It didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would...people know I'm back. Some are unwanted, such as Kate and Judah. I expected they would be watching for me, but I really don't care anymore at this point. I would much prefer if they chose to keep my resurfacing to themselves and not involve the entire family this time...but it's up to them. I can't not post at this point.
I ate today. It was supposed to be a reward for myself after eating next to nothing for the past 4 days and finding a mostly flattened stomach this morning. But eating never really works as a reward does it? Seeing my magically unflattened stomach now that the day is over...it feels more like a punishment.
Reading through the comments on my previous entry has been interesting. A very extensive string of welcome with little bits of bashing and unwanted family interest sprinkled in between. I could address some of the bashing, but I would rather not waste the space in this entry. If they find it satisfying to continuously insult my personal choices and actions, then by all means. I'm happy to help however I can.
I was talking to a friend the other day about my writing. I told him that many of the stories I tell about my life are hard to hear. Deep, intense, depressing. While that is sometimes the case (especially with my last post), I don't see it that way. I see an interestng story that I have the ability to word in such a way that it strikes people. It makes them think. Or cry. Or find similarities to their own lives. No matter what reaction, I don't want to struggle in vain. I want my life to be useful in some way. Even if it's only good on paper.
To clarify, I'm not miserable. I constantly have to remind myself to breathe, to stand up every day, to find the sun, to live...but my life isn't without purpose or joy. I find joy in little things these days. In late nights over coffee and card games with friends, in a tip over 20% left on the table for me, in Damian's sleepy eyes and mumbles when I attempt to wake him up in the morning, in sharing the last cigarette with a friend because you are both broke and need nicotine.
In some ways, I'm even content with how I look. I'm not nearly as desperate as I was before. Damian swears up and down that I should never shed an ounce. Funny coming from him, considering he is 6'1" and 128 pounds. But yes, in some ways, I could continue as I am.
And just as I write that, I hear a faint whisper. A challenge. Ana stirs in my memory, a compelling and inviting picture of what I could be. What I have been. Just over a year ago I was at my lowest weight. The picture in my mind of that time is very strong. The size 4 jeans, the shrunken waist, protruding hips and ribcage. And I want it all over again.
Tomorrow I will be testing my limits. How low can you go? How long can you say no? Will it be diet coke or regular? On goes the list of small decisions that direct my path closer and closer to thin. It's an ongoing battle. Tomorrow I fight.
It's funny how the concerns of my day melt away when I write here. Just an hour ago I was nearly driven mad with the flurry of thoughts and feelings in my head after a discussion with Damian. A crashing wave of insecurity mixed with tortured love and unconditional loyalty. The only way to describe the overall feeling was that I was screaming inside. On fire.
One cigarette, 20 minutes of TV, half a poptart, and a blog post later, I feel ok.
And life goes on.
Stay strong everyone, I've missed you so.