Post Five ;;

I've eaten one meal today, and I feel nauseous. I threw up yesterday. Now all I want to do is throw up again and not eat.

I've realized I hate eating. I hate it because right after I weigh myself, and I'm always unsatisfied with the number I see. I always weigh less when I get up in the morning. Maybe my scale's just really fucked up or maybe it's because I'm bloated. Maybe I'm hallucinating and just giving myself excuses to starve myself everyday.

I want to get help, but my family only promotes my eating disorder. My father's never home enough to see what I'm doing to myself, my mom just wants me to be down 8 pant sizes, and my brother just curses at me and calls me stupid for starving myself. But nobody helps me.

I feel so nauseous and I want to just shatter every mirror in my home. I HATE MYSELF. I hate my legs, my stomach, my arms, my face, my eyes, my hair, my nose, my mouth, my EVERYTHING. But nobody knows how much I hate myself. Everybody believes that I'm confident with myself. And when I do hint at my flaws, they disagree and leave it at that. Not even my best friend, that knows I'm suffering from my eating disorder, who knows how deep this hatred of myself is, who thinks I'm getting better, isn't able to notice how I don't eat at school, how tired and cold I am all the time. I lie and say I'm fine and she just shrugs it off and moves on.

I know that if I wanted to really get help, I'd request it. I'd tell my whole family about how less and less I've been eating. I'd scream it in my best friend's face. But do you know how hard it is to even admit this to myself?

I know the consequences of an eating disorder, and I know that one could indeed affect my health a lot, but all I have to do is look in the mirror and all my logic, all those consequences disappear. Along with those few pounds. And I feel so good about it. I love losing weight, and I loath gaining even half a pound.

Gaining makes me feel like a failure, so I endure the hunger pangs and only eat when I can no longer ignore how hungry I am.

And for all the people who think I'm over-exaggerating, or think that I'm doing this for attention, or who think that there's no way this girl's for real, well, let me tell you how fucking dumb you are. Because if you haven't noticed, girls (and even some boy) are always talking about how fat they are, or how ugly they are, and a good portion of them mean it. While a small amount are doing it just for somebody to tell them they're wrong. And that small portion makes me sick. Those girls or boys make me want to shake them so hard, I give them whiplash. Because they don't realize what it's like to ACTUALLY hate yourself.

They don't know how the sight of food makes your stomach rumble, but your mind scream, 'NO'. But I do. I know what it's like to tempted by food, but have to turn it down, because every pound you lose counts. And every pound you gain is just another failure. And that sense of failure is so much worse than hunger.

And I hope somebody I know comes across this, and thinks, 'What if this is my friend?' and with that being said, I bid you all adieu, and a big ol' FUCK YOU to all the people who believe that this is just the ranting of a girl seeking attention.

- L.

Post Four ;;

About a year ago, I remember hating eating even in my own home. I still do.

During that year I would catch my mom watching me eat. I could see the disgust. That might've just been me being self-conscious, but the things she said to me were anything but me being self-conscious.

One night, I remember eating supper with my mom and my brother. It was also the same night I'd eaten the first meal in two days. That same day I bought a pair of sweats. They fit me fine, or so I thought.

I wasn't even halfway through my meal when she said, and I quote, "Sweats are supposed to be baggy."

My brother followed up with, "They are, mom. Leave her alone."

And my brother -- bless his soul -- didn't really help whatsoever.

My eyes stung, and I looked down at my fat legs. I pushed my meal away and booked it out of the kitchen. My mom was yelling at me to finish eating, and my brother was yelling at her for saying that.

I slammed my door and remember cutting my wrists. I wanted to die. I looked in the mirror and thought, 'God. I'm so fat and ugly.' I took off my sweats and changed into my pajamas.

I threw stuff around while crying my eyes out and I didn't eat the next day. I remember walking up dizzy and with my eyesight fuzzy. I remember being so hungry, but I talked myself out of eating breakfast because of what my mother said the night before.

My brother got me to eat something and he told me the sweats were baggy on me and mom was stupid.

After me talking to her about it, she agreed to shut the fuck up. But the damage's been done. Some days I eat two meals, sometimes one, and sometimes I don't eat at all.

I feel like passing out at my games because of my lack of eating. When I went to the doctor's three weeks ago, my blood pressure was dangerously low. Wanna know why, mom? BECAUSE I DIDN'T EAT FOR TWO DAYS BEFORE YOU DROVE ME THERE.

