11:11 PM.

Make a wish.
I wish that I was beautiful.
I wish that things would get better more quickly.
I wish people didn't have to die.
I wish that I didn't put off everything until last minute.
I wish that relationships weren't so complicated and confusing.
I wish that two people could be in love and that was that.
I wish I was thin.
I wish a lot of things.
I wish too many things.

Sometimes I begin to believe that that's all life is becoming. Wishes.

Love you,
Margie.

Frustrated.

I'm fasting again as of Tuesday, because I ate so fucking much this weekend.
I guess I'll just call it preparation for a five day fast.

So lets do some math:
After two days of fasting, my body turns to itself (my heaps of fat) for sustainance. After that, the average person loses about a pound a day. If I fast from Tuesday morning to Saturday night, five days, that should be a about three pounds. Ninety-one pounds. Thats sounds so beautiful. Ninety-one. Ninety-one. Ninety-one.

I'm not even going to add up this weekend's calories; I'll end up having a major freak-out/purge-fest. So to keep myself occupied from my horrid self indulgence, I curled my hair. And I really like it curly.

I'm so so so full. I want to cry. I would, if I wasn't about to go pose for my friend some more.

I don't know why I get used as a model; I really don't think I'm pretty, I'm short as anything, and I'm horribly awkward in front of the camera. I never know what to do. I just kind of look at it with a lost and slightly disgruntled expression, and he loves it.

Anyways. Off to the studio.
I'll leave you with a picture of my curly hair.

Love you, Margie.
Update:
self-esteem=zero. Zero point fucking zero zero zero. Actually, more like negative fifteen thousand, nine hundred forty eight.
So, tonight I get up on the scale. The needle rockets up. I slide the bottom weight to fifty, the top to forty five. Nothing. Ninety five is too light. I slide it up to forty six, nothing. Seven. Eight. Nine. One hundred. The needle moves. It centres.
My heart is litterally about to fall out of my ass. I get pale.
"NO! That's not right. It's not right. No. No. No."
It gets better. I start to cry. No, not by myself, in the comfort of my own bathroom. I start to cry in the middle of a crowded hall, filled with my piers and classmates. My best friend, Er, sat with his arm around me, trying his best to convince me that that particular scale is off by five pounds, and that the scale in the fitness centre is right. I still couldn't believe him. Just seeing that number on the scale, wrong or not, got to me. Iwanted to die. I really did. He went into the whole, "Margie, you are so thin. You really are. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter. You worry all of us, and I know you know that. And besides, you haven't even gained any weight! I saw last time you weighed yourself! That scale is off, and don't say it's not. The nurse said so herself." By now, I had several more people gathered around me, rubbing my arms, and putting their hands on my knees, offering me those cliche words of "comfort," the words that make me want to hit somebody: "Oh, Margaret, you're so skinny. You're so pretty." I hate them.
I hate everyone.
I hate me.

Dear God:

If you're out there and if you're listening, I'd really like for you to do the following for me, if it isn't too much trouble.

1) Please stop making my little sister so darn sweet, and keep her from buying me giant Reese's cups.
2) Please, somehow or another, make Mexican food fall off the face of the planet. (Or you could always just give me at least an ounce or two of self control.)
3) Make me stop eating so darn much so I'd stop having to ram my fingers down my throat and taking so many laxies.
4) Please keep me from buying food, so I might actually have some money every once in a while.
5) Please, if you can't do any of those, just make me thin.

Hope that isn't too much trouble.

Thanks,
Margie.

You Know You're Sick When:

You go to visit your dying grandmother in the hospital, who has cancer related anorexia and only weighs about eighty-five pounds; you find yourselve looking at her arms, grey, her blue veins tied up in knots around her meatless bones, and you feel a pang of jealousy.

You ask yourself: Why can't I be that thin?

And then you realize just how messed up and sick you are.
So you go into bathroom down the hall and cry.

Love you,
Margie.

Why?

If I were to describe today in a word, it would be binge.

Look how fucking bloated I am. And my arms look enormous. I utterly loathe myself right now.

Love you,

Margie.

Apres Moi, Le Deluge.

Gosh, I've eaten so much today.
I feel icky and full.
Although, I don't regret the mini fruit binge I went on.
I love fruit almost as carrots.
Especially orange.
What is it with me and orange foods?!

We ate breakfast together again today, you had a waffle. I had my little bowl, filled to the brim with assorted fruits.
He put a forkful of his syrup covered waffle in front of my nose. "I know want some of my delicious waffle, don't you?" He said.
He has the whitest teeth.
"Nah, I'm good with my fruit."
"Come on! Eat it. You know you want to..." He moved it to closer to my mouth.
I dodged it at first, but then he got me, right under my nose.
I still smell like syrup.

We ate sushi tonight.
I ate way too much; he looked worried cause I didn't eat everything on my plate, even though I had been eating off of his.
"Why don't you ever finish your food?"
"I just don't like eating too much, and I already ate too much already."
"You never eat enough. You're looking even smaller."
Secretly I glowed inside, but I frowned at him.
"I can't help it. It's just the way I am."
And I'm not gonna change it.
"I worry about you sometimes."
"Don't."

Food:
b- assorted fruit (62)
l- two rice cakes with salsa and cheese (140)
d-12 pieces sushi (290)
s-0
e-brisk walking, 45 minutes (-188)
total: 304

94.5

Is how much I currently weigh!
I can tell I've lost inches too, my jeans are looking really saggy.
I'll try to get a picture up ASAP.
I'm so happy.
I'm going for a five day fast in two weeks.

Current Stats:
Height: 5'2.5" (158.8 cm)
Weight: 94.5 lbs (42.8 kg)
BMI: 16.9

Food:
b- 1/4 waffle (90)
l- tomato basil soup (80)
d-orange (40)
s-crackers, sprinkles & cereal (250)
e-stairs and an hour of brisk walking (-223)
total: 200