Infestation

I Guess You're Not Anorexic, Or Something

 The rest of the weekend seemed to be back at 1000. I found myself unable to bring my intake up, permanently. I was scared of the binges.

Until I get told that my coaches were concerned about me. They were "scared I had an eating disorder", which I did. I then promised myself that I'll eat 1200 permanently, no lower. It would be for the best, huh. I was scared. I didn't want to gain weight, no I was still wanting to lose. I wanted to lose masses of it. I began coming up with scenarios for hospitals and therapists, so I could remain the weight I was. I was starting to like myself, and a stupid diagnosis would ruin it.

That was a Tuesday, and I had aerial that night. I found it interesting how hyperaware I had become about what I was doing, and on Tuesday aerial, no one had noticed.

Wednesday, and I couldn't face my coaches. I did not have the mental energy, and so I decided against it. I stayed home from training.

I worked out on the bike instead.

On Thursday of that week, after so much concern, I decided to maintain.

"Maintain"

I upped my calorie intake to 1400, as I thought it was enough to maintain. I decided it would be for the best.

I remember looking into a mirror that day, and thinking for the first time in so long:

"I like myself" It was odd. I never liked myself; I never could like myself.

And now I did? I found myself crazy.

But 1400 it was.

So this started a newish part of this whole thing. I remember the first night was odd, but I awoke the next day and felt so much more awake in a way.

But on Friday I got my groceries, and ended up binging on some of them that night ( the rest on Saturday). I remember it ending at 2400, and I purged it.

I remember when I finally ate protein. I had spent this whole time on at most maybe 20g of protein somehow. I'm not really sure how I did it. The introduction of protein seemed to cause my body to just go into hyperdrive. It set something in my mind off.

On Saturday, I remember wanting more protein bars, as it seemed they were

good, and I liked them. They had something my body very much needed.

So then it starts the diet of 1400 on weekdays, and 1600 on weekends.

Assuming this would maintain.

A week in and I feel so much better. I felt alive, and I find that this was actually working. I didn't feel like death. I was happy with it.

I promised myself I wouldn't binge on Friday or Saturday. I promised myself, and yet, I did. I purged, and then on Saturday, I binged and purged again. Sunday was rehearsal, so I didn't binge. I found 1600 to be the perfect number.

It was October now, the beginning at least, and I find that the plan was working. 1400 on weekdays - burn calories from aerial or stationary bike. I binged and purged on Friday and Saturday, 1600 on Sunday.

I hated the binging, but it seemed I couldn't stop it anymore.

Deep down, I knew I didn't want to stop losing. I still had that sick sense of wanting to be 82 pounds. I truly did.

I remember my hair seemed to still fall out during this, even though I was told it shouldn't. I remember thinking.

"I wasn't sick. I'm eating. I'm fine." It was obvious I wasn't. I found myself still getting extreme dizzy spells. I was not allowing myself to eat before noon, even if I would keel over. I didn't let myself eat until 11 am some mornings, just so I wouldn't have to wait for food.

I found myself waiting for food even more. I just wanted to eat.

All. The. Damn. Time.

There was week two. I was at a halloween party, and went as Kylo Ren. I remember playing games that night, after eating 1400. I promised I wouldn't eat more, and I knew that promise was arbitrary. I binged and purged right as I got home.

No one seemed to care it seemed. Friends didn't notice how grey my skin was, or how I was still somehow slowly losing weight. I created charts with calories and calculations of deficits. I had charts of weight - binges. I was documenting everything.

I began to grow obsessed with steps as well. I had found my old pokewalker, and I started to put it onto my pocket.

Every morning before school, I'd drive and get there with 40 minutes to spare, and walk the halls the whole time. At lunch I took an extra lap or two, after school it was another. I walked in my room, I paced. I made sure I was always standing; no sitting allowed. I found I had to burn as many calories as possible. During aerial I would spend the entire time in the air, doing only the skills deemed in my act, or the most difficult. I would bike, I would dance. I found myself becoming addicted to burning calories. I thought I was always eating too much, and now it seemed I was finally compensating.

I remember the day after the election. I found myself legit in a state of fear, and so much anger. I remember skipping aerial that day to meet with the GSA, which I was in fact a leader of. We all spent so much time together. We found that everyone in that room had the same form of fear. The environment of that room felt so unsteady. We were all terrified.

It doesn't help that the school was a mix of cowboy boots and camo and then the minorities and loads of queer folks.

This was also the day that the school got the confederate flag banned. An iconic day. Truly.

So both good and bad things came from that day.

I also had a conversation with a friend who I had known since I was 11, and it was about my eating. I seemed to find myself having a hard ass time opening up, and once I did, I said minimal, while all the things I had done were going through my head.

It was fine, and I was still ok.

Then I got my first therapy appointment since the summer, and I had known what it was for. I was asked about my eating, and I said enough.

Diagnosed.

Anorexia - with a binging and purging subtype.

Not bulimic, even though I swore that was what it was. I believe it was all because of weight though.

So November comes, and I find myself still doing the exact same thing. 1400 on weekdays - binging and purging on weekends, and sometimes Sunday would be added. I was still rehearsing for the circus show, and the Traitors show was that weekend.

I find myself legit just doing the exact same thing, and I just kept doing it.

I found myself binging more and more during the binges, and everytime I would be in so much pain, and everytime I would workout or purge enough to not gain from it. I somehow was still slowly losing. I could care less of anything; I was happy, and I found myself actually living again. I was going to places, parties, I was socializing.

All it took was losing some weight, and not dying.

So I kept going. December seemed to be a bit of a change, and as I neared winter break, I hit a new lowest weight. 103 pounds.

I was thinner, and winter break was upon me.

This whole time seemed weirdly arbitrary. It was really a lot of the same thing, but everything changed just as winter break started.

Everything.

Fucking.

Changed.