Snap

16.11

So as it turns out I broke up with Halsand, but it didn't fucking stick. He swears blind he'll have pulled the plug on his marriage by the end of August. If not I'm going to have to give him the shove for good.

I'm really struggling to get in the mindset. Do I not hate myself enough? It feels like I should. Am I just complacent? Have I given up?

Someone, please, give me an addiction to emptiness.

Blood

16.10

So that was a bust, because of course it was.

Tomorrow marks a year since I blocked and deleted Halsand from my life for 6 months, and I'm honestly thinking I should just do it again. I don't know right now if my motivation for ending things is purely because it's the only thing I can do. I can't control any aspect of the relationship besides ending it.

I've been speaking to Stein for well over a month now, and it's amazing how we've both grown up so much and yet the best of the playfulness that came some easily to us is still very much a presence. I'm not saying I've fallen back in love with him, but it's certainly something I can envision happening if we spend any real time together. Thankfully he lives hundreds of miles away and I'm broke so the chances of me dropping nearly £100 on enough petrol to drive to his place and back are pretty fucking slim.

Unlike me.

I am very fucking fat.

I haven't gained any weight in the last month (on balance, in any case. I shot up and down but seem to have landed where I started when I logged back in here in May.)

That said, with Stein I do feel like I'm maybe just a distraction while he's at work because I barely hear from him at weekends. I don't know. I really don't know. It's all so weird and complicated.

When I think about it, I believe that my parents' relationship is pretty amazing considering that they are both quite difficult, damaged people. They've been married for 27 years, dating since they were 18. But I forget that my mum was dating someone else when they met, and dated them both for a while. Maybe it's in my blood to want more than one lover can give me. Or, at least, more than any of mine are willing or able to commit.

I don't have any food in my house. I'm thinking of going raw vegan for the foreseeable. Being vegan was so good for my soul, and so good for my body. Watermelon for lunch was a very good start.

It's Monday tomorrow. I'm seeing Halsand on Thursday. We'll see what happens then, I guess, but I'd be lying if I said I Wasn't tempted to block him right now without warning.

Anew

16.10

It begins.

Nocturnal

Hello void, my old friend.

Well... a lot has changed in the last three years, but one thing stays the same. I am fat. Sweet fuck, I am SO fat.

I don't even know where to begin. Loki is gone, has been since the late summer of when I wrote that last post. He was never really meant to be mine. I was always just a siren at the sea's edge, when he was always meant to stay land-bound. Happy or otherwise. I haven't spoken to him in years. I dream about him sometimes, but I am being honest when I say I don't miss him.

I have had a boyfriend since then - let's call him Erik because he looked like a viking. We were together 6 months before I found out that he'd been cheating on me the whole time with the friend he told me not to worry about. More fool me for pretending that she didn't worry me. She's thinner than me but definitely uglier, and he calls me now and again to relate his misery. He really ought not to confide his troubles in someone who derives such pleasure from his misfortune. What can I say, I earned this schadenfreude.

I dated a man called Benjen for a while before he decided he didn't want the commitment. He then dated another girl and did the same to her, and contacted me to say he'd done so. We met up twice. We fucked both times. I think we both regret it.

There have been other lovers, but none who really meant anything. Nobody worth crying over. Except, of course, for Halsand. We met not long after things ended with Loki and I wanted him on first sight. It took over a year for things to escalate, and nearly a year after that for us to start sleeping together. He's married. He has a child. He swears one day he'll leave them for me, but he's broken that promise before. I didn't speak to him for six months. I'm fairly certain there's no happy ending for us. But that doesn't stop me hoping. Even HE has started to lose weight lately, but that's mostly because the sex is terrible and he wants to improve his stamina.

Asa still gets in touch now and again. And even Stein is back and flirting. In the words of one of my tallest friends, I must have a magic vagina.

I changed jobs at the same company a few times before leaving for a much better job at a much better company. I'm a bit rusty though - after a few months of doing a job a coordinated monkey could do I've forgotten how to put in a full day's work. I need more discipline. But that's a more general need than just my career right now. I can probably apply it to every aspect of my life.

