Unexpected goals

Sometimes those unexpected goals we reach seem the best ones.

They make us so happy, don't they? You go showdown with the certainty that you did it wrong, that you made another mess, that you failed again, because you haven't done what you were supposed to, and you realize that, instead, you somehow made it: you reached what you wanted.

I personally hate that.

Before I used to expect always the worse, so that whatever would have come wouldn't have been that bad, after all. But this sounds so childish, really. This sounds so much like cheating, somehow.

I don't want to only get my goals. I want to work hard for them. I want to deserve them.

So, yeah, this morning, after a pretty long sleep (the first one in 8 days, because nobody wants to waste a night in Barcelona sleeping, don't they?) I weighted my self.

I was supposed to do it yesterday, after fasting for whole the day. But when I got back home, at 1 am, I was so freaking hungry and I couldn't control my self at all, so, yeah, I ended up binging on those freaking cereals again.  A waste, I know, but my stomach was killing me and I couldn't even sleep and...yeah, basically I was too weak to resist.

 

Fucking fucking fucking fucking cereals!!!

Not to mention, I was too damn afraid to weight my self after that crap and passed out while reading some blogs here.

We all know the breathtaking feeling, the fear, the hope, the quivering anxiety we have when we stand in front of the scale. Our prophet. The messenger of our life. "Have you been a good girl?".

We can't hide from it. Those lbs or kilos stand there in black, shouting out loud their judgment.

"122 lbs. 55 kg. 122 lbs. 55 kg. Please please please, tell me I'm 55, tell me I'm 55, tell me I'm 55. Please please please please please please please. I'll be good. Next time you'll hear my no so clear that people won't ask me to eat ever again. Next time I'll show them how strong I can be. Please please please..."

And we go on, praying, begging, imploring, pleading in that couple of seconds the scale takes to examine our behavior and show us the bill for our actions.

Yeah, I'm 122. 55 kg. Yeah I made it. I somehow made it.
But do I really deserve that?
I don't feel like doing, actually.

This 7 days trip has been a killer for my diet.

I'm sorry. So sorry about it. I wish I had more control, I wish I had been stronger, but, as always, I wasn't.

This has to change This has to change This has to fucking change.

The trip was actually going pretty good at first.

The long travel really helped. It took us 2 days to reach Barcelona by bus, which meant 2 days of almost starving. Unfortunately those freaking girls were there just to piss me off.

I mean, they loathe me!They say that I'm creepy, an inappropriate weirdo, a disturbing presence. What's the problem with me not finishing my food?? Or not eating it at all? Sure, you don't have to mind about food. You're all already so thin. Well, I'm not! I gotta work hard to get a nice body. Maybe that's why they started behaving in a incredibly childish way and forced me to eat.

I hate sooo much when people who even loathe me and think I'm a loser and a freak and everything force me to eat. Damn, mind your fucking business as you always do!!!

So the first day I had 3 macaroni with tomato sauce +2 bites of meat for lunch/ 4 bites of meat + a slice of tiramisù (which I promptly vomited) for dinner. I have no idea of how many calories this has been.

The second day's diet was even better : 4 bites of chicken for lunch. Skipped dinner and walked and danced all night in Barcelona. (I had just a couple of drinks and a short and kept on weed, because alcohol is so damn fattening)

The third day, after walking for hours and 2 nights spent without sleeping I could hardly move. Things weren't going easy with my class mates and the other guys as well, specially with A., the skinny friend of mine, so I was very nervous all the time, was about to have a panic attack because I was always left alone and...well I couldn't stand A. at all. She was always eating less than me and she was flirting in a very provocative and childish way with a guy, when she has a boyfriend. Well I hate these things. In a relationship there must be respect, loyalty. What's the point in staying with a guy and telling him you love him when you behave like a bitch with a good looking guy?

Also, well this guy was interested in me, before. He told me I'm beautiful, different, special, and all that crap boys usually say when they want to get easy sex from lonely girls. Problem is that when he kissed me, maybe because I was high and a bit drunk, maybe because I was tired, maybe because I am simply  a nasty amount of fat and sickness, I didn't push him away. Didn't even kissed him as well, but I couldn't move. I was totally frozen. Then I somehow managed to escape from that, but these things hurt me, every time. They destroy me.

