse by the fact I eat balanced and workout daily and see no change. I ran half-marathons last year and I still gained fat (not muscle). It hurts me to see that my body isn’t as slim as I want it to be. As someone who is still very active, the problem now is that my brain is really screaming to miss a few meals, to purge every now and then. It’s blaming me for the way my stomach looks and is tempting me to slip up as a “quick fix”.

The biggest thing my ED brain is making me question though is, “does this mean I am actually in recovery?”

Does the fact I dislike my recovery body invalidate my recovery?

Do I have to love and show off every single inch of me to prove I am in recovery?

Am I allowed to feel ashamed of my recovery body?

Or does that mean I’m not recovered at all?

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Out of sync

I decided to stay in Cape Verde for the week instead of going home early. I wrote a nice big list of pros and cons (don’t we love those) for staying or going home and, ultimately, I realised I wouldn’t necessarily be much happier at home and I’d still be doing very little so if I’m not going to do much I may as well not do much in the sun!

Truth be told, I realised my ED has been triggered the past month because I have been feeling insecure and vulnerable in my relationship. I am still purge free but when I say my ED has been triggered, I mean those leftover voices and urges that crop up.

It’s funny. I know my relationship is great. I know my boyfriend is wonderful and I do know that he loves me but I’ve felt a little lost the past month to 6 weeks. Kept blaming it on the new house and the adulting stress that naturally comes with that. It took me getting on a plane on Saturday morning to realise how low I was feeling towards my relationship.

That in itself felt confusing because I simultaneously knew how much we love each other and how great we are together so why could I possibly be sad?

Occasionally I’ve felt he doesn’t love me quite the same way as I love him. I’m more proactive and giving in a relationship. I like that, it’s part of my personality but it’s also a flaw because it makes me vulnerable to thinking they don’t care as much as I do when that could be completely wrong.

I’ve done the most of the house planning and organising. I sorted the mortgage, legal docs and negotiations. I’m the one who researches and makes suggestions about rooms and furnishings (more often than not to be met with a “no” yet no alternative solutions offered. I’m the one who rearranges my work days (even when I really shouldn’t) to deal with deliveries and builders. I’m the one who deals with all those phone calls and emails relating to all that. Which is fine, I promise…again, I naturally default to being the organiser…but it would be nice for a little more action on my partners half rather than me feeling like I’m always chasing and him not wanting me to…

Sex has dropped too. Dare I say it, I think good sex is super important to a great relationship. I know some might disagree and say I’m wrong to emphasise good sex but honestly, the way I see it, happy relationship = better sex = happier relationship = even better sex = happy relationship…

Obviously that’s not always true. I know that. But for me, I do feel the happier I am with my boyfriend the more I can connect with him during sex and that then makes me happier.

He’s lost some of his romantic edge too. No flowers on our anniversary this year or valentines and he didn’t even post anything about our anniversary which took me by surprise. It sounds lame to want a social media post but here’s the thing. He doesn’t post much about us, I get that. I’m not a massive social media PDA-er either but he’s always done this nice short and sweet loving post about me on our anniversary so that’s my one day he tells everyone how much he loves me and I know I won’t get it the rest of the year but I know I’ll get it that one day..except this year.

We don’t hang out as much as I thought we would either. I knew it wouldn’t be like the weekends we used to spend together but with my long hours and needing early nights and him wanting to practice his cello and play games at night there’s such limited time in between me coming home and going to sleep. He doesn’t see the need to dedicate that one hour I have to each other but I do. I see it as “okay, I’m home and I’ll be asleep in 60 mins so let’s watch TV, chat a bit and then once I’m asleep you can do whatever it is you want to do…just give me 45-60 minutes of your time.”

He’s the opposite. He doesn’t feel negative if we don’t see each other at all in an evening. I do. He’s more introverted than me…but I like my alone time too! Finding the balance is hard. Trying to sync ourselves into a routine that isn’t routine but feels natural. Knowing when I may need more attention and when he may need more space. It sounds so silly to me sometimes because honestly living together has been wonderful and I love it.

I really do.