I bought a house. It's pretty unbelievable. My finances are in ruin. But I bought a house and I live in it. It's a mess. It costs me a fortune. It's still not finished. But it's mine, and I did huge amounts of it on my own, physically and financially.

So, why am I back?

I love Halsand. I love him more than I've loved anyone. And still I cheated on him with Benjen. And still I'm considering cheating on him with Stein. This is the only place that I will ever admit that I am actively trying to get pregnant. Halsand thinks I'm on the pill. I used condoms with Benjen. I figure maybe if I'm carrying Halsand's child he might finally find the fucking courage to start that conversation with his wife. Maybe he'll commit to me. But who knows. Maybe we aren't meant to have babies. Maybe we aren't meant to be together. Only time will be able to tell, because I honestly don't have a fucking clue. I've wanted to be thin since I was young enough to realise that I wasn't. But I would give up the attempt if it meant I got to keep him. Do I cheat because he still sleeps next to his wife every night? I hope so. I want to believe if I had him whole, and didn't share him with the wife who he (mutually) no longer loves, I would have enough. But it's not enough for me now. Love isn't enough.

Do you know what else I can't get enough of? Fucking food. I am a whale. It doesn't seem to stop me from getting laid, but I feel turgid and revolting. My belly has never been so enormous. If I didn't know better I'd say I was already several months pregnant. I'm not. Even if I AM pregnant, which I don't think I am, it would only be a couple of weeks. Not enough to excuse this vastness. Oh, and my thyroid doesn't fucking work, which surprises nobody. But the meds aren't enough to negate my total fucking lack of willpower.

The one person I could rely on for thoughts like this, to help me get back into the mindset of starvation, is in recovery. I want her to stay in recovery, because I don't want to lose her. So for the first time, I am doing this alone. Totally alone. Because I know that as much as my mother wants me to lose weight there is something in her that tries to sabotage me at every turn. My brother is getting married in November and I am the fattest bridesmaid. November isn't so far away, but I have time. I have to use every day. I have to starve, every day.

I want to see Stein. I can admit that to myself. But he lives nearly 250 miles away and last time I fucked him I was two stone lighter and he was about 4 stone heavier. I WILL NOT SEE HIM when he looks so much better and I look so much worse, I refuse. I will not see him until I'm lower than the lowest weight I was when we were together. That was 5 years and nearly 4 stone ago. I will not see him until I am thinner than I was when he loved me.

It's more or less easy enough not to eat while I'm at work. I forgot the joy of sugarless coffee on an empty stomach, it felt like an old friend. Living alone has not been good for me, eating-wise, and I ate a LOT of shit this weekend. But this is it. I will not let myself get any fatter. I have to get a grip of this, now, before a wedding where photos will be taken that will haunt me for the rest of my days. Today was my last day eating junk until then.

I will consecrate this new intention with a 24 hour fast.

24 hours without speaking to my past or present lovers.
24 hours without food.
24 hours without spending money.

Starting at 9pm tonight, ending at 9pm tomorrow. I have to end the cycle of ruin and shock Ylva into waking.

Oh, Ylva. You thought I'd forgotten about her. I had, for a while. But I remember her now. And, my god, how I have missed her.

Pins

15.10

I’m back.

I tried finding happiness elsewhere. I tried to discover the joy in my body. I tried to ignore my casing and concentrate on the contents. But I couldn’t do it.

I fell for someone, someone else’s. Their love died before we met, but I catalysed the decay. My soul tells me that he was built for me, and that I am moulded for him. We’ll call him Loki. He is mischief and disorder. Since I told him in December that I love him my heart has burned. We’ve kissed and I’ve waited and some days I am sure that if I’m good enough, if I’m patient enough, if I love him enough, he’ll come to me for good and I’ll keep him like a promise.

But finding something to love in my body hasn’t worked. When he touches me I recoil. I guess he thinks that I don’t want him to touch me, but that’s only because I feel so flabby. I like his hands, so why would I let him lose them in my flesh? My whole carcass is like quicksand.

I found four dresses.

They don’t fit me yet but they will.

I have to lose six inches off my bust and another six off my waist to fit them.

I will.

