To be honest, I really don't know what to say, where to even start talking. Everything feels wrong, my whole world is crashing down and I'm passively letting it go. I'm not even sure any more whether I care. 

I think about my life and I wonder if beauty is really worth it. I'm giving everything up, my friends, my life, the unpredictability of life. I've traded everything in for hunger, and hunger can only be done alone. It's not something to share. 

I hate food, and eating it makes me feel terrible and guilty, and worthless, so utterly worthless. But is this all about self-worth really? Or is it about my mother, telling me she doesn't believe in me, telling me I'll never lose weight? Those words are still engraved under my skin, and they are pushing me to go further with this, to keep starving just so she can be wrong and sorry. 

And to top it all off, here's another paper, another failing class. I am so exhausted of seeing these disappointing numbers, numbers seem to be letting me down all around. The scales makes them too high, the papers scream too low. I can't seem to get anything right. And I am so tired of being such a huge disappointment to myself. I don't remember the last time things felt right. 

And even though nobody's watching, she's falling apart...

I have never felt more broken. Everything is wrong. I look disgusting, I'm failing my classes, and I can't seem to have a single nice conversation with my mum without her ending up hating me. No one's noticing just how close to the edge I've gotten. I feel exhausted, and miserable, and I hate my whole life. I need someone to lean on, I need someone to tell me they love me, and will love me no matter what, and then I need them to come through for me. I'm all alone, and they keep telling me to just be strong, but I can't be. I've exhausted all my energy, and strength feels so unattainable. It's funny because all I want to do right now is binge, yet the only thing stopping me is my mum. I can't get on that plane in 3 weeks and have her see me fat again. It'll mean she was right, and I can' let her be right about this. I want to disappear.

You don't ask me how I'm feeling, or if I'm happy. You don't ask about school because deep inside you don't actually care. As long as I'm excelling, it doesn't matter if it destroys me. You don't ask me about me, and you are the blindest person in my life. I could be hanging by a thread, one millimeter  away from crashing, and you wouldn't' even guess. You wouldn't notice because you don't care. I wonder how that's possible, that this is what we became; instead of being my support system you have become the 1 person who destroys me just a little more every single day. Don't you see that I'm not okay? Don't you see that my voice shakes as we speak? Don't you see that telling me I look horrible made me reach for a cigarette, to burn off more flesh of my fat arms. They say that mothers always know, that there's some magic connection between a mum and her kid, but you don't know me. You don't feel me at all. Don't you realize that you're killing me?

I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could just sit down and pour my heart out. Out of all the people I know, it's you who I'd go to. I would tell you about the hunger and the fasting, and the throwing up, I would show you the cigarette burns on my arms and explain how each of them came about. It's so lonely to  be alone in this, and have no one suspect a thing. The lying has become so easy. The lying is the fun part about it.

I wish you had realized, but you didn't see a thing. I guess being alone is a part of fragile.

How sick is it that I find confessions about eating disorders beautiful? They inspire me, trigger me and make me want to push forward. Reading about hunger pains, about weakness and nightmares about food, it's all beautiful to me, completely perfect.

I used to want to be so strong, afraid of showing a weakness of any kind to anyone, I wanted to be perceived as invincible. Now I just want to be seen as weak and fragile, I want to be protected. I wanted to be treated like a little girl who needs help. I see those ambitions to be strong as a fat girl's way to live and survive, pretending and lying to everyone including herself that she is okay with being huge and never beautiful and fragile. Those two words have basically merged into having the same meaning to me.

Thinking of myself as fat, god, it disgusts me. How could I have lived such a pathetic excuse of a life, with 0 self-control? How do people live without eating disorders? I can't even imagine it anymore.

I read this on tumblr,   Im starting to scare myself. I never though it'd get this bad, and I realized that I really do want to get that bad. It would mean better self-control. It would mean that I've succeeded, that I have finally found the strength to remember that fragility is most important and never put a bite in my mouth. I want to get that bad, because right now I am just that good.

The last two days have been weird. I don't know what's happening to me but it's like I'm grasping my friend being here as an opportunity to eat, it's a weak and lame excuse for failure. I had a chicken club sandwich today, after having eaten nothing all day, and I don't even know why. I felt okay while eating it, but after, I had this terrible after taste, I just hated everything about it. I don't know why I'm even doing this, there was really no need to eat. My friend is so clueless and innocent that I don't think she'd even notice if I'd eat nothing all weekend. So why am I not seizing the opportunity? Why am I taking steps away from fragile, as opposed to towards? I need to stop this, I promised myself that I will get on that plane tiny, fragile and thin, I will make sure my mother doesn't recognize me when she see's me at the airport. And if I fail at this I will fail at everything else. I need this more than anything, for her to see me fragile, for her to realize that she was wrong, for her to take back those words about not believing in me.

