Feeling: Um. Ask me later.
Listening to: I keep thinking of Chris Farley singing "Fat guy in a little coat..."
Reading/Watching: Favorite person: Jae. She called me gorgeous even before she knew me.

I have a favor to ask of you.

If you know me in real life, please don't mention this to me.

Pretend you never read it.

Matter of fact, don't read it. (Or do. I dunno, who am I to say what you can't do? Some masochistic part of me wants you to know.)

But I have to write it. I have to get it out of me. And it's such a cop-out if I pretend this is my no-holds-barred diary, and edit out real things like this.

It�s been raining all this past week. I don�t know whether it�s the change in weather, the boredom, or the arrival of my �monthly bill,� but I�m always hungry. And every time I sit down, I seem to eat until my stomach hurts.

I�ll start out with a regular portion. Then I�ll just munch. Reading, watching TV, talking with J&J. I always am thinking about what�s in the pantry or the fridge, and before I know it I�m having a little bit of everything (or a not-so-little bit) and then I�m holding my stomach and wondering what�s wrong with me.

I don�t need that much food. I don�t even want it. I just somehow wind up eating it. It reminds me of highschool all over again. Highschool, junior high, fourth and fifth grade� as if every hour I wasn�t eating something was a countdown until I could.

The scale told me I gained three pounds in the past week. And this terrifies me. Some people are addicted to alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, sex. I�m addicted to weight loss. I�m thinking about it all the time. I�ve gotten used to hearing people say I look thinner, hearing compliments on how well my jeans fit, feeling pleasantly flattered instead of disgusted when I finally earn whistles from construction workers. I�ve come to like the feeling so much, I�m willing to do just about anything to keep it that way.

It�s not right, I know. It�s actually scary as hell. For a while there, I was thinking about other things, living my life and grinning in surprise as my jeans hung lower and lower on my hips. Now I�ve gotten used to the idea of being three sizes smaller. I don�t want to let it go. I�m scared of what would happen.

Yesterday I had a sandwich for dinner. Then I had dessert. Then I decided I should probably have some veggies, so I ate some baby carrots. And I was cold, so I made soup and tea. And then my stomach hurt. It was so bad, I went to the bathroom because I thought I might lose it.

Then when I didn�t throw up, I tried to make myself. And failed. That�s when I started crying. It was a stereotypical picture- fat girl on the bathroom rug, knees to her chest, crying over how nobody will ever love her. Yadda yadda.

I still don�t know whether I�m more upset that I�d try something so completely stupid and self-destructive, or that I didn�t succeed at it. Would I have felt better if I�d actually crossed that boundary, become yet another idiotic statistic? Poor little girl. Poor bulimic victim of society.

I am not that girl. I never was. I pretended I was so I could feel sorry for myself and have an excuse for eating too much and being overweight. I will not do this to myself. I deserve better.

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