I want the past.
I was skinny and I didn't see it then, but I see it now.
I capped at 600 calories a day, relentlessly I tried to keep moving to burn as many of them off as I could. I consumed plates of lettuce as meals and stole my mothers Hydroxycut.
After church my sister hugged me. "Please eat more than salad and yogurt, I can feel your bones" and I want to go back so badly now that I realize - so I can enjoy.
And then I remember that it was hell.
Crying bawling silently screaming your lungs out under your pillow because you ate more than you approved of. Helpless. Always helpless. Hopeless, hated; guilty.

Fuck being skinny.
I'd rather be chubby than miserable.

But its not even about that. Its about being acceptable. I could put myself on my death bed but if I still didn't think I was acceptable, it still wouldn't be enough. It will never be enough.
The numbers we base our lives on are just a random way of measuring mass. They don't mean a thing. My body just happens to be equal to a certain number of units. It signifies nothing.
I want to be able to look in the mirror and not be bothered, I want someone to be able to touch me without me wincing. I'll work on it.
Yes, I will probably keep track of my intakes, yes I will probably check my reflection every morning and frown. Who knows, maybe I'll have to spend my whole life on edge, making sure I don't get sucked back into all of this.

I can start now.
I was reading peoples journals, trying to catch up on the last three weeks and it was difficult. I don't want to be a part of this anymore. And if I start to think that I do, I don't want it to be right in my face, taunting me, welcoming me back.

However, there are people who have stories I want to keep reading. So I can't go.
I'm making a new account, for a new me. Because I'm not the same person I was before. Not with eating disorders, not with relationships, not with life. Things have changed.

If you get left behind;  I'm sorry.
but thank you for listening

He stopped me on at the top of the stairs to the third floor and we talked about the different stars I would see in the southern hemisphere.

"Out of hopelessness and sleepless nights"
I took my mother's digital scale so I could accurately weigh my luggage. I stepped on it this morning:
75.6lbs.
Obviously since I'm not dead, it was a mistake - but I would have gotten a world record for eyes bulged out of your head if anyone else had been around. It went from 54-68 and I finally realized it was the carpet messing it up. But it was still kind of fun to play with.

I'm out of here Friday afternoon.
My big goal? I'm not anxious to come back feeling like I did some good. Its not about getting inspired to work a little harder for others. Its not about hope that this world isn't completely going to hell.
I just want to come back lighter.
57kgs to be exact. (125)

Isn't that pathetic?

I'm kind of ridiculous.