Ana Is Killing Me

I’m sitting here trying to convince myself that my stomach doesn’t hurt because I’m hungry, it hurts because I ate too much. And by too much I mean the cup of diced peaches I had 12 hours ago.

I weighed myself this morning and then again just now and I’ve gained 2 pounds today. I know deep down that it’s water weight but I’m making plans on working out for another hour before I go on my nightly walk. And maybe on that nightly walk I can stop at my park and do some jumping jacks, or use the monkey bars to do pull-ups or climb the stairs to the jungle gym over and over and over until I feel like that 2 pounds has fallen off of my sleep deprived body.

I have three 17oz bottles of water on my nightstand. I have a gallon of water on the ground by my bed. I have a 24oz bottle of water on my dresser. Reminders to drink water before I leave my room because when I leave my room hungry there’s a chance I’ll go to the kitchen and if I go to the kitchen I’ll binge. There’s a full length mirror in my den.

But to get to my den I have to pass the kitchen. If I want to see how my body looks and see how it’s changed I have to risk my fast, I have to risk my weight, I have to risk my goals. Eating food shouldn’t be a risk but it is because I have to lose weight and I can’t lose weight if I eat. So I starve.

I sit in my room and I starve, and I stare at a screen all day, sharing pictures of other starving girls and boys, and sharing tips from other starving girls and boys, and sharing pro recovery posts made by other starving girls and boys and I’m trying to convince myself that my stomach doesn’t hurt because I’m hungry, it hurts because I ate too much. And by too much I mean the cup of diced peaches I had 12 hours ago.