My stomach. Why is it my stomach? I still don't understand why it's basically this one body part that dictates all of my day for me. I don't understand why or how it really, truly looks different all the time. Every few hours it's either bigger or smaller or softer or toned. I don't understand where logic fits in in all of this. And I really, really don't understand why it even matters.

I am trying to get more things done. I want to be productive. Every day in this house alone is draining me. I kind of want a job, but I think that would be trying to take on too much. Teaching the beginner belly dance class is not enough, but I think a job would be too much. I need another hobby, maybe? I think I'm being unrealistic. 

I'm not tired yet at all.

I was going to re-do my room today after I cleaned it. I think I should go on a walk or something, go to the coffee shop maybe?
Maybe I should go help out at the shop. I should make myself useful and stop just taking up space. I do have class tonight, and then who knows.

I'm gaining weight. I don't need a scale to know. I don't even need clothes that won't fit to know. After a certain period of being so obsessively weight concious, I think you just start to know. And it's ridiculous. 

I wish I could find a way to turn my perfectionist, obsessive qualities into an outlet to do something good or artistic or... something.

I watched Hedwig and the Angry Inch by myself tonight, and it was really good. I liked it. It had some really good little like viewpoints and ideas in it that made me think like, "oh, that's clever". So that was good. 

I don't want to think about people right now. There's so much I could go into right now.
I realize that my whole life is full of patterns, and it scares me because it's like I've been leaving a trail behind me in my own past that if anyone followed it it would lead them right up to me and all my weaknesses. Raw and naked in the ugliness that is the truth. The truth is that I'm a needy person, and I lie a lot. Probably because it's easy. Easier.

The impulse to jump head first back into restricting has been so strong I can taste it. I just want to jump in with reckless abandon and let it consume me and take care of me and save me so that I don't have to think. So that "she" can just take over and give me a break. I know if I do that I'll only be sad, and then when I try to be healthy again (which I will have to in order to be happy, which I want to be happy) I'll have to start all over from scratch, I'll be worse off...and it will be even harder and  lonlier to do this.
I feel so lonely. I feel so lonely in the place that I'm at with my body and my eating. I don't need to talk about it, I just need to know. I need someone else to talk about it. I'm not even making any sense. It's like I want someone else to talk about me.
That's extremely pompous sounding, but I don't mean it that way.
I mean like I need someone to tell me about myself, and I need to know.