Wednesday, 24 August 2011

Bargaining with a tsunami.

I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.
I am not fat.

I feel huge. The number on the scales is fine; it's the number I worked out long ago as being the lowest I can maintain whilst still looking healthy (oh, and whilst still filling a 32D- I have really amazing boobs; amazing even despite boobs being sacks of fat, which is an 'orrific thought. I'd show you a picture, but one of you little tinkers might have it resurface when I'm PROPERLY grown up and important). I don't want to look unhealthy, I don't see the point in advertising disorder. But I have such an intense craving for loss, such an unexplainable desire to rot and to waste and to stop trying to shut a dam on the disease, to open wide my hands to the sky, instead of trying to build against all forces of a malicious and belligerent god.

I keep trying to haggle with the disorder, to cut a deal that involves just losing a few kilo, or just seeing what I can lose over a few weeks. Those of you who've been here know how laughable an idea attempting to cut a deal with the beast is and those of you who haven't... imagine bargaining with a tsunami. But what else to do?

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