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I was in a place where I

refused to have self worth

but it was because if I didn’t loathe myself again I would allow myself to be fat and plump and I loathed that of me more than anything. so I hated myself into refusing to stop hating myself.

I was so fucking angry with nowhere for it to go

At the start, I stopped eating because I hated who I was. But it became about the power. I thought of myself as doughy and white, soft in summer dresses. With disdain, I realised I was like a fucking rabbit waiting to be shot.

So I dreamed up a version of me impenetrable. We never say it but beauty is a weapon. Between women, beauty is a competition and winning that competition garners some inherent power. And all I fucking wanted was more power. “NO ONE WILL EVER HURT ME LIKE THAT AGAIN”

I dreamed myself smaller. Being small but a little strong grants power because you cannot be belittled for your excess fat, your associated laziness, your slavish need to eat. I dreamed my hair long and black like a sheet, trailing down my back - or braided like a whip. A warrior. And my eyes dark and angry. Clothes masculine and sharp. This is how I would carry myself - confident, strong, unneeding.

I thought “the next time someone wages war with me, I’ll be fucking ready for it. I’ll be brimming with bloodlust.”

I am, at all times, the most angry fucking person in any fucking room. And the way I internalise it, to rot me from the inside out, is another way I can weaponise it. The urge to destroy, to be destructive - my instinct, a joy, a predisposition, feels like the taking of breath.

I wanted to break everything. I want to hurt me all the time; it’s only ever kept at bay. Alone again, the temptation to eat everything then throw it up, to slice my whole body and scream into the bath water, is hunting me. What do I do? I bite my hand. Before I’ve clenched my fingernails into my wrist and felt a little calmer, I try that again.

Does it get worse? Where the fuck do I put this? I wanted to scream but I was already screaming. Drowning the dull drum of my broken mind: ruin everything, ruin whatever you can

I pulled at my face in the mirror

my cracked lips, the fat lying over my jaw

crinkles above my brow, my misshapen teeth.

for some reason my head said, “I’m not gonna hurt you”

and I thought

“what an odd thing to think

and a lie”

the run righted everything

and I took the very worst part of me

and weaponised it

at least going for a run will make me feel normal

I wish it was raining

I want to scream again

I don’t know what I’m doing

I feel like I should have a project to distract me but I don’t

I ended fast at 12.30 because I was so hungry I couldn’t do anything but lie down and I thought if I ate I’d exercise. now I’m in my jogging clothes. I think I’m happy to go for a run. I don’t think it’s about running or weight loss, I’m just so fucking lonely. sometimes when it gets like this I can’t talk to anyone. why do I make everything worse

I feel bad because I wanted to hate myself more today but instead I just feel empty. I was happy wallowing and crying. now I feel vacant.

I can’t even write about it. I can never write and that makes me wild. I was going to go to the newsagency and get stuff to do a poetry scrapbook with but I couldn’t make up my fucking mind what I’m doing. now I’m terrified if I don’t hate myself enough I’ll eat too much and I won’t lose weight

I have to lose weight

I have to

I procrastinated all morning weighing myself but I did it at 10.30 and I lost 2.1 kilos in four days :) yay

I know it will slow down very soon, if not already. but it has given me a boost to losing eleven kilograms by the end of june. that is ten weeks away and I have nine kilograms to lose by then to meet my goal.

I just keep thinking about how much easier everything is when you’re skinny. you can put on any clothes and they just fit you. you don’t have to wear a bra. I’m always so bloated so the less stomach fat I have, the better. then I won’t get back problems in my jeans. and you don’t mind if people touch you or look at you

I remember wearing singlets and shorts when I was skinny and just throwing stuff on. sometimes I feel like my thighs have a presence on their own. I don’t want them to.

if I lose 0.5 of a kilo every week until the end of june I will have lost 5 kilos

but if I work hard I might be able to make it 7 kilos which would be great

weigh myself tomorrow

I don’t think I have lost much weight but I can’t see how I wouldn’t have lost something

I delay going to sleep so I can sleep a little later in the morning

I’m not sure what I’ll do tomorrow. exercise I guess

I had to end my fast at 11.30 today, again to make things ok, I had a smoothie and some sushi and then I ate chicken, crackers, avo, gravy, mixed frozen veggies, apple and peanut butter at 6.30-8.30

tomorrow I should get a vegan pudding for afters so I can make this plan easier to maintain. but I might have to go to the supermarket late so I don’t wig out with all the food

I should come up with little rewards. I’m really focused on the end of june. it is not very far away and I will have lost a good amount of weight by then so I’ll be happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be really happy unless I’m skinny.

something is wrong.

