It makes me sad when I abuse my body by eating too much -- always feeling bloated and never feeling really, truly hungry.


It makes me sad when I abuse my body by eating too little -- always feeling empty and on the point of eating everything, and drinking gallons of Diet Pepsi and water and decaf/coffee to cover up the fact that I never feel really, truly full.

++++++++++

There has to be a happy medium somewhere. There just fucking HAS to be. A medium that allows for mistakes -- a medium that allows freedom and happiness in food choices -- a medium that allows for, god forbid, weight fluctuations.

Maybe I will gain weight at the outset of this. Maybe that's the way it's going to have to be. Maybe my disordered brain will make me gain, or lose, or fluctuate wildly (and, honestly, the first or the last are more likely). Maybe I'm just going to have to fucking deal with it, instead of fantasizing about restriction and control and how I can exercise all I like when university comes and I won't be forced to eat at work anymore and, dammit, I can get to that 100 lbs, that "magic" number which seems so ideal and yet so mystically elusive. The scale as a god.

But the scale is not a god. The scale is a piece of machinery that spits out how much force I exert on this planet with my physical presence. It is a tool -- a measurement device -- nothing more. Admittedly, it is something that used to be able to make or break an entire day or week or month for me... and it still can, sometimes. But it is NOT a god, and I should not worship it as if it was. There are many far more deserving things in this universe to worship.

So I exert a certain force on this planet. So maybe I exert more force than I would like. So fucking what? At least I'm HERE, and not dead, and not locked up in a psychiatric ward for the fifty thousandth time. The rest... the rest I can work on. But I am not a slave to those old bonds anymore, and maybe I should actually try to stay free of them, instead of running headlong towards the safe, comfortable, destructive, lonely, horrible fucking entity known as Mental Illness. When has that ever worked for me in the past? Seriously, Niika. Get a fucking grip. That image in your head -- that idea you have that everything would be all right once you lost some more weight -- it's never going to fucking happen.

I need to focus more on health and less on the number on a piece of metal.

Pieces of metal are stupid anyway.