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.