Now you boast and brag about how your daughter has dropped over twenty pounds in a month (exaggeration). Glad you find my disorder so fucking brag-worthy. And I'm ecstatic that you're so dense, you can't recognize the symptoms of my disorder.

So, thanks mom. For being the greatest, most encouraging mother a girl could ask for. Really. I'm truly grateful.

- L.

Post Three ;;

Standing next to one of my best friends makes me feel like shit. She'll always be the prettier one, the thinner one, the easier one. She'll always catch a guys' eye and get them to like her, while I'll just be second choice.

She's one of the reasons why I started to starve myself.

She loves me, I know she does. And she's always talking about how funny I am, how pretty I am, how she loves being around me, how she can't stand it when I'm mad at her because I'm the one she can be honest with, and how smart I am. I'm the one who she can bitch and moan to. I'm the one she can lean on, cry on, talk smack to without being hurt. I'll give her my opinion truthfully and she won't be upset. I'm the one who doesn't copy everything she does. I'm the one who challenges her. Who pushes her. Who makes her laugh until she cries. Who can make her feel great even when she feels like crap.

I'm the one she calls first and foremost.

But even with all the praises, I can't help but resent her because she'll always be more physically prettier than me.

She calls herself fat and ugly even when she's one of the prettiest girls in our school. So, E, how do you think it makes me feel when you say all those things about yourself, and then when I get home I look at myself and think, 'If she thinks she's fat, than I must be obese'? How fat and ugly do you think I feel?

- L.

Post Two ;;

So far, I've dropped another ten pounds. But it's not enough.

It's never enough for you.

- L.

Post One ;;

You don't know how hard it is to write this right now. I created this blog for the sole purpose of being truthful. Where I spill my heart and soul without anybody knowing who I am. Whether I'm their best friend, or their sister. Maybe even their brother.

But I'm a girl, so brother is out of the question.

I'm not gonna use my real name, so anybody who reads this will now know me as L. L because it's the first letter of liar. And I'm a liar, but in this blog, I'm not. I'm a girl with an eating disorder, a low self-esteem, a mentally abusive family, anger issues, etc, etc.

I'm not gonna tell you my dislikes or my favourites, I'm not about to tell you how my day was at school, and I'm not about to tell you bullshit about my friends.

I'm gonna tell you how hard it is to look in my mirror everyday knowing that all I'll ever see are my flaws.

I'm gonna tell you how I almost fainted during multiple basketball games because I don't eat enough.

I'm gonna tell you how I tried to get help, but my family shut me down.

I'm gonna tell you how I ended up with an eating disorder.

I'm gonna tell you all my secrets. Each and every one.

But what I'm not gonna do is sugar coat them. I'm gonna lay them on the line and never admit to writing them. Call me a coward, but if I risk posting this on my original blog, my best friend may or may not read it and figure out I'm not at all who she thinks I am. She'll figure out I'm such a HUGE hypocrite, that I wouldn't be surprised if she hated me.

She'll figure out more than I've ever wanted her to. And I cannot risk that.

So, here goes.

I can't look at a scale and see those numbers staring me right in the face. I'm so obsessed with my weight that I'm slowly losing all control I once had. I'm detaching myself from my friends and family, and I'm becoming a cynical pessimist.

Some days I would like to rip out all my hair and claw my eyes out so I won't have to look at my reflection anymore.

I yearn for some sort of relationship where my significant other will call my beautiful and mean it. Who'll help me through all my pain. Who'll tear down all the walls I've built and push me to getting help.

I HATE not knowing about my childhood, because I want to know why I have such deep trust issues.

I hate that I don't have one friend that I can be my true self around. Not one fucking friend. Out of what, two hundred? Pathetic, I know.

You say I'm popular but sometimes I wish I was anything but. You say I'm skinny, but I know I'm not. I'm not under one hundred pounds, therefore I must be obese. I get it.

You don't need to tell me I'm beautiful because I know I'm not.

You don't need to fill me with false hope, just because you were raised to be 'nice'. FUCK NICE. I WANT YOU TO TELL ME THE TRUTH.

I'm a horrible friend, I know.

I'm ugly, inside and out, I know.

I'm whiny, I know.

I'm fat, I know.

I'm a bitch, I know.

I'm gonna end up alone, I know.

SO WHY DO YOU INSIST ON LYING RIGHT TO MY FACE? Just, please, please, please, for once, tell me the truth. And maybe I'll do the same.

- L.