Just the lack of productiveness towards our joint investment and new home, decrease of sex and romantic affection has left me feeling a little unloved, a little unwanted, and I’m turn, a little worthless. Unloved, unwanted and worthless…the three major emotions I’ve experienced throughout my life that culminated in my ED.

It makes me sad to feel as though he doesn’t love me as hard as I love him.

I cried and told him all of this on Sunday. He was very supportive and it felt like a huge weight of my chest. He agreed that we should work on syncing up our sex lives and acknowledged he hasn’t been as affectionate as he could have been lately. He’s making more effort on the house front too. He tried to reassure me that he does love me and he’s just a bit introverted with his evening activities – something that’s harder to see when before you lived together, you only hung out on a sat night and Sunday so you naturally dedicate all that time to one another.

Adulting, eh? Bloody hard work but I’m sure it’s all worth it.

Teardrops

For some reason, a reason I’m trying very hard to identify, I’m crying.

And I feel like I need it. Like I need these teardrops on my face to help the situation somehow.

But I wish I knew what that situation was and what these tears are needed for.

I’m on a one week holiday that started today. I’m in a nice resort on an island I’ve never visited before in temperatures that are far better than England.

I’m on my own but I have travelled alone many times before so I don’t know why that would be the reason for these teardrops.

Work has been going well (albeit tough, as always). My boyfriend and I recently celebrated our third anniversary and we’ve bought a house – I know I haven’t written a blog post for almost 6 months as the “update list” is huge. Living with my boyfriend is most definitely an upgrade from previous living arrangements but we’re still working out the kinks (like how much time is too much time together each evening and working out how to get space when you want it). My family life is far less stressful than it used to be.

Actually, and probably most importantly, I recently reached my one year purge free milestone.

It’s been more than one year since I last purged.

Doesn’t mean I’m 100% okay. I do struggle with my “recovery body”. It’s bigger than it used to be and wobbles more. I have some skin laxity too. Online platforms have aided my recovery but sometimes I find it hard to see warriors who have recovered but are much smaller than me or warriors who have recovered who are much bigger than me.

There’s no one shape fits all, I know that.

But nothing I do changes my stomach. I work out a lot but not obsessively, always for enjoyment and movement. I have learnt to eat but not restrict. I allow myself less healthy foods in moderation alongside healthy foods. I don’t drink a lot of alcohol, by choice, and I feel like my efforts are wasted.

It’s been suggested that due to my appendix surgery and the way I rapidly lost weight due to the way my ED started that I won’t be able to shift the stubborn fat, and definitely not some of the loose skin, myself.

I feel recovered but I feel like a fraud because I don’t love my recovery body.

God, this is why I used to need/love this blog, I’d start with a question and by writing I’d work it out (or at least a contributing factor to my current feelings).

I was super excited when I booked this holiday in October. I’d just come back from my qualification leave where I loved my body. I was so in love with my boyfriend (obviously still am!) and just gone back to work in the area I always wanted. I guessed I would need a break in Feb, and I do, but I half wish I was at home.

This holiday is very different than my previous ones. It’s not an active holiday, it’s purely leisure. I’m staying in an all inclusive resort and I’m starting to realise that, that, is incredibly scary.

Not loving my recovery body probably isn’t helping me put on my bikinis either.

So, I’ve at least got something to work on. The tear drops are still coming but maybe I can do something about them? Like…

  • I specifically booked a rest holiday due to the time of year (there’s only so many warm places close enough to Europe at this time of year) but I could book a couple of excursions to get me out of the resort, into nature and the local culture – things I ADORE about travelling.
  • I’m next to the beach…I could add in some nice beach walks. I love the sea so much and I’ve always been a water baby.
  • I have a notebook. I could use this current mindset as an opportunity to develop some self-awareness, dig deep into my current recovery.
  • I brought my Greek stuff. I could dedicate an hour or two each day to learn more. I’ve always been proud to be Greek and have loved starting to learn the language (finally!).
  • There’s a spa. Who doesn’t like a pamper day?

On reflection, I’ve never had many pure relaxation holidays, except for my favourite Greek island but that is just a simply wonderful place that I’m always okay relaxing there. I’ve never done all inclusive either so I should give myself some baby steps.

