Hello world.

I never know how to start first posts. On anything. I'm not very good with introductions in general, I guess. I'm socially awkward, but only in my head. On the outside I'm perfectly friendly and fun to be around. I'm funny and love to goof off. I haven't been doing that much lately. Let's start over.

I'm twenty years old. I dropped out of college after one semester, which I only attended for about three weeks. I'm unemployed and completely dirt poor. My home life is miserable and I never know whether we're going to stay here or get kicked out (my mom and I live with her boyfriend, but they don't get along). I feel like a prisoner in my own head most of the time. Like my thoughts are moving too fast and I can't catch up. Worst of all, I feel like a fake even starting a blog like this. I'm not redic skinny or in any danger of dying. All I know is I have a constant struggle with my body, my self-image, and my weight. I want to be skinny enough to scare people. I want to look in the mirror and actually be happy with what I see. I want to stop grabbing handfuls of fat and just see myself as beautiful.

I've been losing weight for the past year. Never constantly, though most of it fell off due to starving and restricting over time. I've lost 43 pounds just by resisting food. I haven't excercised, though I'm starting at a gym this week. The weird thing is, I don't see it. I still feel like I look the same as I did at my highest. I know my face has thinned out and I can somewhat see my collarbone, but the rest of me has just stayed the same. I'm not totally insane either. At my highest, I wore a size 11 in pants. Now I waver between a 7 and a 9. I'm probably a 7 in truth but I haven't bought pants in a while. That just seems off to me. If I really lost as much weight as the scalesays, shouldn't I be wearing a 3 or 4 or something? It's absolutely maddening. I'm hoping that once I start to work out and tone up and actually HAVE MUSCLES instead of this gelatinous mess of fat, I'll shrink fast. If I don't..well we're not going to go there.

Towards the end of December/beginning of January, I got to the 120-123 range. And I just failed miserably. I was sick of starving. Sick of headaches, sick of feeling weak, just sick of everything. So I started eating normally, albeit a bit less than most people. I've managed to maintain the same weight since then. But I can't take it anymore. I look in the mirror and just despise what I see. I can't fathom why I would ever be satisfied to be what I am now. I am disgusting. So a couple days ago, I decided enough was enough. After I got stomach cramps from my favorite Chinese food, I swore to myself I wasn't eating a thing the next day. And I didn't. Yesterday was perfect. I felt beautiful and empty. I woke up today still feeling amazing. I stepped on the scale and saw I was down to 119. I was so freaking happy to finally be out of the 120s. Took an orange to my boyfriend's house because I just want to ease back in without giving my body too much of a shock. Ate that and then, go figure, I just fucking fail again. We went to Coldstone and split a medium size treat. Hating myself while I ate it, I told myself it was okay. It was my reward for getting into the teens. Then a little while later, I ate two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. My god. Thank god they're little. Each was only about the size of the palm of my hand. No crusts. I was still freaking out. My stomach hurt from putting too much junk into it too fast after a day of nothing but liquid. I was disgusted with myself. I weighed myself when I got home and the scale still said I was 119. But my scale sucks and it'll probably tell me I went up two pounds in the morning. Ugh.

This is so long. Especially for a first post. Spilling all my shit at once. It feels so GOOD though. So..if anyone actually read this far, thank you. You inspire me.