Saturday, 27 February 2010


Scales. I've despised them for years, those fucking awful mornings morphing into weeks, where the numbers just scream 'you obese bitch,' and off you go to stuff the disappointment and despair down under bread, cereal, more bread and butter, whatever isn't nailed down basically.

So what the hell was I thinking buying whizzy electronic all-singing all-dancing ones this week? Well not stuffing my face any more, starving and restricting, means that the numbers, at this point anyway, are going downwards in a beautiful symphony.

I know that this rate will not continue. But while it does, the music makes me smile secretly all day.

Especially this morning when I watched five friends eat sandwiches, sausage rolls and crisps and drink full fate lattes, after breakfast and before they went home for lunch.

I know I am unkind to feel it, but the sense of superiority as my stomach rumbles and they shovelled crap down their necks (and two of them have cried on my shoulder about being overweight) was the nicest taste I have had in weeks.

I have had miso soup and normal soup all week, picked at some salad and chicken when I had to go out for dinner and I believe that each day has been well under 500, probably under 300, but always best to round up, eh?

I'm now going to lie on my bed and watch a dvd - have walked miles with my dog and I'm frozen.

Reading the inspirational posts you brave ladies write makes me feel that maybe this will finally be my time to be thin. Ribs are already showing and my stomach is flat. Odd, given that I weigh tons still. But I want to be thin so I can finally buy the beautiful clothes I have always lusted after and only buy them ONCE.

In a TINY size.

Friday, 26 February 2010


So why be thin? I wouldn'y know, never have been. I did once, years ago, through a judicious combination of bulimia and laxative abuse, get down to about 9 stone, but that must be the lowest ever.

My sister is thin; I've never seen my mother eat lunch. Or breakfast for that matter. She put me on a diet at eight. At sixteen, she encouraged me to have black coffee and cigarettes for breakfast and wouldn't make me sandwiches to take to school. Instead, I got a bag of cheese and peanuts. WTF? Hello, fat content. Needless to say, I'd scarfed them by recess and became the most helpful person in the school canteen so I could get something to eat which I'd try and throw up later on.

My father would sit at the table at supper, staring at me eyeing the chips and pizza which was the plat du jour many jours, chanting 'resist it, fight it.'

What a twat.

No wonder I have fucking issues about eating.

What a pathetic and sad little tale.

Thursday, 25 February 2010


So here is the introduction. There is whispering, it is faint. Quieter than the long years of voices who chorus in a cringe, 'big girl, fat thighs, you don't deserve nice things, slut, drunkard, great big belly, lose weight, be thinner like them then maybe someone will really like you.'

But they don't. I hid behind the fat-jolly-don't-care face I have fashioned from hurt and just pretend. Pretend I don't mind, that I haven't noticed how monstrous I am, that I haven't noticed all of them noticing how fat I am. Years in a T-shirt on a beach, being the best swimmer so I could hide my bulk under water. So I could stay in the pool instead of lumbering around the thin girls.

Enough. My turn in the sun. I want to be skinny, make them all jealous. All those girls who skipped about, sniggering, choosing me to highlight their slight frames, their elegant limbs.

They are older. We are older. They are married, their bodies gone slightly to seed - they no longer push to be the alpha skinny one; they have mated.

Well I will have the last laugh.