Even if I’ve not fully worked out why the tears are falling I can definitely say that, they were worthwhile because they brought me back to my blog, which I’ve missed.

❤️

Today

I hate days like today.

The days where I hate every reflection of myself that I glimpse. The days where I have this uncomfortable feeling of disgust about myself and my image.

I hate these days where I become so scared, yet again, that I’m never going to be ‘perfect’. These days where my biggest fear is looking ‘fat’ this weekend.

I hate having days where the Demon plagues my thoughts with negativity. Days where I feel like I’m being swallowed whole.

Questioning every decision to eat, every exercise that doesn’t seem to shift any weight. Constantly questioning when, if ever, I’m going to feel good enough.

It screams at me that I’m huge and ugly. That I’m weak and disgusting. And the worst of it is, I appreciate these words aren’t true, that I am actually worth more than I think I am but that, in turn, makes me feel ashamed and embarrassed that I even have this illness in the first place.

I have these days where I do just fine, great in fact but I really hate that days like today seem to eradicate any progress I make.

Any step I took forward seems forgotten, lost in that dark space that swallows me whole.

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Welcome Home 


I’ve had this blank page staring back at me the past few days. Want to write, know that I do, but about what? I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

My head is spinning with a thousand questions, so much so I won’t allow myself to even take a step back and appreciate how well the past three weeks have gone. I’ve not weighed myself at all and I don’t feel as much of a need to. Part of me thinks that shows massive progression but the other part tells me its because I’m scared to see the number, that I’m bound to have gained weight.

Every time I think I’ve made steps forward that voice simply tells me I haven’t. It downplays my success. I’ve not purged for more than 3 weeks…but that’s probably because I’ve been with other people, not because I’ve gotten stronger…

He wants to be with me. Says that he does. Says that he really likes me. But I don’t know. What if I’m setting myself up for yet another failure. Am I weak for going back? Or am I making the right choice by trying to work through whatever happened? But what did happen? I don’t know. I still don’t get it, I still can’t process it because he hasn’t given me a reason as to why he did what he did.

And my head keeps spinning.

When I’m with him, its perfect. As though nothing happened. But when I’m alone I just think of all that pain he brought to that Sunday a few weeks ago.

He said after a really long (and I mean really long) relationship he’s scared of picking the wrong person. He described it as akin to a mental health issue, that he panicked and almost couldn’t control the things he was saying. I can half understand that, even though none of my friends do.

But surely that means I’m the wrong person? I mean, of course I am. No matter how many steps I move forward nor how many achievements I make, I have so many failures and broken pieces of me that can never be forgotten.

Failures and broken pieces that are rooted in a bastard of an eating disorder.

Of course I would never be right.

Of course, each time someone ‘genuine’ comes along, they soon enough realise I’m not right.

Why would I be?

Does this mean he’s just going to end it another day in the future? Right now, he is right for me. I don’t believe its healthy to look too far into the future regarding relationships too soon but am I just here, making him better for the next one to come along? Just like always.

Always setting them up to treat the next one better.

For once I thought I was finally getting treated better.

I just don’t know anymore.

But he does treat me right. One stupid afternoon, one epic mind fuck but everything else feels incredibly normal and perfect. I can’t spend a relationship second guessing everything…just like I can’t spend my recovery second guessing every step forward that I make.

No more second guessing, back to going with the flow, I suppose.


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‘Time Heals’, That’s a lie.

Right now I am a mixture of very happy and very sad and I’m trying so very hard to figure it all out. I’m trying to figure out all these feelings and emotions and words and thoughts and I can’t work out what they all mean. Everything I feel lately seems to be a contradiction of itself and I do not understand any of it.

I suppose that we will always be too much for some people, too loud, too quiet, but we’re always going to be perfect for someone. Sometimes I really do wish I had that someone. That someone to hold my hand the other day when I saw him. That someone to come with me for my biopsy results that might tear my world apart again. That someone to hold me in their arms at night. Sometimes I think that someone is never going to appear.

