Angry

I never personified my eating disorder (ie, I didn't name it or talk to it), but tonight I am damn pissed off at it. Perhaps not the disease itself, but some of the things that stem from it.

Exhibit A: Today in the fitness center I was mistaken for a boy. Again. Granted, I was wearing baggy shorts and a sports bra and I have short hair. But this is ridiculous. I want a butt. I want boobs. Goddamnit, I want to look like a fucking woman. It's not a great feeling when someone walks by and says, "Mike? Oh ... not Mike."

Exhibit B: The two interns from India cooked an amazing dinner for us all tonight. I'm proud of the way I ate, but I am freaking out about it now. They did something incredibly kind and generous - why can't I just fucking enjoy it?

Exhibit C: Remember my goal to have Baskin Robbins/gelato with my parents? Today I thought, well, we could just go to TCBY ... because their frozen yogurt has fewer calories and would thus be less stressful. I am a coward. I hate how part of me wants to get better and look normal and be healthy so, so badly; and another part of me is constantly plotting ways to shave off calories.

Exhibit D: I'm terrified of this weekend. I know going with my parents to my aunt and uncle's in New Jersey will entail lots of restaurant meals. That's right - I'm terrified of spending time with people I love.

Fuck this shit. Seriously. I know I need to gain weight. I WANT to gain weight - then I DON'T want to gain weight. I want to have breasts. I want to have dinner with friends and not obsess about it. Goddamnit, I want to put a bite of food in my mouth and NOT THINK ABOUT IT.