Friday, 22 April 2011

Swallowing me up.

I'm really frustrated and lost and lots of other things, I only binged and purged once yesterday and for most days this week, I haven't absorbed food at all for like a week and I still remain at 191lbs, I go to bed hungry every fucking night, but I'm still a fat monster. I can't even have an eating disorder right, I just want to die instead of living as a failed anorexic, where is the dignity of ramming my fat fingers down my fat fucking throat?! I'll never be ill enough to get help, I'll never be thin enough to matter, what is fucking wrong with me?! FAT, DIRTY, USELESS, UGLY, PATHETIC, UNLOVEABLE, DISGUSTING, UNTALENTED, UNSUCCESSFUL, BURDENSOME, SELFISH, EVIL FUCKING PIG.

Friday, 15 April 2011

Feelings and shit.

I dunno, I just don't get why, if I hate myself soooo much, then why can't I fucking starve myself? Why do I have to go through the process of eating knowing full well I'll make myself sick?! I don't think I can possibly hate myself more, I want to fucking starve, I want people to see how fucked up I really am, I want to be underweight so people can actually SEE that there is something wrong with me, I don't want to be strangled by all this fat anymore, I don't want anyone to have to see my beastly, fat, dirty, disgusting, filthy, greedy, WEAK, fat fat fat fat fat fat fat fucking body ever again.

Thursday, 14 April 2011

Overdose-type thing

My mum kicked off at me today like she always does today, because she's an emotional wreck(ring any bells?) and started shouting at me, so I ent to my room to get out of the way, so she shouted louder, saying 'get out of my house and never come back' and 'I can't fucking deal with you any more' I dunno, she always says shit like this, but I dunno, it just clicked, I felt like I knew what I had to do, I just calmly walked downstairs, filled up my water bottle and started swallowing paracetamol, I only swallowed like 12 of something,t hen I realised what I was doing and threw them up, ergh I dunno, I'm just such a mess, I don't know what to do with myself, I don't even know what the fuck is wrong with me.

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

Total fucking bastard.

Some of you may remember my post a couple of months back about my ignorant pig of a doctor, anyway I said I needed my antidepressants upping because I'd been suicidal the past couple of weeks and was withdrawing, he talked over me and said 'no no no, that's your dose' and I told him the job centre had told me to get a sick note to change my benefit because I'm not fit for work, so he said 'Err, why?' really horribly and I said that I had to quit college and my last job because of my depression and bulimia, because I was too ill and have no attention span and he was like 'How does bulimia affect your attention span?' in a totally sarcasting cuntish voice, so I said 'Well I throw up everything I eat...'and he was like 'no no no, bulimia doesn't affect your attention span' I hate him, he's a nasty, horrible man. He doesn't believe I have bulimia or depression, I know he doesn't, it's so fucking hard talking about it, especially when you're overweight, but then to be treat like some tax dodging druggie! I left the surgery in tears, I don't know what to do anymore, he's made it perfectly clear I have to do something drastic to get help, there's no other option, I can't get the treatment I need until I'm underweight, so I'll starve myself into inpatient, or a coffin. Because lets face it, with doctors like this, it really is a competition.

Saturday, 9 April 2011

Eating vegan for good.

I knew the meat industry was fucked up, but fuck.
These are real quotes from slaughter house workers, I could only read the first few, I'm truly horrified.

“I seen them take those stunners – they’re about as long as a yard stick – and shove it up the hog’s ass… They do it with cows, too… And in their ears, their eyes, down their throat… They’ll be squealing and they’ll just shove it right down there.”
“Hogs get stressed out pretty easy. If you prod them too much they have heart attacks. If you get a hog in a chute that’s had the shit prodded out of him and has a heart attack or refuses to move, you take a meat hook and hook it into his bunghole [anus]. You’re dragging these hogs alive, and a lot of times the meat hook rips out of the bunghole. I’ve seen hams – thighs – completely ripped open. I’ve also seen intestines come out. If the hog collapses near the front of the chute, you shove the meat hook into his cheek and drag him forward.” “Or in their mouth. The roof of their mouth. And they’re still alive.”
“Pigs on the kill floor have come up and nuzzled me like a puppy. Two minutes later I had to kill them – beat them to death with a pipe.”
“These hogs get up to the scalding tank, hit the water and start screaming and kicking. Sometimes they thrash so much they kick water out of the tank… Sooner or later they drown. There’s a rotating arm that pushes them under, no chance for them to get out. I’m not sure if they burn to death before they drown, but it takes them a couple of minutes to stop thrashing.”
“Sometimes I grab it [a hog] by the ear and stick it right through the eye. I’m not just taking its eye out, I’ll go all the way to the hilt, right up through the brain, and wiggle the knife.”
“Only you don’t just kill it, you go in hard, push hard, blow the windpipe, make it drown in its own blood. Split its nose. A live hog would be running around the pit. It would just be looking up at me and I’d be sticking, and I would just take my knife and – cut its eye out while it was just standing there. And this hog would just scream.”
“I could tell you horror stories… about cattle getting their heads stuck under the gate guards and the only way you can get it out is to cut their heads off while they’re still alive.”
“He’ll kick them [hogs], fork them, use anything he can get his hands on. He’s already broken three pitchforks so far this year, just jabbing them. He doesn’t care if he hits its eyes, head, butt. He jabs them so hard he busts the wooden handles. And he clubs them over the back.”
“I’ve seen live animals shackled, hoisted, stuck, and skinned. Too many to count, too many to remember. It’s just a process that’s continually there. I’ve seen shackled beef looking around before they’ve been stuck. I’ve seen hogs [that are supposed to be lying down] on the bleeding conveyor get up after they’ve been stuck. I’ve seen hogs in the scalding tub trying to swim.”
“I seen guys take broomsticks and stick it up the cow’s behind, screwing them with a broom.”
“I’ve drug cows till their bones start breaking, while they were still alive. Bringing them around the corner and they get stuck up in the doorway, just pull them till their hide be ripped, till the blood just drip on the steel and concrete. Breaking their legs… And the cow be crying with its tongue stuck out. They pull him till his neck just pop.”
“One time I took my knife – it’s sharp enough – and I sliced off the end of a hog’s nose, just like a piece of bologna. The hog went crazy for a few seconds. Then it just sat there looking kind of stupid. So I took a handful of salt brine and ground it into his nose. Now that hog really went nuts, pushing its nose all over the place. I still had a bunch of salt in my hand – I was wearing a rubber glove – and I stuck the salt right up the hog’s ass. The poor hog didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.”

Thursday, 7 April 2011

Fuck recovery... in the arse... with glass.

I can't do it, I can't handle those ten pounds or the other one hundred and fucking ninety, the only way I'm going to be able to handle life at the moment is to purge everything, at least that way I'm numb and I lose weight, but I want to try and control it like I used to, three set meals a day, thoroughly purged, no laxatives(TMI but I have really painful piles, another lovely side effect of bulimia :)) I can't recover and I know if I carry on not purging I WILL kill myself.