I need to stay away from love for just a little while. I need to send the fire to my muscles and my guts and hope the flames make a furnace there the way they have in my heart. 

Ylva

I think she heard me.

In case you're new to me and have no idea who Ylva is, she is my wolf. She lives inside me. And when I starve, she starves. And when she starves she starts to eat her way out. Which, really, is the goal.

There's some saying about a sculptor talking about finding the figures that are already in the marble and just chipping away to release them. Well, this is the opposite, really. She's devouring me from the inside, and one day the roles will be reversed. I will live inside her and she will be free.

I know, by the way, that what I have just told you makes no logical sense. I know that it sounds stupid and a tiny bit loco. But it's the only way I have found to describe the way it feels, going from fat to thin. And Ylva's hunger impacts my mood. If she's too well-fed she's docile and domesticated, and so am I.  I stay quiet and alone and keep my voice and passions to myself. When Ylva is sleeping off too much food I lose all of my confidence. When she's hungry and angry it lights a fires inside me and I'm funny, I'm clever, I'm open and occasionally show flashes of creativity that otherwise wouldn't be possible. You see?  I need her. We are part of each other. If her hunger is satisfied I am unhappy. Is she is dissatisfied I shine. We are equal and opposite, in everything.

A week of nothing but raw vegetables and oats and fruit seem to have left her hungry and, as a result, I've had a weight drop this week for the first time in months. I've been getting smaller (my thighs I the mirror today look the best they have looked in years. Not good, but so much better.) but until now my weight has remained the same. Until now.

As much as Ylva and I are often at odds, I think she knows when I really need her to just take a bite out of me. Because, when she does? It feels like burning gold. 

Peel

I'm trying. Honestly, I am. 

So many things in my life are slotting into place. My job is fucking incredible. My fitness is improving and I train three days a week. I'm more consistent with writing my book than I have been in months. I have a man who really likes me and is keen to take care of me. I'm feeling the benefits of all of these things. 

So why does my life still feel kind of empty? 

I think my evenings, aside for my training, are kind of empty. I watch TV with my mum. That's pretty much it. My weekends seem full without anything ever being achieved. I don't think the guy I have is the right guy for me. I'm not being as creative as I want to be. And while I'm losing volume I'm not losing weight as fast as I want. 

Something is missing in my life. A sense of excitement or danger or a spark of some sort. I don't want to sound ungrateful, really I don't. Compared to the absolute misery of the end of last year I am living a total dream. But I just feel like there's a hole that needs filling. I know I've always been chasing thrills and that I thrive on a certain amount of chaos in the modern sense the word but I feel chaotic in the ancient sense of emptiness and wide nothingness. I feel like my fire is choking and I don't know why. 

I don't know why I feel down but I do. And I feel guilty for feeling down when things are going so well, because they are. I need something. 

And every day I miss Galakse. 

He got in touch on Monday night saying that he missed me and that he's getting better slowly but then didn't say anything else. I don't know what it think, really. I miss him too. I miss him a lot. But I'm so angry with him, I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. Mostly I feel sad and rejected. 

I'll be fine. I'm always fine. I'm doing a life drawing class on Friday so that will be cool. Maybe that will ignite something in me. I have no idea. 

I really can't organise my thoughts right now. 

Hard

Sometimes I make some very dumb decisions. 

Recently my ex got in touch. Our break up happened over the same time as my first pleuritic collapse and I think I passed all my anxiety over my failing lungs and onto the breakup and, under that weight, my heart was crushed. I've fucked him a few times since the end of the relationship, usually in the vain hope that he'd realise what he was missing and that somehow, in some way, I would win. Ultimately he got laid and the deep-tissue bruises in my heart throbbed ruefully, as if my brain didn't know that I'd made a dumb decision without a physical cue from a metaphorical ailment. 

A few days ago he got in touch and asked if I wanted to "wreck a hotel room" with him. I turned him down. I felt a little stronger. My heart thumped like a war drum.

Last night I went 55 miles to meet a man I've been talking to on twitter for months. When I turned up I couldn't see him. Then some flabby, crooked-toothed bloke winked at me and approached me. 

