Sometimes You Die By the Drop

I sit and see four familiar walls. Not my dorm room, but a sun room. The irony is that it is the sun room in my house. I'm back home once more after that long dreadful post about my pantry adventures. But this time it's been different. Now that I understand what triggers me into a binge, I can avoid it. My best way to stay out of the kitchen? Do my homework in here- the sunroom. I have the French doors shut. The whole house is quite except for the slight tick of the fan above me. So peaceful and silent. Too bad the voice in my head can't remain quite too...

During the week I ripped my favorite pair of jeans. In truth they're my favorite simply because they are the only jeans that properly fit me. And so lo and behold, I have worn a hole right through them. Where? Between my massive thighs. Stupid stupid stupid. My thighs are always rubbing, never parting, and haunting my every step. It figures that after I begin to ignore them they leave another more permanent reminder. I have this horrible fear of telling my mum things that will make her see how fat I've become. I tried to explain to her that I just wore them far too much. She pointed that it was just my thigh area it ripped in. When I made the comment that plenty of girls' jeans rip there because hardly anyone has a space between their thighs, she gave me "that look" and said bluntly "Plenty of girls' thighs don't touch...your's do". Sometimes I fear my mom. She's always been the one too look at me with eyes that tell me I'm fat. I won't blame her for my obvious disordered eatings, but I'm sure one of the causes stemmed from her constant watching during my whole life. I don't think there was ever a time that I didn't have to ask for permission for seconds at the dinner table. Not because it was the last piece of something, but to see if mum would allow me to simply have more than what she had served me.

Anyway. So I ripped the jeans. Sad day....but it gets worse. I tried on my pair of "fat jeans" I had left in my closet at home when I went to college. I could barely get them over my ass. Great. I wanted to scream at the whole world. Instead, I did something I haven't done since Freshmen year of high school when my ED was at its worse- I slapped myself...thighs, belly, then face. Hard. It left a mark.

I've come to the point where I can no longer blame a self-made recovery for making me fat. I have long past my previous high weight by about 15 lbs. It's sick and disgusting. From now on, it is all my own fault. I have caused my severe weight gain, my stretch marks, my cellulite. No one else is to blame, just me. It's a depressing feeling, and yet a liberating one. If I want to become someone who can walk down the street and turn heads, wear the prettiest clothes in the store, or disappear between shadows, then I must be the one to work for it. I determine who I will be and what I will look like. 

I'm ready to run. Literally. I have a new plan, and I think it is going to work this time. Even though it kills my knees every time I do it, I am going to start running. I've been searching the internet for a good plan to work my way up to a 5K, then hopefully a 10K. Of course, I can't really even run a mile so it will take a lot of work. I've also decided that I will not eat until after I work out. Usually I don't have time until after class, so that means no breakfast or lunch. If I don't work out at all during the day, then I simply won't eat. I'm going to start studying in the library where there is no food...and bonus: I'll have an easier time getting ready for finals when I'm not so distracted. First thing I'm going to do when I get back to college is throw out all of my food (or just put it on the community table for anyone to take). I'll keep the ceral, but that is totally it.

It's up to me now. I want to be beautiful again.