7am – alarm buzzes and I open my eyes. It’s that familiar few moments where I get to grips with the fact that I have to get up sooner rather than later. It’s also the moment where I grasp how my brain is going to be. This morning = not so great. I don’t get to decide how I’m going to be. My brain does and there are a lot of days when it’s decided before I’m even conscious.
I get up, and stare in the mirror. Every morning without fail I tug at my belly, prod my bones. Twist around, different angles. Every day I pray that maybe today will be the day I look good enough. But still, the day hasn’t arrived and that gritty and disgusted emotion fills my throat and I attempt to fix my hair, pony tail, bun, braid, but no matter how many different ones I try, I still see a horrible, huge person staring at me.
I go downstairs to chaos but I’m used to chaos. I actually quite like just floating around in the midst of it all. I pour coffee and eat a banana.
8am and I tie my shoelaces shuffle my playlist and start pounding down the pavements, through the woods and out to the fields. I aim for 2 miles every morning. It never seems enough.
By 8:30 I’m back, and shower off the sweat that’s dripping all over me. I splash my face with water and stare in the mirror again, step in the scales and inhale. Hold it. Hold it. The number has more power over me than anything else. The monitor flashes at me and it’s a flip up between being very bad and not good enough. I never step off it feeling pleased with what it shows.
9 am and I stare at a different mirror. I try outfits and I try not to cry. Everything would look so much better if I lost that 10lbs my head screams. Most days I go through five different options before pulling over a big sweater and baggy trousers to hide away from everyone.
10 am and I’m out the house. I get the bus full of vacant stares and it drags my mood down even further. I usually forget my headphones. Once I’m off it I have study and lessons. My stomach growls so loud and I can’t focus for the majority. I pretend to care but it’s difficult.
2pm and I eat. I search cafes and shop shelves for the lowest calorie possibility. Porridge, but a lot of that instant stuff have added sugar. Shop bought oats are better. Salads, plain and simple,lettuce leaves, carrots. I can take hours. Coffee. Always coffeee.
3pm and I get back. I’m usually tired, grumpy and anxious about everything. I tend to lie on the sofa, searching twitter and trying to stay distracted. I’m always terrified I’ll eat when I’ve got a lot of time spare.
5pm and I’m at the gym. Fitsteps today and I’m with a friend. This is a rarity because I literally have two friends. She ignores me half the time though, chatting to anyone but me. I get scared and panic that I’ve upset her. I try to remember anything I could have done to make her upset with me. I give up and just keep running, jumping, not standing still for an hour. My blood races and I get that familiar high of exercising, where I am invicible, strong, powerful. Maybe it’s like an addiction.
6pm and the gym is finished. The high starts to fade and it is dinner time when I get back. I suddenly wish I’d eaten before I’d left because then i wouldn’t feel so bad about it. Pasta. Pasta with cheese. I hate cheese. I don’t want it. I try to give an excuse. But it’s pointless. I sit down and pick at the plate, trying to avoid the cheese as much as possible. I eat half.
7pm – and I shower again. I’m covered in germs and I have to get rid of them. They’re everywhere. I get out and get into pyjamas. Probably my favourite part. I gulp water. I stretch. I look in the mirror and pull my hair. I jump up and down. I suck in. I suck out. I look insanse. Onto the scales. The monitor glares up at me. Never enough, never ever enough. I step off. I check it twice. I exhale. Never ever ever enough.
8pm and my muscles are tired. I hide away upstairs, write, plan, tweet. I journal, listen to music. I keep my mind occupied. I’m terrified about the kitchen below me.
10pm and I’ve had enough. I lock the sky from view, and disintegrate into tears, knowing I have to do it all again tomorrow. It never stops.