It's all in our h(e)a(n)ds.

Senior year in college is killing me slowly yet surely.

I have been eating my frustration, depression and stress away.

Literally. Whatever the plans were in the beginning of the semester,

I simply couldn't get myself to stick to them. And the vicious circle

of frustration began... you know what I'm talking about.

Can't fit into my favorite pair of jeans. Yes, it's that bad.

It was on Sunday that I saw the dreaded number 60 (kg...132 lbs),

and realized this needs to stop.

Attempted to start a liquid diet yesterday.

Soup for lunch, liters of coffee, a can of diet coke. 

Half a pack of cigarettes.

Screwed up at night: ate half a box of Turkish Delight.

Was so mad at myself that I purged.

Coffee for lunch today.

Latin Aerobic Dance at noon, an orange afterwards.

Going to spinning at 5.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here's to us.

 Lu.

...because it's time to be honest with myself.

Back in the States: school has started once again, and now that I am in my senior year of college, I realize how fast time flies. Here I am, thinking about how far I've come, how deep and how many times I've fallen, how much I have changed over the years, and yet, I still need to remind myself quite often that the most important fact I should be keeping in my mind (even if it's way too easy to forget) is that I've picked myself up too many times to simply ignore how possible things are if you just believe in yourself. Because they are possible. If you firmly set your mind to something, you can achieve great things.

My summer at home was, well, partly magical, partly confusing, partly heartbroken, partly filled with trying to glue my heart back together (partly by dating the wrong men, partly by drinking away the pain), and partly miserable, trying to figure out what I wanted out of my life. I was looking for myself, and don't take me wrong, I still am looking (and still not finding), but I'm slowly putting the puzzle together.

There's a new man in my life.

He says he loves me, but I'm not quite sure it's me who loves, or simply the idea of what I represent (for what it's worth, for him it's escape). He's charming, well-mannered, passionate, understanding, intelligent, and 4,712 miles away.

This is him:

And this is me:

...but I don't want to hide any more...

...because it's time for me to be true to myself,

to be true to my goals, and my achievements.

It's time for me to pick myself up (once again)

and accept all the failures that have made me stronger.

It's time to go on: it's now or never.

Let's do this, loves.

Let's be beautiful.

Yours always,

Lu.

Find what you love and let it kill you.

 

Got back into the habit of no breakfasts, purged lunches, four espressos a day and cigarettes.

Shrinking again: I feel it, I see it. I'm doing it to myself again, yet can't stop. It brings me the kind of peace of mind I needed and the kind of self-control I wasn't able to grasp and hold onto for so long.

The hipbones I haven't seen in months are beginning to show and it only means two things:

(1) I am winning the battle against my body, the fat embracing my bones and the food cravings stuck in my head.

(2) I am losing the battle against the illness that has been my best friend for over two years now.

...somehow, for some ill and uncontrollable, yet fascinating and strangely comforting reason, I am not willing to give up now. This time, I will get down to the weight I always wanted to be and never had the courage (or the right amount of continuous self-persuasion) to be.

The old determined girl is back.

For good or bad, Lu is on the winning streak again.

Uncertainty.

I don't know what to do.

If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough. (Post #100)

 

You're eating a lot more than last summer.

(Last summer, I didn't eat at all.)

You're constantly chewing something.

(I draw my daily calorie limit at 500.)

Looks like you're gaining weight.

(I've lost almost 7 pounds since I got home...two weeks ago.)

 

 He has no idea about what I'm going through.

The saddest thing is that I still have the need to justify to myself that what he says couldn't be more out of touch with reality (even if I know he's wrong). When I tell him, he says he's my father, not my friend.

Subconsciousness is a strange thing.

 

Never knew that trying to persuade the mind to let go can ache this much. I keep telling myself what we had wasn't meant to last, but try to explain that to a bruised heart. 

And meanwhile, it hurts. 

It physically hurts.

I dreamt of him last night, yearning for a closure. It didn't come. Seemed so real that the sensation of closeness and familiarity woke me. I greeted the morning with the sight of street lights switching off, one by one, as the sun rose.

I keep trying, yet keep getting better at failing.

 

My life is falling apart.

Running away seems like the only plausible solution.

But I can't, I...can't. It's what I've been doing for the past five years.

I stopped eating again in a desperate attempt to re-assemble 

the puzzle of inner peace I had (and lost).

The parents won't notice. They never have;

they're too busy criticizing who I've become.

I don't blame them, yet sometimes wish they knew.

Maybe they'd treat me differently.