I’m still in so much pain, I’m still hurting and feeling so worthless. I mean, maybe I don’t deserve to feel anything but worthless…maybe I am worthless. Maybe I don’t deserve to be more or to be treated better than everyone else has treated me. Deep down I know I deserve more, I know that’s the voice of the Demon but sometimes, just sometimes, I can’t help but listen to it.

Why did he not treat me like his girlfriend? Was he embarrassed of me? Ashamed? Why did that one, tell me no one would love me because I was bulimic? Is it true? Is it impossible to love the girl who makes herself sick? Was I too fat? Am I too fat? Why did he lead me on? Why aren’t my friends speaking to me? Why did he hurt me? Why did he lie? Why did they not help me? Did they even care? Did any of them ever care?

Is anyone ever going to care?

That voice is growing louder again lately and I’m fighting so hard to keep it under lock and key. I’m walking very shaky ground every day it seems, and I can tell I’m about to lose my balance. There’s so much pain coursing through my body but at the end of the day you can either focus on what’s tearing you apart or what’s holding you together.

I used to write about how I miss the girl I used to be, the one before the Demon emerged and before all the real-life demons too. I would write about how I wanted to be her again. How I wanted to find myself again and how I just wanted to love myself. It dawned on my today that I’m never going to be that girl again. I’m never going to be unbroken but that’s also okay. I realised that loving myself is remembering that when there was no one to wipe my tears I did it myself. That I picked myself up. That I put myself back together again. The Demons tore me down but I glued myself back together.

I sincerely hope my daughter never lies in bed crying all night about a boy, wondering what she did so wrong.

People tell you that ‘time heals’. They tell you that all you need is some ‘time’ to get over things. That is a lie. What people truly mean is that you get used to the pain. You eventually forget who you were without the pain. You finally forget what you looked like without your scars. I look back and that girl I used to be is exactly that, she is the girl I used to be. She wasn’t broken and she was full of ambition and hope. The girl I see staring back at me now is broken…but she is still full of ambition and hope. Hopeful that one day it will work out. That her someone will arrive and that someone will want her to be his someone. She has ambition pumping in her veins driving her for that dream life she wants, knowing that she truly is an expert at perseverance.

Time doesn’t heal anything. You can’t go back to the person before the hurt and pain. However, you can keep moving forward and that’s what I want to do. I want to stop looking back at the past 6 years and let it make me feel worthless. I can’t help but look back but I’m starting to get used to the pain. I suppose I’ve been used to feeling this hurt for 6 years now, why am I even surprised if someone else adds to it? I just really wish they wouldn’t. I really wish they took more care with me.

I hope the next someone does.

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The Dash

Your Life Is Made of Two Dates and a Dash. Make the Most of the Dash

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I don’t want to be at the end of my stretch and look back and realise I lost some of the best years of my life to my eating disorder. I don’t want to look back and see things I missed out on because the demon stopped me from doing them.

Equally, I don’t want to look back and realise I stopped myself from being happy. Stopped myself from being me. I want someone to be proud to have me. Not because I’m pretty or skinny, as my ED tells me, but because they value me as a person. Now, I do know people I have been with and dated did like me as a person but naturally I am well aware of those who abused and took advantage of me. Whilst, its so unfortunate, that’s life.

I want to look back and be confident my decisions were right. I want to look back and see pictures like the one I’ve shared; where I look Strong not Skinny.

I want to make the most of this ‘dash’. I want to keep progressing the way that I am and not keep falling back. Those people who took advantage or did not appreciate me will eventually realise what they’ve missed out on. I don’t think I’ve felt this happy or confident and it truly is a lovely place to be. I’m not skinny. I’m strong.

Isn’t it crazy how we can look back a year ago and realise how much everything has changed? The amount of people that have left your life, entered, and those that have stayed. The memories you won’t forget and the moments you wish you could. Everything. It is crazy how all that happened in one year. It’s made me realise too, you know you really love someone when you can’t hate them no matter how much they broke your heart.

I just want to make the most of these amazing opportunities I have right now and starving and purging isn’t going to allow that. Keep eating moderately and exercising well. I’ve never felt happier or prouder of my progress than I do right now.

