Forgive me ana, for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last confession.
(I feel pretty questionable about the pro-ana personification/deification of anorexia, but I couldn't get that line out of me head.)
This is my 100th post.
I wanted Post 100 to be something special. Magical. Accomplished. A landmark of sorts.
I wanted to be under 130.
Yet here I stand, 137.4 after a sort of binge-y day yesterday. I binged on protein bars. Who does that? (At least I'll be strong?)
I'm so busy these days, and it's so easy for me to say oh, I have three or four or eight hours of dance today, I need to eat everything in sight. It's so easy to say oh, I only got five hours of sleep again, I need to eat to get through the day. It so easy to say oh, no, I really need to do this work, I don't have time to go to the gym.
Where have I wound up with that kind of thinking? At 137.4.
(I hope it's really lower. I had a pretty intense rehearsal yesterday, and I'm so, so sore. I hope my muscles are holding on to lots of water. I hope I still have food weight in me. I hope I'm not REALLY above 136 yet again.)
Midwinter Ball is in 18 days. I want to be 125 for it. 12.4 pounds in 18 days? .7 pounds a day.
I can do that.
I need to do that. K and I are still dating--a little over three months. And she's so GOOD at starving. At being tiny. Her stomach's flat, and when she lies down her ribs and hips are higher than her stomach. I have ribs always and hipbones when I lie down, too, but I also have this stupid little pooch of stomach still. I don't deserve her. I need to deserve her. I need to be 125.
Today I have ballet, modern, and a two-hour rehearsal. The piece we're rehearsing, at least in its current existence, is more walking than anything really strenuous. I think I can get away with not eating. I'll bring a couple of oranges just in case, but I don't think I'll need them.
Here's to being better.