I want to cry. As a general rule, I cope. I don't stand naked in front of the mirror, critically assessing angles and curves and bones and fat, anymore. I don't stand with my feet together and then starve if the gap between my thighs isn't great enough. I get up, I eat, and I digest the majority of what I swallow. I do whatever needs to be done. And I cope. Most of the time, I just don't have time give into it 'cause it's not just the time it takes to act on the impulses, it's also the time it'll take to pick myself back up again. It's the risk that if I give into it, I can't just guarantee that it'll be a temporary thing. I can't just go on a diet. And I most definitely do not have time to fully slip, time for general hospitals and psychiatric hospitals and eating disorder units and drips and tubes. So I cope.
But right now, I don't know how much longer I can cope with my body. Don't misunderstand me, I'm most definitely not suicidal or owt like that, it's just this grotesque mass that I have to heave around. I feel like I've locked myself into a fat suit that keeps inflating further. Eating disorders are double pronged- not only do you feel massive, but the idea of being massive is so, incredibly terrifying. If one of those could slip, if I did not feel so completely obese, or if I was not so completely terrified of being obese, I think I'd breathe a little easier.
I really, really just need to lose a few kilo, but is it worth it? Christ knows. Last few days, I've found myself doing summat that I haven't done since... I don't even know when. Going through facebook, and finding girls who are skinny and flicking through their pictures, just to punish myself. That and critically assessing myself against every single woman I come across, to decide exactly how much fatter I am than them. And I am always so much fatter. It makes me sound like a horrible, judgmental, person, but I feel like those people you get on the 'World's Fattest...' programmes. The biggest. Like everyone is staring and laughing about how fat I am. I know, logically, that that's completely not true and I'm just paranoid, but God. GOD, my thighs. My thighs stick out so much at the top, I swear they're wider even than my shoulders. And my stomach is like jelly when I touch it, without the glorious feature of jelly that means it'll wobble away, if you prod it hard enough.