I got mad at my stationary bike

This afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, looking at my stationary bike with loathing and spite. I felt deceived, lied to.

When I got my bike, before I got it, I thought, “I’m going to lose so much weight!”

I spend hours on that damn bike every day. Want to know how much I’ve lost? Nothing.

Not one…damn…pound.

Because calories in versus calories out means absolutely shit when it comes to my body. Clearly, my fat did not get that memo.

I feel at my wit’s end. Before getting the bike, I just assumed I wasn’t losing because I ate too much and did too little. Now, I just don’t know what to do. It doesn’t seem to matter how much or little I eat, or how many hours I work out. That number just doesn’t budge. I can take diet pills and bottles of laxatives and throw up everything I eat and exercise until I vomit and pass out, and nothing works.

I just give up. I will be fat forever. I will die fat. I might as well just hurry it along.

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“I’m helping”

My ex (we were together for two and a half years) has taken to sending me pictures of the food he’s eating. The picture above is the most recent.

I’m not sure what his reason is. He knows I’m struggling, so I think it might be his way of trying to help. Like a “look, I’m eating, you can too!” But I honestly just don’t want to talk about food or what I’m eating, so I usually just ask him if he enjoyed it, or change the subject.

Today was long and rough. I haven’t exercised today and I don’t know if I will tonight. I am utterly exhausted. I took a 3 hour nap earlier and didn’t want to get up after. I may go to bed soon.

I didn’t hear from the eating disorder clinic today like I was supposed to. I left a message this afternoon and didn’t hear back. *sigh*

Tomorrow morning is my rescheduled meeting with the behavioral health guy. I’m debating whether I should tell him the disturbing thoughts that have been rattling around in my brain.

I think I’ll go lie down now.

Because I’m selfish

I was told I am selfish for not wanting to live. Not that I am selfish for planning or attempting suicide, just for the sole lack of desire to exist. 

I was also told I’m selfish for not caring enough about others to stop being bulimic. I am selfish for making them worry. 

You know what helps someone who is struggling, who already thinks little of themself? Telling them that you agree with all the horrible things they think about themselves already. Telling them how selfish and inconsiderate they are. Not only will that make them see the error of their ways, it’ll guilt them into being less selfish and more mentally healthy. 

Oh…wait…