 

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A Beautiful Paradox

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She was broken but never hopeless. Alone but never lonely. Her eyes reflected pain but projected courage. She was a beautiful paradox

I really like that quote and feel like I can massively relate to it. It always feels weird to have people say things to me like, ‘I love how confident you are, you don’t take crap from anyone!’ when deep down, I know I’m filled with self-doubt.

The look on people’s faces when they realise what I’ve gone through and what I’m currently going through can really say it all for me. They genuinely have no idea the happy, chatty girl with the infectious smile can be so broken inside. The problem is, I’m not pretending to be that happy person, I know that person is me. It’s just that beneath it all there is the girl struggling to glue herself back together.

All it takes is one nightmare from that night…one glance from a girl skinnier than me…one more family argument, to tear down that smile and the tears come running. I really am a confident person, definitely personality confident and definitely NOT body confident but I really am getting there with being comfortable with the way I look.

I met the other trainees this week and they were so skinny. They really were, no lumps and bumps, no chest like mine and I felt so huge. They were like sticks and there I am…most definitely not a stick. I felt so self-conscious…I’ve not felt like that since i was half-naked in a swimming costume. They were all talking about how great their lives were and are, their family background and their wonderful boyfriends. DOn’t get me wrong, every single girl would have been through similar shit like me and to be honest, they were lovely and I don’t think I met a single person I disliked. No one commented on my looks or weight, or made any hint or suggestion.

No one except me. I was so down that day and I relapsed when I got home.

The next day my latest gym delivery arrived, protein etc. and a new (complimentary) gym top. Its silly but new gym kit? That is most certainly the way to motivate you to go! I felt so good, I went and worked out for an hour, did my weights and finished with a run and I looked in the mirror and felt…proud. Staring back at me was the girl who (yes, I relapsed) but woke up today determined to continue on my journey of becoming the best possible version of myself.

And I was not skinny.

But I looked strong.

#StrongNotSkinny seems to be trending lately I suppose

And it felt good.

I want to be so skinny at times but I’m also happy to be strong.

I feel so inadequate as if I don’t deserve anything or anyone but I also believe I deserve special because I do believe I am special.

I want to be loved but I know I still don’t quite love myself so…as my favourite drag queen quotes… If you can’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love someone else!

Haha here I am quoting Ru Paul (she is the best though).

I really am happier. I’m getting less focused on skinny and more focused on strong. My housemates seem to love me for me…I’m sure my new friends will love me for me and I’m sure that one day someone else will love me for me.

I really am a paradox. I feel simultaneously not good enough and too much. I suppose I need to keep journeying for the happy medium where the outside smiles and confidence truly reflects the inside smiles and confidence.

I’m not broken anymore, because I’ve already started to put myself back together. I am simply currently undergoing my re-construction.

The best of me is yet to come.

Brain = 1, Heart = 0

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I should have listened to my brain instead of following my heart. It was right, it’s always right.

I’ll be okay, deep down I knew it was coming and I know it was right. My brain knows but my heart aches.

It was a nice visit nonetheless and being friendly is fine with me and don’t get me wrong because I knew it was too soon for any sort of reconciliation. I know that everything is still too raw for both of us and that there could be potential in the future, but there’s just one little thing that’s stuck in my head. I know where I stand right now and that’s fine but he said that being out of a relationship made him realise how stressed he was being in one.

That he loved me but didn’t realise until now that being in a relationship stressed him out.

Ouch.

Ouch.

I had no idea he was unhappy with me. I mean, I thought he was distant and didn’t want to be with me but he told me he did and I believe him.

I thought he wasn’t treating me like a girlfriend and now I know why. He was unhappy with me. He didn’t like the relationship we were in and was waiting for me to move to London so things would get better. But he never told me that back then. He wouldn’t tell me why he seemed so stressed out but now I know.

It was me.

I was the problem.

It makes so much sense now.

Everything makes so much more sense. Deep down he didn’t want me and yes he wanted to stay when we broke up, he wanted to try harder than I could but now that its over he mustn’t have been truly happy in the first place.

That’s probably why he wasn’t telling me why he was stressed out and being distant. Because I was the problem. I’m always the problem. I know I’m too much, I know I’m damaged and have a million things wrong with me. I also know he loved me, he really did but I mustn’t have been good for him either.