Some people look better in pictures than in real life. 

I feel kind of disgusted with myself, on two counts. One for being so superficial. Two because I slept with him anyway. I feel like the air-punch rights I earned turning my ex down were all lost in one night with this man. All I could think about is how much I missed Galakse. We dated through two months of the summer only for him to say he couldn't handle his depression and seeing me. I miss him every single day. 

I don't know much. I mean, I have a brain full of facts and a tongue full of words and I can string them together like bunting on a ribbon but when it comes to the hurtful things, the secret things, I know nothing for sure. 

There's a band I love called The Weepies made up of a couple. Before they were together the woman released an album that I've been listening to on loop. It includes a song called How Will He Find Me? It sums up one of my greatest anxieties; to never have the kind of love we are conditioned to crave. I have some wonderful friends, and I am so glad of them, I swear. I'm not ungrateful. But even in the arms of a man who physically repulsed me I felt slightly comforted. I miss the skin on skin of affection. I feel so tortured inside. I'm so wounded. I'm working so hard to be beautiful, I'm striving at work to be valuable, I'm making so much effort to hold my family together and I am not handling all this pressure too well. 

I'm meant to be running with Eir today. I AM running with Eir today. Through the woods and through the rain. Maybe the rain will wash last night off my skin. Aching muscles are a good distraction for an aching heart. 

I miss Galakse so much. Fuck. 

If I don't stand out like a star among the moons

If I am always late and he always backs away too soon

I walk the world with a skin so thin

I can wear no adequate protection, everything comes crashing in. 

If I'm too wide open for this place

But too closed off for him to recognise my face...

How will he find me?

With noone's arms to gather me together

How will he find me?

Only held by gravity

Faded with uncertainty

No longer young and not that pretty

How will he ever find me?

It never seems to matter, the tears I cry

There's a well inside of me that never runs dry

From being born, I guess. And born in life until we die. 

The music and the hope for love keep me alive. 

Still I wonder, how will he find me?

And what shall I do with a drunken heart?

With goggle-eyes and the troubling hunger

Reaching forward to trick mirror-men 

Leaning out and in again

If love is a game how can it be creation? 

And if I'm wasting my time how will he find me?

I need to figure myself out before I get off this train. 

Trust

Eir and I had another training session yesterday. We went for a walk and did some boxing in the park. It was hard and, I swear this morning my eyelids ache. Yes, my eyelids. But I'm so proud of my self for going nearly three hours of exercise in two days when I'm still technically in rehab. Eir was proud too. 

When we got home my my said that I didn't look like I'd worked as hard as yesterday and Eir told her that I had, it was a different kind of work and that's why I wasn't puce and sweating as much. Then when we were stretching my brother started criticising and interfering and Eir told him that his input wasn't helpful or required and told him to go away. I think I love her. 

I think I mentioned that she was really badly injured when she was kicked by a horse and she's been wanting to start riding again but still doesn't have the confidence. I love riding but haven't been in years because most stables have a weight limit. We've set ourselves a goal as a pair: I'm going to get light enough to go riding and she's going to get in the right mindset and we're going to go riding together. I'm really excited. 

In other news I'm dating a colleague at the place I'm leaving and I saw him yesterday for the first time since I've been ill. He gave me a card and a gift as an "I'm glad you're doing better" gesture. It was some loose leaf tea and a personal-sized teapot which is a really thoughtful gift and something I'll definitely find useful. He's the nicest guy but I've learned that I don't really feel sparks with nice guys. But he's sweet and supportive and I don't feel threatened or insecure with him. Maybe I should just see where it goes. Maybe my masochism extends to being uncomfortable with emotional comfort. I don't know.

So, I'm seeing Eir again tonight. I ache. So bad. But it's the good kind. I know it is. 

Push

Today I had the hardest workout of my life. 

