Gained a couple of pounds in the past month or two... Feeling miserable, but I suppose it could have been worse. I wonder if being constipated contributes to that at all...?

Interesting conversation in the library today. Slid onto the chair and attempted to read, while listening to these two blond girls talking. It starts innocently enough. One of them is perusing Shape magazine and remarks that she should try a tea the "burns calories". I shrug to myself and try my best to continue ignoring them. Then they start talking about their work - one of them works for Pizza Hut or something, I think, while the other is at a pastry/coffee shop. And the first one who remarked about the tea goes "Like, when I'm really craving a doughnut or something, I'll take a bite of it and chew it to, you know, get the taste of it; and then I'll spit it out so that the calories don't go in." She continues on about points (I assume she's on Weight Watchers) and her friend just goes "That's so funny".

I want to scream at her and tell her "IT IS NOT NORMAL TO CHEW AND SPIT YOUR FOOD." but of course I don't. I mean, if friends think that it's "funny" to do someting like that, then it's obvious how I fell into my own disorder. Then the first girl starts about how she didn't have breakfast and her friend says that she only had a fig/fig newton and a bottle of water. Dear God. Finally the get up and leave to go to lunch.

I don't know what the world is coming to.

For some reason, I remember an evening I overheard my parents talking.

Dad: I didn't know what to do. She was hungry, I know she must have been starving. But she just sat there at the table staring at the bowl of rice like she was terrified of it; a bowl of rice! It was as though if she ate it, she would have died.

For some reason, I feel incredibly sad... 

I'm not sure why I'm typing this. All I know is that for the past few weeks, I've had to look the truth about myself in the eye, and what I see isn't promising or pretty. I admit that I am sick. I have the distorted, twisted love-hate relationship with food. I crave it when I don't have it, but once it is in me, I need to get it out. The confusing tug of "I need food to live" versus "Food makes me fat and ugly" only seem to grow worse when I have nothing to do over the holiday.

To make things worse, I'm imposing my problems on my family. My parents, especially my father, who work so hard to ensure that we are happy. I've gotten an unbelieveable amount of gifts from them, from Thanksgiving to Christmas... clothes, a labtop, a Nintendo DS... I think it is his attempt to help me, make me happy, and break away from this disorder. But I can't give it up. Not yet.

But I'm forced to admit the pointlessness of my situation. I cannot keep anything solid in my stomach without wanting to retch it out. I need laxatives to properly have a BM. And now, my mind is consumed with thoughts of food. Food, food, food. The savior and the condemner. I don't know, if I could properly poop, maybe I could go back to normal. But my body is so screwed up; it's terrified of cold, weak, and God knows how much havoc I've wreaked on my organs and all my internal systems. I don't know if anything, anyone can save me at this point of destruction.

But this is reality. What am I going to do when I must go off to college in half a year or so? I can't keep up these destructive behaviors... I'll only be sent to a hospital or mental asylum or something. I just don't know what to do.