I was so unhappy back then too because I felt he wouldn’t open up to me and talk and all I wanted to do was help him with whatever was stressing him out. Now I realise it was me. It was being committed to me at that time that stressed him out.

I caused everything to go wrong. Every last detail was my fault.

I’m not trying to play the victim. He would have been so hurt to to hear that I was unhappy and had reached the decision I reached 2 months ago. But I was  unhappy because I was convinced he didn’t like me being his girlfriend. I just really wish he had told me what the problem was. Rather than my mind jumping to conclusions…then again…surely my mind jumped to the right conclusion? That he wasn’t happy with me.

There was something wrong with me. Being with me made him distant and that caused the feelings I had. There’s something wrong with being with me. Something wrong with me. That’s how it feels right now. That’s how much it hurts right now.

It hurts so much to know that I caused so much stress. That he now realises being in a relationship was too much. I feel like I made him so unhappy and I can’t believe I did that.  I really love him and I wanted it to get better, I couldn’t understand what was going wrong but now I know.

I don’t know what I did wrong.

But it was me. I was doing something wrong. Being in a relationship was wrong. He would never have meant to hurt me with his words. Maybe they weren’t meant to come out the way they did.

I’ve never been good enough for many things. We had a lovely time hanging out and I do want to stay close but that realisation has really hurt me. It’s a different kind of pain right now. I’m not sure how to cope with this type of pain.

I should have listened to my brain.

My heart is so much more broken than before.

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Working It Out

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Today’s been a bad day but on the same hand one of my better ones. It’s so contradictory, I know but I’m pleased with where I am right now in this very moment.

As usual my day started off with the standard family stress but today I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m in the middle with my mum breaking down to me on the phone and my dad pressuring me to send him all my money. We had an agreement that I would look after that money so me and my brother could have deposits for houses in the future but now he’s trying to take it and I will happily support my mum but I’m getting fed up of my dad. Strictly speaking he’s been paying for that whore for 14 years…14 years of his and mum’s money being spent elsewhere…14 years that has led to him taking mine and my brother’s savings, the inheritance meant to help us start our own families one day.

I feel like I can’t cope with it anymore. When I hung up on mum I ended up crying in the middle of the street and I couldn’t stop. I tried to find a place that was quiet so I could try hide from the masses around me but I couldn’t and I felt like I was suffocating. I couldn’t breathe in this crowd and I was fighting to keep the tears from falling but in the end I couldn’t. They burnt and they stung my cheeks as they started to come and I desperately tried to find an empty corner or side street to run to but there wasn’t anywhere, so I lowered my head and made my way home whilst the tears kept running.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope with this stress, I want all my family to leave. I want them to stop pressuring me, I don’t want this financial stress, they can take the money and fight between themselves, I don’t want anything to do with the money anymore, its caused so many problems sitting there and I wish, oh i wish I could just fuck off and leave them all behind. That’s my inheritance…my mum’s hard-earned cash and savings that is meant for me and John but dad is trying to take it and once he takes it, it’ll go to that fucking whore.

I was sick. I didn’t even try not to be. I just went to the bathroom and put my fingers down my throat. Its so bad that its not even to be skinny…its turning into a coping mechanism again. Something to take all the pain away because its the only way I know how.

But then, I went to the gym. I went to the one a few streets down and opened a membership and after 2 hours I went for a bit. I only managed 30 minutes cardio but considering I’ve not been able to do any real exercise for a long time I think that’s alright. I do know its not the best idea seeing as I purged. But I went to the gym, made sure I drank a lot and afterwards I went for sushi. Expensive food for my bank account right now but at least I ate something. At least I exercised. At least I got the remainder of my anger and pain out on the treadmill and not down the toilet.

And I’m proud that I finally went. It’s silly but because I feel so fat most days, I’m almost embarrassed to go to the gym. It’s so contradictory, we go there to better ourselves but it also acts as such a self-conscious environment. I’m pleased with myself. I’ve drawn up an exercise plan for the rest of the month and yeah, it might be too much, but hopefully I can find where my fitness is and start building myself up again. Not just physically but mentally too.

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