No more food and bullshit, I need to feel like I'm making progress or I can't feel anything at all. I want to be fragile more than anything. And no sandwich is every worth the failure. I need this, and I'll fight for it with everything that's left of me. I can't be this big disgusting person anymore, I hate that person, that girl isn't me, she's a weak and pathetic substitute and I need to be beautiful.

I swear to not eat anymore, unless it is absolutely necessary, and in such a case eat the smallest and healthiest thing possible.

My friend is lying very sick in bed, and I'm feeling awfully responsible. We smoked some weed last night, and had some wine, and binged completely. I feel sick at the thought that maybe it's my disordered eating, and the amount of food that I must have passively encouraged her to eat with me that has made her feel this way. Because what I often don't realize is that my idea of 'normal' isn't actually normal. I eat either nothing at all or entirely too much, I don't have that middle radar that others do.

A part of me is looking forward to Tuesday, back to not eating, back to fragility. I hate food.

I am so out of habit to concentrate in class that the idea doesn't even cross my mind anymore. I attend class like an ornament, contributing nothing and taking nothing in. 

I haven't eaten today, that is wonderful. I love this feeling more than anything, the emptiness, I live for it. It defines comfort. It isn't hard for me to starve because I like the implications that come with it. I like the weakness that almost screams fragility, I like the secrecy, the melancholia, the sadness, even the self-pity. But most of all it's the secret that entraps me. Living life knowing that no one really knows you, that no one ever could. It gives you a certain power over them, you control them. You twist them around your little fingers and keep up the deception. 

The truth about this, the truth that many don't realize, is that your life becomes distorted. I crave to be alone and I crave to never be left. I wish to be surrounded, distracted and loved, but I also want to be forgotten, unneeded, futile. The contradictions are everywhere. I crave everything and nothing all at once. 

It's like a part of me wants people to know, to fear for me, to whisper about the mystery of someone fragile, to find me strange, foreign, unattainable. Yet the other, the bigger, will go to any lengths to hide this. How dare you invade on my secret, how dare you think it was yours to be shared with, how dare you come so near me. I desire truth and lies and I don't know which one I require more. I don't know which one which one feeds me more. 

I am finding an interrelation between words and starving. The words feed me, with them I could never possibly be  actually starved, they are the blood pumping through my heart, the medium through which I taste, the lies and the truth. I now realize what I've been missing. I cannot live any other way, and the fact that I tried brought to nothing. I need writing just like others need food, or water, or even love. Because at the end of it all, words are enough to sustain me. Writing nourishes me. And after every time, I feel reborn. 

I feel their energy around my fingers, shooting out like poisoned arrows onto the screen. That is the only help I will ever need. Give me my words, and I will give you everything in return. I will turn them into all the feelings all at once and offer them to you on a golden plate. Give me a word and I will give you an emotion. 

Before I became this I didn't know that hunger is a part of writing. 

'Have you lost weight?'
The most wonderful words in the english language.

There is an interrelation between eating and self loathing for me. I cannot do one without the other. I don't know why exactly I'm losing it lately but I am. Maybe I'm finding it hard to believe that I will ever be beautiful, that I will ever be fragile. I went for lunch with my friend S today. She's suspecting something, she saw the burns on my hand last week and she knows how important weight and food is to me. I made a point to not appear in any way broken. I ordered a cheese burger and she seemed surprised. She honestly wasn't expecting me to eat. I'm disappointed I did. I also made it a point to not visit the restroom after we were finished, I was too scared the word bulimia would come to her mind. That's too close to home.

I don't know why one single meal makes me feel like I ate a whole army of elephants today. People eat that all the time, and some even on a daily basis, yet why can't I seem to accept that as normal? To me normal means hungry, faint, smelling of ciggarettes. But regardless, I am in a complete binge state of mind lately, and I hate it. My friend is coming to stay with me tomorrow night until monday, so I'm going to have to live a normal life for a few days. Eating, being social, being fun... it sounds hard.

Once she's gone I'm really gonna need to fast. I'm scared to think what the scale will say after this weekend.

I stood on the scales after I woke up and the number hadn't gone down. It's been up for 2 days. Something came over me and I headed to the store. I filled myself with food, disgusting process of eating, but realized that as soon as something is inside of me, I resent it. Eating is just so not worth it.

