From a journal entry dated November 28, 2005:
I weigh 103 pounds. I know that's not enough and I know I have to gain weight. But now I have to drink these fucking Ensures that have 360 goddamn fucking calories - one every day in addition to what I've already eaten. Mom wants to lock me up. I can't exercise. I'm not "allowed" to have a salad. I'm going to get so fucking fat, oh my god ... And now, Mom's going to make tacos - I usually put beans and salsa on lettuce, but we conveniently don't have any salad greens even though I've been telling her to let me know when she wants to make tacos, so I'll be able to get a bagged salad at work. Nice. She's just trying to sneak around me*. She knows I won't say no, because then she'll just say, "well, you aren't even trying, you need to be in a program." Like fuck I'm not trying. Goddamn. I swear, if she tries to make me drink an Ensure tonight, I going to flip out. I can only do so much in one day. It's so hard not to hate everyone. Happy fucking holidays. Welcome the fuck home.
*My mother is a wonderful person who was understandably terrified by her Incredible Shrinking Daughter. Our relationship survived anorexia, which I know is pretty lucky.