Partially I suppose it was hard because I'm, as previously discussed, in the worst shape of my life. The thing is I think even at my peak of fitness (which doesn't say a lot, believe me,) I'd have found that gruelling. My physio is ex-Army so she knows all about pushing people to their limits but leaving them with enough physical and emotional strength to come back again the next day. She's actually a pretty incredible person. She suffered really badly from PTSD after working in war zones and losing friends and colleagues and seeing them maimed in combat. As if that wasn't challenging enough she then got kicked by a horse and was, in her own words, "broken". She's been in emotional and physical recovery for a long time and didn't know I'd she'd ever be able to return to Army life after everything she's been through. She and my dad have known each other for years. She speaks to me freely about her weight struggles and everything else and it makes hear really easy to work with. I want to work had to please and impress her which is something I've never felt with a trainer of any kind. The trainers I've had have always been either muscle-bound beefcakes or tiny, peppy blonde girls who, while obviously qualified, I never felt comfortable with. I couldn't work with them when I felt they didn't understand me. With my physio feel safe and understood. I'm going to call her Eir here because Eir was the Norse goddess of healing and, for me, that is who she is. 

So Eir and I went for a run/walk in the woods and used the equipment the parachute regiment use. For those who don't know these guys are proper hardcore and so is their equipment. I climbed over huge nets and did press-ups on custom logs and pushed myself really fucking hard. I ache. I'm lying in my bed and I ache. But I'm proud of myself. I'm seeing Eir again tomorrow after work and going for another run and we're going to do some cardio and boxing. I'm really excited. I think it's going to hurt but in a great way. I can't wait. 

That's all I really have to say today. I ache with fatigue and pride.  

Spirit

It's a sign of how dilapidated my body is that only an hour after doing 11 minutes of a workout I'm already aching. I'm trying not to be frustrated, really I am. Baby steps. I'm learning to walk again, respiratorially speaking. I have to remember to give myself credit. Where it's due, I must give myself credit.

Well, while I'm redesigning my body I might as well rebuild myself emotionally, right?

I've been learning about Nichiren Buddhism from a really, really good friend from university. He used to have his own issues with food and things and used to have a lot of anger. He's now got this incredible approach to his mental health. It's not so much emotional control as emotional release. He feels his feelings, acknowledges them, respects them, then lets them go, having used them in some way. A big part of that is chanting in front of a shrine. The words he says basically translate as "I worship the Lotus Sutra" which is a Buddhist document. He also chants in his head when he's feeling a string negative emotion, like counting to ten in your head before biting back in an argument. I chanted with him and actually found it really cleansing but, for me, as a non-Buddhist, the words meant nothing to me and felt insincere. While the action was really cathartic and a good way to empty my brain it didn't feel right. I felt inhibited by them. So I had to find my own words.

My friend said that the reason he likes the words is because, while they have meaning, because they're a foreign language, they're just sounds. It means he doesn't have to concentrate on what he's saying. So I tried really carefully to find words that meant something in a language far enough removed from my own that it could be a meaningful set of sounds, pleasing to say, that would help me clean my mind. So I picked Latin, a language I understand but isn't my own, and the words are:

"Quae me quaeso, lupa ero."

It translates as "I pray that I become a she-wolf."

Also, in Nichiren Buddhism, there's a document called the "gohonzon" which you're supposed to look at while you chant. Again, for me, there's an insincerity about that, but the concept behind it (finding your own part of it to divine meaning from) works. So I created my own "chanting board" make up of squares of blues, whites and greys in waves of colour. The blue represents the cleansing of water, the white of a clean, fresh page and the grey of the grey wolf in residence in my spirit.

So, as of tonight, I will chant before I sleep and when I wake up. To remind myself at the beginning and end of every single day what I am doing to my body: making it the best it can be in every way so it can be a worthy home for my spirit. Because, man oh man, my spirit really is something.

Try

My mum and I got into an argument. Least said best, it was just a stupid domestic, but it meant I had energy that needed using. So, as a result, I went upstairs and did a bit of ballet. Only about 11 minutes and it was basic and it was a struggle but I did it. I set my laptop up in front of my mirror so I could watch the instructional tape and watch myself at the same time. I'm lumpy, ungraceful and weak but I tried.

Baby steps.

Tiny baby steps.