“something is wrong” I say to myself.

won’t eat/can’t want to/can’t want

to

anything.

fell through the universe or the rabbit hole,

for the eightieth time around,

and it all seems alright

and if I would I could get back on track.

but I’m not coming back.

I will not crawl back just to do this again,

when I clamour to my feet

for my knees to crumple and bend.

“let me stay sick then”.

I force my head underwater.

I am happy to go home and be miserable alone tomorrow. It’s better to be miserable away from other people. and I am at the root entirely miserable and pathetic. I think it is obvious I have gone somewhere but is anyone sure where

maybe they do not know

I had to end fast 3 hours early as I’m trying to keep up appearances. I didn’t eat enough anyway to constitute the run in the park. On Monday, at home, I can weigh myself in the morning and I am holding on for this.

I am listening to How To Disappear Completely. sometimes it feels like four people get it but I don’t know who they are and they aren’t in this room

the spaces we carved out where we could not be alright,

and how we see them.

the white bath walls loom as though

“pray over me”

and stoned tiles kiss my knuckled fists.

the bedroom in my hometown

- all that blood spilled -

captures the weight of me, at two and twenty-five:

the doorknob will stick,

the breeze will weigh in in the summer rain.

and a black jeep,

my body heaped

over the steering wheel, propped. it is the wall I crash into.

when I look back, what am I but a cascade waterfall, always descending?

in beautiful spaces I wrap over my shins, aching

and my demise becomes familiar. it becomes the only thing that is all my own.

the spaces we carved out where we could be not alright

don’t we make homes of them?

secrets make you sick

secrets keep you holed up and alone

and I keep lying

so the gate lines are dug like trenches

and the most precious parts of me

are kept safe beyond your seeking view,

where I kill them

the overwhelming feeling today is like “I don’t wanna do this” “I want to be in pyjamas” “I want to be at home”. I’m at the train station in Newcastle, the sun is bearing down and I can feel it heating my forehead and cheeks. the sun is nice but too much, like a lot of things.

I haven’t eaten today. I did not even give a good reason not to, just said I wasn’t hungry and felt a bit sick. Like I wanted it to be just mine. I want to be alone in my head and hurting. I’m so happy to be on the train for the next two hours so I don’t have to talk to anyone. I am getting kind of hangry anyway. I didn’t eat enough yesterday to compensate for today. Who cares who cares who cares

I’m not punishing me. We are getting along. This is just the only thing I can control and achieve at the moment.

When you’re in sick brain, you lie so you can stay in sick brain. You could say “That was so off of me, I wanted to stop eating, I know why that happened” but if you don’t acknowledge it, you can lie to everyone and maybe yourself. Then you don’t have to go back to a brain that is reasonable and prioritises your welfare. I don’t want to be there anyway.

I didn’t tell my best friend about it because she’d tell me to stop and what if she said something reasonable and then I stopped? I can’t risk it

I want to be unwell. It gives me distance from everyone.

#23.04.2021

dynaemene

I got closer to her today. I avoided eating. I did not eat a lot. My throat is itchy and my nose is running. I had three glasses of wine at dinner and fish, squid, chips and brussel sprouts. I am back on the water, I’m in Newcastle, the setting sun made it look like heaven in the afternoon.

I thought a lot today about where not eating could get me. Who it could get me to. The emaciation, and the cuts. That was the me I could stand to be in. I watched an old video of me last night. I was so thin, sick, smiling and mucking around on the laptop camera and on my arm, high to the inside bicep, was a fresh mark; a slit. It hurt to see it but I loved to be in it. Hurting. Hurt. Then there was no pretence and no weakness. Being underweight was not strength either but it was not vulnerability in the humiliating way being chubby is. Exposed and fluffy.

I day dreamed on the plane. Me, bony. A curve of scars and cuts like fingernail marks cutting out around my back. Like I’d tried to yank the thing off. I think that’s what I liked about her. She could cut, could openly ache, and no one thought she was too old or should be too wise. She could just hack with self-loathing and it was all part of her beautiful demise. I didn’t want to romanticise my ill health then and I never did. But I was in love with my armour. I was in love with my grief.

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