Introductions

Hello, to those who may eventually read this. 

I've recently had trouble holding true to my plans. Which sucks. Something about winter makes it easier for me to think being a fatty is okay, which it's not. Not for me, anyways. 

As I sit here before my computer, skipping school because I'm a worthless piece of crap and typing out this first post, I am 5'6.5" and 135.0lbs. This is, alas, only a 10.5lb improvement of my weight two years ago, when I finally was able to give in to my anorexic tendencies. 

I've had disordered eating habits and thoughts since I was seven. At that time, my parents began what would be a seven-year-long divorce, which would include custody battles and highway robbery and children used like chess pieces, bartered like chattel. My mother, bless her dear little heart, had been abusing me for years, but she claimed that my father was abusing her, so he got kicked out and I had to live with her. 

I couldn't act on them, however, because my mother was vigilant. She would go on week-long health binges, where we weren't allowed anything other than salads and chicken and other health foods - not to say that I didn't enjoy these stints; I loved the food and wanted, like her, to lose weight - and then, after a few days or strict regimentation and calorie counting, she'd break down and buy four gallons of Breyer's ice cream, bags upon bags of cookies, and chocolate bars in six packs. She'd start baking. She'd make meals laden with dairy and fat and carbs. We were dragged along on her manic-depressive joyride, and she remained frustrated and furious with her near-obesity and the pounds that clung stubbornly to her celulitic hips. 

She took that frustration out on me. My sister, who is 5'9" and 132.0lbs without trying, was always the Golden Child. From the time she was seven, she was the one who our mother insisted was special. She was beautiful, talented, perfect. She could be a Victoria's Secret Angel, Mom crowed over my ten-year-old sister's cornsilk head. She'll take acting classes, voice lessons. She's smart and kind and good. 

I was not. I was always the fat one, the stupid one, the ugly one. She would yell at me for eating, and then for not eating. She said I was stupid and lazy when I stayed up until three in the morning to do all my work because she'd hogged the computer all day, shopping online for designer dresses for my sister even though we lived off of child support, and when I passed all my classes. My sister frequently failed her classes; she flunked math in 9th grade and had to repeat it.

No matter how hard I tried, no matter how good I was, I couldn't be good enough. I couldn't lose the weight she wanted me to lose, and I couldn't have skin clear enough for her, and I couldn't get grades good enough for her. I was bullied in school, and when I asked her to let me take homeschool courses because going to school made me hate myself, she insisted that I could do it only if I got straight 100s in every class. The stress was so great that I averaged a 92 in 5th grade; needless to say, I was not allowed to be homeschooled. 

When I was only just fourteen, I finally left my mother's apartment and moved in with my dad. I was far happier than I had been with my mother, and since he actually had a job, I could stay home, unsupervised, and fast and exercise until I ached. 

With that newfound freedom, with a parent who actually trusted me, I lived without the voice for almost six months. Then my pants stopped fitting. I was a size 27 at Forever 21. I weighed in at a whopping 145.5lbs. That would not do. 

So I started to starve myself. I tried the ABC diet again and again. I went Rainbow - which worked - and Russian Gymnast - which was fantastic. I fasted for days and liquid fasted for weeks. I took ballet and musical theater classes, and voice lessons. I started writing. I found my niche. 

Unfortunately, every once in a while, I'd fall off the wagon. That first year, my dad's 20+ year old dial scale misfired, and within weeks, it promised me that I was eighty five pounds. I was 143.0lbs. I was crushed. 

I binged my way back up to 145.5, starved down to 126.0lbs, ballooned up to 130, down to 127, up to 139, down to 134, up to 142. 

I am now 134.5lbs, to be precise, and, inspired by the great Ana Regzig and my upcoming acting career, I have decided to start this blog. 

I hope that, someday, I will be as inspiring to someone as she is to me; hell, I hope she starts posting again. I will be accountable to this blog, as best as I can be, and I will lose the weight. 

My next goal weight is 126.0lbs, approximately halfway between my highest weight and my UGW of 88.0lbs. 

See you all on the skinny side, 

Swannie