Plus he's known for flirting whit everything has certain female characteristics. And yeah, I felt, as usual, as I probably am, like a waste, a scrap, a "second choice".

This all ended with me escaping in panic from the restaurant, A. and C (this guy), such an inseparable couple!, finding me and taking me back to the restaurant and forcing me to eat some freaking, disgusting fried chips (I feel like vomiting if I only think about it). I couldn't even vomit, after, cause too many people were going in that fucking toilets, all people I knew, being students of my school and my class. And at dinner it was even worse, cause I ate 3 slices of pizza and a salad without even being forced. Couldn't vomit  even after dinner, so I kept the anger and frustration out with deep cuts on my tummy and hips, so that nobody is gonna see them.

Oh and the day after I had also a huge croissant for breakfast! Kept on a salad for lunch and ate other 3 slices of pizza at dinner time.

The day after I had 2 croissants, 4 bites of meat and fried chips (AGAIN!) for lunch and 3 slices of pizza for dinner (at this point I was so desperate I tried to vomit everything, but wasn't very successful), good thing I spent all night awake, walking around and dancing.

The day after I had the last fucking croissant of the trip, ate all the meat (vomited a bit after) but didn't have any dinner.

Last day: fasting, well, until I got back home.

 

So I don't really know how I managed not to gain weight and even to lose it. But one thing I know is that I didn't deserve losing it.

I hate food so much.

Hate the feeling of biting it, of having it inside me, another amount of dirt in my already dirty soul.

I told to some girls that one morning I woke up after my 2 hours of sleep and found C sleeping in the bed, embracing A.

All the girls hated me, cause I shouldn't have said such a bad thing. When they spent all the previous days talking of how disgustingly was A behaving.

But I'm always the villain.

The inappropriate one.

The one who stands out of the circle and pathetically tries to peek inside it, trying to become part of it.

They told me I'm awful. Because, after all, "A. is the only one who cares about you. How could you do something like that?"

Yeah, how could I do something like that?

And I suddenly smiled while walking back to the hotel, cause I really felt like it was time, like dots were linking together, like I had a clear view, finally. And I knew that I had to die that night.

But, as usual, I made the mistake of thinking about it.

And spent all night crying  (well, I can't really cry, so I did the closer thing to that I can do)on the stairs of the hotel. Smoked a great amount of weed. Went in my room. Said that I was sorry. Said that I know that my apologize wouldn't have changed anything, but I'm not able to change anything in better, so maybe that was for the best. And collapsed on my bed, not being able even to think properly, making huge efforts to put a couple of sentences together, and passed out while I was probably having hallucinations and couldn't even understand when I started dreaming.

There's something sad in being nearly 18 years old, the age of dreams and stuff like that, and feeling comfortable only when planning to die.

I'll write other, probably more interesting, considerations next time, cause this post is already so long.

A special thank you for Alice May, Kate and Run for being my new 3 followers. You can't imagine how much knowing that you follow me, and so kinda care about what I write and so what's happening in my life, helps me. Really, thanks.

Answers to the comments:

Alice May: I absolutely agree with the comment you left on my first post. Fear destroys me everyday. This is my greatest challenge: not being afraid of most things I am afraid of right now. I realize that I don't know anything about death. I'm not a maniac who just wants to die. I guess that if I didn't jump from the eight floor of the hotel is because I wish that I could fix my life, before wishing I was strong enough to die. Maybe I can't change many things in my life because, even if now is almost just crap, I'm (a bit unconsciously)afraid it will be even worse now. Although I'm aware that everybody has to take some risks sometimes.

Glad you like the blog =) And thank you for the support. Really. xxxx

AVY: Yeah this is true. I just wonder why it seems to me that, even if I'm (or I feel, cause we can just have perceptions of reality in my opinion) empty, their talks, their life are so happily vain. They talk about stuff I can't really understand. Make constantly jokes. Talk about...what? going around...boys...rumors...say horrible stuff about people who are supposed to be their friends...and other things that always live me a bit emptier. I don't expect to get new revelations every time I talk to somebody. But I just can't get in their talks. Can't get in their circle, in their love, in their admire or whatever. I'll come to check your blog as soon as possible =) thanks again for following xxxx

Kate: Thank you again for following. I'll come to see your blog as soon as I post this ;) xxxx