So we're having a bellydancing show in August. We have six months to prepare and it will be my first official show. It's not really a huge deal but I am so damn excited.

I have deleted my old secret livejournal account today. One that I kept and used to join pro-ana communities and talk to people about "how I really felt" about things. I read through it a bit but stopped before I got too triggered by the content. I can't really relate to her anymore. I was so selfish and stupid. Not oblivious to the harm I was causing though...which makes it worse. I was knowingly doing that to myself. And it seems like I just woke up from a bad dream but I don't feel any better. Today I was thinking about what would happen if I let myself slip back into the disorder. If I let myself lose those twenty or so pounds again. I realized how stupid it would be and how scary it is that I can still fantacize about something so ... selfishly retarded.

I remember going outside and feeling weak, shielding my eyes from the sun and still feeling chilly and just wanting to lie down and die. but I can no longer relate. Like a newborn child, I'm beginning to see the world for the first time. And it's beautiful because it's real, and it could never hurt me as much as I have.

Today I declared war on myself. I prepared both armies for battle, and burnt all the peace treaties. Today I said no to the nagging, and I said no to the way he may or may not make me feel. And you know what? I was there all strapped up in armour, ready to put up my bravest fight...and he didn't even show up. I looked so stupid.

Maybe I'm lying to myself, tricking myself so that I'll do it and get it over with. I keep telling myself ...you want it now, you think you care about him, but as soon as you get him out of your life you'll see...you never cared at all. I hope I am right.

I was having a conversation on the phone with my best friend. A few days back we had talked about how trivial and unaccurate clothing sizes are - especially in the US. And she off handedly mentioned that she's normally a size 7, but just recently fit into a certain brand's size 1. The kettle inside began to screech and I saw stars and suddenly the tears that haven't been able to come for days appeared. I tried to be calm but she sensed something was wrong. I walked over to the scale that I hadn't seen or used for over two months. I held my breath and stepped on.

Twenty five pounds since my journey for health began. Twenty five reasons to keep going, twenty five more to give up.

I broke down, and now I am feverishly picking up pieces that seem to be beyond repair, but I can't bring myself to throw them away. I've never been able to get rid of anything anyone's given me after all. And this isn't just anyone. It's her and me. Us.