I don't remember the first time I felt fat.
But I know it existed.
Perhaps it was at the lunch table in the seventh grade, while my friends talked and laughed over people.
Maybe it was the day my mother said, "Aniela, do you really need that?"
Maybe it is because over the years, the subsequent batterings of the thoughts that I had just melded into one, terrifying idea of hate.
The kind of hate that grows. That doesn't let go. The kind you end up clinging to.
And oh boy did I cling.
Over the years, I experienced many things. My first love, moving to a foreign country, purging, losing hope, gaining it, my first binge.... So many different experiences all lending their own flavor to my life.
There was the restricting part of my life, where I managed to make it down to 99 pounds.
There was the purging part of my life, which I managed to maintain at about 103.
And then God help me, there was the binge phase. I skyrocketed to the highest weight this body has ever experienced.... 133 fucking pounds.
And it all happened so quickly.
And now, here I sit... Still trying to undo the damage from a year ago. I am 125 pounds... and hopefully, not for long. The first phase of my plan is getting rid of the weight I gained..... Making my first goal 110 pounds.
I'm starting the Copenhagen diet tomorrow... So I'll be updating.
I don't plan on weighing until the very last day. I'll be checking in with how I feel, and just the generalities of my life.
Things can get pretty hectic, but hopefully I'll be able to sort them out here.
Anyway, I'm going to go try to sleep now.
Maybe then my mind can dream of him.
It's hard to contemplate how much life changes.