this is getting ridiculous. it really is.
written: 3:06 a.m. on Sunday, Jan. 28, 2007

But I still have some irritation in me left so I'll do it over.

This isn't directed at anyone in particular, but it begs to be said, namely because it's getting ridiculous and it's getting on my nerves. I don't know how else to say it, so I'll state it plainly: I am not anorexic. It logically follows that I am not starving myself.

Maybe it's been way too long since I acquainted myself with the whole anorexia business, but the last I checked, anorexics starve themselves then proceed to throw up when they expectedly succumb to their hunger pangs. Is there a new definition of what it means to be anorexic that somehow slipped past my radar? Because that's the only explanation I can fathom for the new surge in people calling me anorexic, accusing me of starving myself.

I'm not kidding when I say this: It's been literally years since I last puked, such that I honestly cannot, for the life of me, remember when it was. I've only tried to force myself to puke twice in my life, and both times I had a bloody fish bone stuck in my throat, and both times my mom was the one that told me to do it, and both times I gagged a bit and that was it. I have a strong gag reflex but I can't throw up. Even when I was desperate to get the stupid fish bone out of my throat so that I wouldn't have to see a doctor for it because it freaked the shit out of me, I couldn't make myself throw up no matter how hard I tried. So what the hell kind of retarded drug would I be on to make myself throw up just to lose weight, especially since I'm turning twenty-one this year? You can't be anorexic anymore once you're past the age of sixteen, haven't you heard? Because otherwise, you're just plain retarded. And I kind of have this inkling that I'm not retarded.

I don't know which I feel more: insulted or darkly amused. Insulted because calling me anorexic and whatever derivatives one could come up with is an insult to my intelligence. It implies that I'm no better than guileless, spineless teenagers without a mind of their own, easily swayed by what the mass media portrays as the perfect body. And if you know anything about me at all, you would know that I've never been one to fall prey to such brainless and stupid tendencies, that I've always done my own thing, and that, at the most superficial level, I've always declared myself anti-mainstream. Connecting the dots yet? I hope so.

Darkly amused because...on second thought, nevermind.

I'm sorry I wanted to lose weight, I'm sorry I couldn't stand looking at my fats, I'm sorry I worked for it, I'm sorry it paid off. I'm sorry that I've never cared enough for food to feel like a part of me has died just because I don't eat desserts as much as I used to and because I don't eat deep-fried stuff anymore, and I'm sorry, too, that I've always seen eating as a necessity rather than an enjoyment. I've never understood why people spend hundreds of dollars on food when it's all gonna come out as shit anyway, so that's hundreds of dollars literally flushed down the toilet. How stupid, how wasteful, I'd much rather use the money to shop, thank you very much. I'm sorry, too, to disappoint everyone who wanted a simple explanation for my insane weight loss with the fact that I'm not anorexic. Never have been, never was, never will be.

And for someone who's as susceptible to gastric aches as I am, starving myself wouldn't make an ounce of sense. Have you considered this? Oh wait, you never knew I suffered from fucked up stomach aches, right? The only time I deliberately skipped eating for an entire day was in secondary two, during a strange day in which I lost my head or something. But eventually I went home and had dinner. And the gastric pain was really quite painful.

I don't have patience for anorexics and bulimics - same difference between the two, if you want my honest opinion. Both groups are equally fucking stupid. Pro-ana people should have their brains checked; that's all I can say. People who are obviously on the brink of death and still insist on counting their calories should also have their brains checked. I don't count my calories, and if you really want to know, I don't even know the difference between a calorie and a carb and whatever other nutritional thingies along those lines, and I'm not interested. No matter how hard I stared at the nutritional information on food packaging, I wouldn't understand anything anyway, and have I mentioned that I'm not interested?

All I wanted to do when I embarked on this weight loss thing was to lose the tummy and shed a couple of kilos. Being 58.8 kg was really quite ridiculous, even if it was within the acceptable weight range. But did I intend to drop to 50? Did I really want to weigh 48 kilos? And if you honestly think that I enjoy being unable to wear 80% of the clothes in my closet, you're seriously deluded. It sucks to open your closet and see nothing that you can wear, sucks even more when you buy a new pair of jeans that you completely covet just to discover two weeks later that it's somehow got too big. And you've only worn the damn pair of jeans twice. And it set you back about sixty bucks.

Fuck that. I never expected any of this. I never wanted to be skinny, I never wanted protruding shoulder blades, and I've never, ever thought that flaunting your fucking sternum was even remotely sexy. If I were a guy I wouldn't want to hug a girl whose body is like mine - all skin and bones plus some random lump of fats around her tummy. What the hell? How more ridiculous can I get? Even my face looks disgusting, all sunken in and hollow. Does anyone seriously think I'm enjoying this? Because I'm not - at all. And not knowing why this is happening to me, why the hell I continue to lose weight when I haven't been swimming since January 7 and have actually been eating more than usual (been craving sugar a lot and most of the time I answer my cravings unless it's past 8 p.m.), scares the shit out of me. Once the novelty of being able to fit into a size 34 wears off, the significance of being able to fit into a size 34 hits you between the eyes and you're left bewildered and freaked out.

I don't even enjoy shopping anymore. Am I the only one that sees how screwed up this whole fiasco is? How the hell then can I possibly be anorexic if someone who used to love shopping and buying clothes doesn't like it anymore? It's practically akin to me saying I hate my own race.

I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't explain everything away with a simple "I'm like totally starving myself". Because I'm not starving myself, I don't skip meals, the only meal I skip is breakfast and that's only when I'm sleeping because I haven't yet figured out how to eat when I'm asleep. Trying on those stupid dresses yesterday was completely depressing; it alerted me to how I don't fucking have a figure any normal guy would call 'hot' anymore, and if you really want to know, my ideal body is Scarlett Johansson's, not Nicole Ritchie's. I mean, my breasts got smaller, for crying out loud, and I remember whining in here about how I have no cleavage. So now I have even less of a cleavage - how fun and exciting, that's so totally gonna get me laid.

This is bullshit. This entry was a lot better the first time round. It's almost 4 a.m. and I'm too tired to feel irritated anymore so whatever.

Just please, for the love of my sanity, stop calling me anorexic and stop accusing me of starving myself. Neither is true, neither will ever be true. And don't envy me; nowadays I don't envy myself at all.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010