Barre

15.5

Today I told work I was coming back. It's my last week in the same job until I start my writing job elsewhere. I've spoken to my boss and he's letting me do shorter days. This means I am going to fit in more physio and rehab. I've also decided to actually do my ballet workouts. I bought a leo, leggings, and overwear to dance in so I feel more like I know what I'm doing. My trainer is happy to work out with me morning or evening so I'm going to figure out whether ballet in the morning and cardio in the evening or vice versa is better. I need to get myself into a rhythm. Having weekends off, adding some structure to my week, is going to be a real help. I haven't had weekends in... erm... four years. Crikey.

Whatever size I always had pretty great flexibility. My stamina and upper body strength have always been terrible but my legs have always been strong, pliable, mobile. Even when I was an athlete and throwing discus for my county my strength was always in my legs. But now, between getting fat, getting lazy and getting sick, I'm in more or less the worst condition I think I've ever been. Physio and rehab are going to help rebuild me. no... not rebuild. Redesign.

Earlier I was playing a game on my phone where, if you fail, you have to start again from scratch and for some reason it reminded me of being 8 years old in my grandmother's garden using a lawn-chair-cushion as a crash-mat, trying to teach myself to do a walkover. I'd manage the handstand, manage to crab and then never make it all the way back over onto my feet. That didn't stop me getting back up and going again and again until the sun went down. I actually never managed it. When summer ended I just stopped trying.

I am not giving up on this.

I know, I know, being fitter and thinner is always going to improve your quality of life but it's never felt this real and relevant to me as when I thought I was dying. People say near-death experiences change your outlook on the life you have. For me, being told I had a terminal illness was MY near-death experience. I may be taking baby steps but I'm taking baby steps with pointed toes.

Structure is going to be my friend.

Spick

15.3

Since doing this whole food diary malarkey I've lost 2lbs in under a week. So hooray for that.

Today I'm going to go and get a filter and a bucket and some fish. I asked my little brother if he'd like to choose a fish for the bowl and he got so excited, bless him. We're getting on so well at the moment, I really hope it lasts. People ask me what my relationships with my brothers are like and if I'm being hone I usually have to answer that I don't have one - we went to different boarding schools at different ends of the country so it was never really possible to maintain any real friendship. Now, though, I think things are changing and it's really, really positive. It's making me really happy.

So I'm going to get three little goldfish and maybe a snail or a minnow as company, I guess it depends who I find when I go to the pet store. First things first I need to fill the bowl with water and treat it so the bacteria can start making the water safe for my new fishy friends.

I know it's sad to be this excited about fish but I think fish are awesome so... there we are.

Glub

15.4

Today I went on an actual outing to help my mum at the garden centre. Aside form hospital visits it's only the second or third time I've ventured from my home town since I got ill. The garden centre is closing down so it's having a huge closing-down sale.

I made an unnecessary lust-purchase.

Every month I buy a non-food "lust purchase" - a little thing just for me, for no real reason, because I'm materialistic and "things" make me happy.

So I bought a fishbowl and pebbles and a little ornament and water conditioner and fish food and tomorrow I'm setting it all up ready for my fish. I've done my research and the bowl I have can only accommodate small goldfish breeds and maybe one or two companion fish and a snail so that's probably what I'll get. I also need a filter and a couple of plants for the fishies to hide in. I'm unreasonably excited about this.

Jaws

15.4

I'm keeping a food diary for my physio because I need to get myself into the best possible shape. That's the thing about being overweight; everyone's really desperate to help you get thinner. The thing is I know I'm eating differently because I need to give her an item-by-item breakdown of every single thing I eat. She's meant to be assessing the proportions of fat/protein/carbs and coming up with substitutions to make my diet healthier and to help me lose weight.

Though, actually, she's phrasing it as "fat percentage loss" and told me not to concentrate on weight loss. The thing is, after one day of keeping the food diary and not eating because I'd have to document it for someone else to see, I've actually lost a pound after months of plateau. Well, you know, whatever works.

I woke up hungry for the first time in ages which felt weirdly good.

I still feel like a total weakling which is pretty tiresome but I'm working on it, I really am. I'm even planning to go back to work next week. We'll see.

Rehab

15.5

Oh, thank goodness, finally some good news.

