Thoughts of a Disordered Mind.

Two sugars.
One. +16
Two. +16

Thirty two. Small, miniscule, tiny.

I want to be tiny.

Two sugars (32), stir/stir/stir, now quick/fast/run, get out of there.

Red alert red alert.

Strawberry tarts/white bread buns/blue packets of chicken noodles/chocolate bars/cheese and onion crisps/pizza dripping with tomato sauce.

Disgust/panic/escape.

Run away with your tea, don't look back. Deodorant for emergencies.

Calories are nasty; they make stomachs bulge and thighs wobble and bums swell and eyes leak when they look in the mirror.

You've gained/get rid of it.

You deserve nothing/no-one/except Ana.

She loves you. You left her - nasty, cruel, heartless - but she's flying back, fighting with you against the frenemy/food.

*Flying because she's lighter than air; double figures = beautiful. Bones are expensive porcelain only for the elite. Food is for the weak, destroy it not yourself.*

Don't leave her again because she might not come back this time; even Andrew couldn't fill that hole.

He hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend (yet?). You're too fat - ugly rings of flab encase your true potential. The beauty's inside; you just haven't reached it yet.

Andrew is apparently two stone underweight. ilovehim.

I want to be two stone underweight.

It's OK, Ana will help.

I feel the workings of change; I feel like I'm back at that time when I was empty for over two weeks. Strong safe secure.

You can do that again.

Don't weigh now, you're not empty unless you've strayed from food for over three days - live by this rule. Weigh on Saturday, report back with findings.

if you don't ask me soon, i don't know what i'll do < / 3