2:53 a.m. - 2015-01-04
The predictable trajectory is that I will get down to about 90 lb and then something will scare me, something that makes me more scared of what I could do to my children and the people I love if I keep this up than i am scared of eating, and i'll start eating again. I'll never be 60 lb with a tube in my nose because I am too damn stubborn to let this disease get that bad, but I will never be healthy either because I am too damn scared of life and hate myself too much to be.
At 100 pounds I feel like I'm too much but I try to stay over that, because 102.5 lb is the dividing line (bmi of 17.5) between anorexia and non, according to the DSmIV (haven't checked the new one). Of course it is only one of the criteria, but I like having a concrete measure with which to judge my sanity.
Depression has a habit of fucking with my balancing act. I suppose you could say that I don't feel like I deserve to be nourished and take up space. Minimizing how much of me there is and how much I consume is my apology to the world.
Problem is, really skinny people are actually more of a drain on society than healthy ones, so I try not to let it go too far. I don't want to not be there for my kids, not be able to function normally. I've been there, a long time ago now, and I remember how hard it was to walk and to reason logically. Under 90 lb my brain stops functioning properly and under 80, my ability to stand up and not pass out is questionable.
Not going there...