Today has been a success. Every day that I spend not eating is a success. I also finally got some weed, the helps me calm down so much. The stress I'm under right now is crazy. I think I'm going to go buy a macbook tomorrow morning. I've been trying to excuse myself for spending so much money by telling myself that it's all the money that I won't be spending on food. It's the only thing that works.

I have a long night ahead of me.I only slept 2 hours last night but it doesn't look like tonight is going to be much better. And it's all my fault. I spend so much time inside my head, obsessing over hunger and perfection that I cannot bring myself to care about school. And then I'm stuck hours before the deadline trying to make something half decent.

Everything will be better when I'm skinny.

I'm out of cigarettes, I do not know how I'm going to survive this night. 5 hours of studying with no break,no nicotine. And then two more hours of class.

I feel like I'm falling apart. Just like those lyrics say, and even though nobody's watching, she's falling apart. I don't know how much longer I can go on. The stress here at this school, with this language, it's unbearable. And I'm not coping. I'm really not. I spoke to a friend today about this, she went to Cambridge and dropped out after a year because she couldn't do it, she started developing an eating disorder. The first thing she asked when I told her how stressed I am is 'are you eating alright?' I lied. I said I am. But there's nothing alright about this. Going days without anything but nicotine and caffeine, then eating some crap and trying to get it out.

I'm frustrated at my sister because she doesn't understand, but how could she? It's not like she knows anything. A part of me is angry at her for not knowing the truth about me, but I realize that this anger is really directed at myself. How can I expect people to worry when I make it so easy to not? I feel like everything about me has become fake.

I tried talking to my sister about college and how I'm hardly coping but she blew me off. She didn't get me at all, she became defensive, as if I was blaming her for something, and then she logged off. I'm dying to have someone understand, I'm dying to have someone help me,save me, hide me from the world. But no one does, no one ever see's how fucked up I really am. Why is it so hard to understand?

It's past 10pm now and I still haven't done anything.I feel like I physically can't any more. I feel like all I want to do is disappear. If I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible. I hate that I ate today, I hate that I allowed myself to not be fragile. All I want is for everyone to see just how little I am. But they won't because I'm not, because I'm little only on the inside, where every part of my body is falling apart and I'm in pain and I'm cold and lonely and scared. I wish I could speak to my sister, but she would never understand. She's 800 miles away and she doesn't see what's happening to me. She doesn't see me shrinking, she doesn't see me breaking. But the truth is, even if she was right near me, holding my hand, feeling my breath, she still wouldn't. People think I'm strong and always in control. Truth is I've lost control over everything but my eating. And I don't even care.

I've sat on my bed for hours now just scrolling through my tumblr, letting things trigger me. The amount of work I have to get done by tomorrow is terrifying but I can't focus. Maybe it's the food inside of me, not feeling empty slowly kills me and I hate myself and I can't be productive. All I can be is fat, sat on my bed hating my miserable existence.

I want to go to bed and not deal with tomorrow. I want to stay in bed all day and imagine far away places and fragility. A tiny body helpless and breaking. I want fragility, fragility is my everything. All I desire.

I hate group work because it means I have to interact with someone. It means that I can't keep quiet to myself, hiding. It means I have to get the work done because someone is counting on me. It means that I have to go out there and be acknowledged as real. I hate having to do that. All I want to do is hide. I want to hide.

And as my sister's life begins to flow in the right direction, I'm on the fast track towards rock bottom.

I hate being at home. I hate the silence, the alone factor, the easiness to eat, the lack of needing to lie.

Today was sort of a beautiful day. I met my friend who I hadn't seen since summer. One of the first things he said to me was 'Do you ever eat anymore? You look so much skinnier.' Nothing can sound better to my ears. As we were saying goodbye he kissed me on the forehead, making me feel small, fragile. It's wonderful, it's all I long to be. Petite, helpless, tiny. As we were saying goodbye he told me I look beautiful, and jokingly added 'stay skinny'. If he had any idea of just how far I'm willing to go to stay skinny. Except I'm not skinny at all, I'm smaller than I was this summer, but that doesn't mean that I'm there yet. By the time I see him again I want to be almost invisible.

I came home and I ate. I don't know why, I thought it would be easy to not keep it down, and it would distract me or something. But I couldn't get it up,that happens sometimes. And it's killing me. But I'm trying to let it go. When not eating is a lifestyle, one day of slipping up isn't going to destroy you. Tomorrow's monday, my best day in terms of food. 0 food, 0 calories. I stay out all day and come home as late as possible. I hate being at home.

I have so much work for tomorrow so I guess I won't be getting any sleep tonight. This whole week is going to be a moving disaster. But maybe, at least, I will be smaller by the end of it. That will make the time worth it.  Becoming smaller makes everything worth it.

