I think I'm fat. But logically I know I'm not. But I look it. To myself. So I do stuff about it.
What kind of stuff? All kinds of fun(not!) stuff. Like restrict my calories, throw up what I do it, take laxatives, diruetics, diet pills, pep pills, cold medications, anything to make my day go better, to get me more energy to loose weight so I can keep on trucking towards thin.
That word has lost all meaning for me. I know I'm not thin. But I'm thinner than I was 60lbs ago. I'm thinner than most of the people around me. But I'm not thin. I only know I'm thinner than 60lbs ago because I wear a smaller size. I look the same to myself. In fact, at this weight, I think I look worse than I did 10lbs ago. It's fucked up not to reconize that I am smaller. I feel all wobbly and squishy.
I took a picture of myself the other night in my underware, it's on my cell phone, to keep me from binging. I'm desperatly trying to work through a plateau I've been stuck at forever. I need to get below the 120 mark. Right now I'm sitting at 124.8lbs. That simply won't do. No number will ever do. But especially not that number.