Make me cry

Do you know how frustrating it is to not be able to cry when you so desperately want to? I don’t know what flipped, but I stopped writing in my journal and now I’m typing. I don’t know who “you” is, but I just know this isn’t aimed at only me. I am writing to someone and I just want someone to notice. I want someone to notice that even though I look fine on the outside, all my thoughts were from the moment I woke up from my broken sleep, was what I would eat, when I would complete my unfinished workout from the gym, whether the last two bites of corn were too much carb, if I had eaten enough protein, would I wake up in the middle of the night again, hungry (or not, I don’t even know). How did my weight go up in the space of three weeks? More like the space of two days.

Logic tells me it’s water weight, but the voice tells me I’m different from everyone else; this is fat. I am fat now.

I can’t stop comparing myself to the other girls, checking if their fingers could grip around their waist without any extra fat hanging out like it does on me. “Extra” fat. I was heartbroken when a girl who normally looks “bigger” wore a skirt that made her look smaller. I look at myself in the mirror and all I see is my stomach, protruding as if it doesn’t belong on me, disgusting, not portraying how hard I work. I just look fat. I don’t look fit.

If I had self-control, I would have a nice set of abs. I am not weak but I am not strong enough. It’s just never enough. If I do a workout and it says 5 reps, I must do 6. If the timer is on for 1 minute I must do one minute and ten seconds. It seems like nothing, no extra addition to the time really for it to matter, but slowly, increment by increment, I’m getting sadder and sadder.

I start to take out the avocado from my meal. I can’t eat cheese without it being terrifying. I fear egg yolks. I bought sugar-less chocolate. I didn’t even realise when I vowed I wouldn’t have carbs with lunch, but the moment I did today, I was out of control. That’s it. It was now classified as a “binge.”

I had half a slice of bread and maybe 4 spoons of oats.

I can’t see the point of spending money on food. It doesn’t seem worth it; it’s going to go uneaten or end in a binge, and either way I won’t enjoy it. So guess what I do.

I didn’t even notice when it started again.

I am tired and even though I can sleep in tomorrow, being a day off, I am afraid of being with myself. I can’t trust me. Who knows what I’ll eat? Who knows when I will let myself stop, rep after rep, set after set, step after step on the stair machine at the gym. Who knows? Who is there to stop me?

And even worse, if I do stop? Then I am weak.

I hate weak.

I hate failure.

And fat is both these things.

I want to write until I cry, but it’s just not coming out.