This morning I woke up weighing less than I did yesterday, although I ate something last night, and that's all that matters. That's what defines the day. Whether I am going to be cheerful and optimistic, or whether I'm going to pretend to be cheerful and optimistic. I have to go meet a friend in a little while who's in town for the day, but I'm little worried because we're meeting around lunchtime. He better not expect me to have lunch with him. AAAAND disaster averted. He just called, he's having lunch right now, so I said I'll meet him straight after for coffee. This whole 'not eating' thing is becoming easier by the day.

As I was high last night I was thinking a lot. That's what weed does to me, it makes me notice things and I become so alert. I started noticing how all my thoughts applied completely to those of an eating disordered. I noticed that the letters ED always stand out, in whatever context. I noticed that I often don't realize that what I mean by 'I'm full' is not what other people mean. To me full has come actually stuffed, sick, in pain from the food inside me. For others it's that full feeling, the one I used to get before I got this. And sometimes I forget, I hear people say 'I'm starving' and I automatically think 'me too, how long have you been doing this for?' and then I remember, they're just hungry, and in 10 minutes they'll eat.

I think some of my friends are a bit suspicious. One girl noticed the scars on my hand, the cigarette burns which I was stupid enough to make in such a visible place. I told her that I accidentally scratched myself, I hoped that the burns could come out as scars to her. But she told me she doesn't believe me, and now when I see her she brings it up. The last time I saw her a few days ago, as she was saying bye, she pointed to my arm and said 'don't do that again, call me instead'. But do you really mean that? How do you expect that to happen? 'Hi S, I'm feeling shit, I hate myself and I hate my life, and the pain is unbearable, so I need to take it elsewhere. I need to burn a hole in my skin so the one inside my chest doesn't scream as loud. Can you help me? Can you find another way to fix that whole?' Of course not.

In fact, I notice that everything people say brings me back to these thoughts. This random french boy told me yesterday how my accent is cute, and how french guys are crazy about accents. As I stood in front of my toilet last night, I wondered, 'Are they also crazy about this? About disorders and self-hate and throwing up? Would you still find me attractive if you saw the real me?'. The answer doesn't keep you waiting.

My best friend in fact, who's feeling stressed lately, told me the other day how she's been eating a lot, the other day in fact she ate so much that she felt sick and nauseas. She said she's worried she has an eating disorder. It made me angry. It's crazy but a part of me thought 'This is mine, and that means you can't have it', and another part of me questioned how can she throw those words around so easily. Because it's not just about a few days of overeating under stress, and then going back to being your perfect self, it's in your HEAD. It's always in your head. It turns into your lifestyle.How could she not know that? I'm careful with my answers though, I feel like I already come off as knowing too much when such conversations start. I worry that people will start wondering why I know everything I'm telling them.

I smoked weed today after a really long time and realized how my eating disorder is all I think about. Everything relates to it, everything triggers, everything reminds me of what I'm doing. I think about it so much that my world now revolves around it, and this silence, as much as I enjoy the lying, it's killing me. And that's where this comes in. I need to be able to talk, even if there's nobody listening.
I now understand drug addiction. I understand what it's like to throw everything away over something that might be killing you.
I've been overweight pretty much my whole adolescent and adult life. I remember walking down the street one night and seeing my reflection. I saw a bear. I hated myself.
I want fragile, I want tiny and small, and almost invisible. I want my idea of beauty. And I feel like I'm so close to it, all I have to do is try a little longer. I was called petite today, for the very first time in my life. It made me feel beautiful. But only for a second, because the side effect of this condition is paranoia. I feel like I am constantly being judged, that people are always pointing out my flaws, and that petite really means short and fat. It cannot possibly mean what I want it to mean.
I haven't eaten in three days and then I fucked up. Not too bad I guess, but any amount of food, regardless of whether I keep it down or not, is a fail to me. The only calorie intake that is acceptable is 0. And going anywhere above that is self-destructive.
The reason I'm writing this is because I feel all alone. Yesterday (so strange to think it was only yesterday. The days have started to move so much slower) I looked through my phone book, my facebook, desperate to find someone who could understand. Desperate to tell someone, to talk, to reveal myself, but there is no one. And I don't need, want or deserve help. I know what I got myself into, and I can't walk away until I'm fragile. Little. Skinny. Petite. I want to talk not because I need someone to save me, but because the silence is pulling me further down. I love the lying, as sick as that is, but it has become the part I enjoy most. Having no one around me really know me, having to act out healthy, pretending that I'm eating when really eating makes me sick. The lying, and the fragility, it's what drives me.