I got called into the hospital and told that I had been initially misdiagnosed. What they mistook for pulmonary fibrosis is actually just a particularly nasty set of pulmonary adhesions. The symptoms are very similar but pulmonary fibrosis is a degenerative, terminal disease. Pulmonary adhesions are crappy but are far less likely to kill me in the next five years.

So, in the long term, that's absolutely, breathtakingly (sorry, bad taste pun) wonderful news. I'm not going to die before I'm thirty. I'm not going to need a lung transplant. Probably. But in the short term, as far as recovery goes, nothing has really changed.

I'm still in "Pulmonary Rehabilitation". This basically means I'm doing physiotherapy to get my lungs up to par. It's like learning to walk all over again. I'm starting from scratch. I'm a newborn.

Instead of whining about it I'm going to just have to go ahead and embrace it. That is very much my intention, in any case. I am not going to treat this as a condemnation of one of my vital organs, I'm going to treat it as a rebirth of my entire body. Knowing that I am limited means I can push my limits, but gently and constructively. I don't have to lie down, bound by the indictment of my scars. Where before I've felt like I've had to push myself too hard now I have to listen to my body, to be intuitive, to do exactly as much as I can so that every day what I'm capable of is a little more than I was capable of yesterday. My limits will change. I will challenge them.

I have to treat my body as a clean slate, like a fixer-upper of a house. There are a few cracks in the walls and the paintwork is peeling and the roof has a few missing tiles. But the foundations are solid and, with a bit of work, I can make his house a home.

I can't remember the last time I let this bad and this incredible.

Ylva is howling with joy.

Diagnosis

15.7

Pulmonary Fibrosis.

Scarring on the lungs resulting in weakness, diminished lung capacity, predisposition to chest infections and intolerance to exercise. I may one day need a lung transplant.

I know my enemy. I can look it in the eyes. I am not going to let my scars, either on my lungs or my skin, get the better of me.

I'm in pulmonary rehab and seeing a physiotherapist.

I'm going to be in the best shape I can be.

I refuse to die of this disease.

White

212

My existence is given structure by a set of truths. Three of these can be summarised as follows:

I am fat.
I am in pain.
I am angry.

These truths can be split open like a fruit on a tree. In each truth there are components which make it what it is.

I am fat.
I have a large, scarred, irregularly-shaped, partially-dimpled, porridge-coloured belly.
I have thick, outwardly muscled, inwardly chafing, bristly, firm, soft, strong, weak legs.
I have dry, inflicted, turgid, pink, overly-muscled arms.

I am in pain.
I have teeth which grind against each other in my sleep and bite my own mouth and tongue to shreds.
I have a spine with defects in the nerve and bone structure which give me aches.
I have a head which sometimes feels clamped until I want to scream.

I am angry.
I have a job which bores me sick while causing so much stress that my hair falls out.
I am largely considered inadequate at the endeavours about which I am passionate.
I failed at university, which even idiots seem to manage.
I can't seem to find a job which either pays well enough to quench my resentment or fulfil me enough to sate my sadness.
I can't connect with other people. I feel sub human. The last person I felt like I related with was fictional. And also an alien. Who eats humans.

This fruit has a name. It's called Misery. And it's fucking bitter. If it was growing in my orchard I'd chop the fucking tree down.

But it's not fruit that feeds a tree, is it? The fruits are the product and they regenerate each season. What I mean to say is these truths are true but that doesn't make them permanent.

All these fruits from from a tree with my name carved into the bark. The trunk and roots are made up of some truths of their own.

I am creative.

I am clever.

I am beautiful.

Each of these truths also has elements to them.

I am creative.
I write.
I sew.
I knit.
I draw.
I have a limitless imagination.

I am clever.
I learn fast.
I am capable.
I am eloquent.

I am beautiful.
I have a well-proportioned face.
I have a nice smile.
I have a good body shape.
I have good hair.

And these things are constants.

If I tend to this tree it will bear sweeter fruit. That's all I really have to say right now.

Sloth

I will be thin by the time I finish my book.

I've chafed my Facebook photo to one of a sloth and I'm not allowed to change it until I've finished my book.

I will replace it with a photo of me thin as all fuck looking like hot shit.