One More

Feb. 12th, 2012 08:38 pm
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Mom is quietly talking about me to friends on the phone. "Quietly".

...I really wish she wouldn't do that.
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I just realized. The last time I went to the doctor, I weighed about 112 pounds. Since then, I've lost eight pounds, and now weight 104 pounds.

That's not good. At my weight and height, people don't consider it healthy to lose any weight at all. Mom already nagged me about my weight loss back when I weighed 106 pounds. Imagine what she'll do if we go to the doctor and they tell her I've lost two (or more, the appointment is in about five months) pounds since she last inspected me.

Basically, I'm fucked.

I should probably make goals for myself, like eat all three meals every day, or at least eat lunch and dinner every day, but I know I won't keep to my plan. I'm just... not hungry most of the time.

Today I was starving. I had one and a half pieces of pizza for lunch, and I actually ate dinner despite no one forcing me to. The problem is, to normal people, that's not eating much. 1.5 pieces of pizza and half a bowl of fried rice? That's a single meal. Maybe even half a meal.

But my stomach just can't handle any more food than that. I don't like eating, and at this point I can't eat.

It doesn't really bother me.

I just don't want to be sent to anorexia camp or the hospital or wherever my mom decides to toss me when she finds out that I DON'T FUCKING LIKE FOOD.

Great.

Favoritism

Jan. 8th, 2012 12:15 pm
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It shouldn't even bother me anymore. I know too much about it to let it bother me.

But it still does.

The last time I was sick, about two years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night and sprinted to the bathroom to vomit. I was very careful to get it all in the toilet bowl. I was dehydrated, so I puked up basically pure acid, and my throat felt like the acid was eating through it. I gulped down a bottle of water, but it didn't help in the least.

I hadn't wanted to wake anyone up, but sobbing, scared and in intense pain, I ran to my mom's bedroom.

"Mom," I whispered, after shaking her awake, "I just threw up a lot and my throat burns. I think there's something wrong."

"Drink some water," she muttered.

"I did. It didn't work. I'm really scared."

"Go drink some more." And with that, she rolled over and went back to sleep.

My throat did get better, but it was still terrifying.

Last night, my little brother got sick. He began to make loud retching noises around 11. I yelled to run to the bathroom and wait there if he felt like throwing up--I didn't go to his room because finals is soon and I can't afford to get sick--but he just kept moaning and retching. And threw up all over the floor.

Mom cleaned it up.

Because I was half-asleep I'm not sure exactly what happened last night, but I do know that my brother kept my mom awake all night. He refused to vomit in the bathroom, and she cleaned everything up.

No one gives a damn if I'm sick.

Fuck.

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