I was doing so well...in the eye of those I'm getting treatment from.  I mean, I was eating a bit more, a lot more actually and I felt, and still feel like an absolute gluttonous pig.  On the one hand, I felt so so guilty that I wasn't going out running my nine miles every night and that I was eating what felt like a vast amount of food.  This guilt was overwhelming and overpowering, lowering my mood to such an intense level of self-loathing that I started cutting again.  Everything felt unbearable.  However, on the other hand, the lack of exercise felt, I'm not sure what the appropriate word is, but it was like a pressure had been lifted away.

Anyway, this lack of exercise and this increase in consumption of food inevitably led to weight gain.  And I felt like shit.  And then I felt even more like shit when I got weighed on Friday because it confirmed my greedy, lazy lardy fatness.  I felt so low that I just don't care about anything.

And now I'm on a mission - to lose it all again, and I am waiting in anticipation the high at the end of the week.  I don't care about anything else.  Ana has taken over and I'm not going to stop it.  Day one is done.  Day two, so far, is on track.  I just hope I can find the willpower to keep this going, keep in control, in the driving seat.

I wish my greatest fear was something normal...like...spiders, or...heights.  But my all-consuming fear is anything to do with weight: food; gaining weight; eating; drinking; scales; feeling fat; going out in public and being conscious of my weight...etc.

I've sort of promised to allow myself to be weighed on Friday and it is absolutely stressing me out to the point that I can't breathe properly, my heart is racing and I haven't slept properly for nights and nights and so tiredness, sheer exhaustion, is making the situation a whole lot worse.  And I have reverted to what I would have liked to have called a former habit, which is no longer 'former' since I have taken it up again.  And I know that getting weighed on Friday is going to exacerbate this habit because I will hate myself so so so much.  I haven't actually told anyone this, but it is just unbearable to cope with and I need to let it out somewhere.

I want so much to turn up to one of my Friday appointments and say 'Hello, yes I'm great thank you, I've had a wonderful week!'  Because, for the last three, or is it four, weeks, I have been unable to get on the scales, I have been unable to complete many of the challenges I wanted to complete and I have felt like a complete and utter failure.  I feel like I'm trying so hard but not getting anywhere.  And at the same time I feel so FAT, so grotesquely huge and the monster inside of me keeps urging me to give up and just carry on as I am.

So that is why a fear of something relatively normal that is incapable of ruining my life is number one on my Christmas present list...

Ooh, exciting stuff...I was invited to a party, which took place yesterday.

Only the senders of the invite obviously did not really want me to go, and probably knew I would not go, which is why they sent an invite.  Not the first time it has happened.

Anyway, it was about a quarter to eleven, and my Mum came upstairs saying that she noticed the sensor activated outside light go on and saw someone whiz up and down the drive.  Curious, she went out and opened the post-box where there was an envelope with my name on it.  My name, written in a handwriting that was obviously someone I knew, but they had made it unrecognisable, disguised.  It was the aforementioned invitation.

I mean, if someone wants you to go to a party, or an event, whatever, if they really wanted you to go: why would they write your name so that you cannot recognise their hand; why would they skulk around in the middle of the night; why would they drive around with headlights switched off; why would they sneak, being as quiet as possible, then drop off the invitation?  Why?

It is so petty and makes no sense to me...why?!?!  Is it me?!?

Needless to say, I did not go.

Last night was awful awful awful.

Ana is getting stronger and it is unbearable to live with.  I was freaking out about an array of things, but most of all about having to get weighed at an appointment today.

I just cannot go on like this, but it's so hard to give up.  Part of me absolutely desperately wants to give it up, wants to get better, to live my life - happily, because I cannot cope with these miserable, melancholic feelings any more.

But another part of me just cannot give it up.  It has got too great a hold of me, it is part of who I am, who I have become.  Yet it is like having a monster living inside of me.  I am a monster but it is not me: my thoughts are not mine; my feelings are erratic; my emotions are suppressed; I am no longer anything but a puppet controlled by an upper being.

How do I get back control?  How do I drive away this monster?  How do I live?

I don't have anything to write about.  Well, not strictly true...I just don't have anything interesting to write about.  It's all the same old same old...vicious circle of feeling like crap, because of this ED, allowing myself to be controlled by my ED, wanting to stop feeling so miserable but ED not allowing me to move forward, trapping me in this gloom and so I carry on feeling like crap.

I just want a hug.  Pathetic as it sounds.  I just want someone to hold me and say, it'll be alright.  Because I don't think it will.  Everything is falling apart around me, because of me.  I want someone to say 'STOP' and make it all go away.

But my wants are too much and I am too needy.  I've got to find the strength to do this myself, but I keep getting knocked back and I clutch on to ana to cope.  Or does ana clutch on to me?

It's been a while since I last wrote.  A while...ha, a bit of an understatement!  I got freaked out at the thought of people reading my innermost thoughts and feelings, but I need to get over being so...I don't know what the word is.  Basically I just need to let go, to be myself and be free from the chains I lock myself in.

Easier said than done, but I am working on it.

So much has happened since my last post, so I'm not even going to start writing down all the nitty gritty details.  I'm just going to start again, from today.

Today my fast starts.  I've been working so hard to beat this ED but I'm freaking out at how much weight I've put on (see, easier said than done to let myself go) but something happened yesterday that made me no longer care about working to get better.  I mean, what for?  I do want to get better, but it seems only so much.  I think it's more wanting to get rid of the feelings I'm feeling.  I don't think this makes sense, but then I don't understand this thing at all.  If I did, I suppose I wouldn't be like this.