Scary Shit

I know we don't read one another's blogs to get to know one another. In reality, we don't really care too much for eachother on a personal level. We write and read so we can recieve understanding and praise and feel accepted. We do this to see others in ourselves. But, this post is about me. It's about my weekend. And you don't have to read it if you don't want to. But I have the feeling you may find more of yourself in this than you may want.

So... I haven't blogged all weekend because Friday night, some scary shit went down. I was doing so well that day. I had had barely anything save for some Rice Thins, spinach, and liquids.
One of my best friends lives around the corner and she and I and a couple other girls decided to have a girls night in. We set up a little smoking station outside. I had my Belmonts and hookah, loaded up with some mango shisha and my friends had brought their bong which we loaded with ice. We had also gone out before and decided to buy some salvia. I don't know if you've ever heard of or smoked salvia, but it's fucked. It's 100% legal and is supposed to give you a solid, fucked-up, 10 minute trip. We got 60x (not the highest strength, but not the lowest). And I had four bowls. 4. You're only supposed to do 1. But I didn't feel it all right away, so I kept on taking moremoremore. Everything was all shits and giggles and I basically just felt really high, but then it all hit me. I went to the washroom, locked the door, sat down hugging the toilet, and struggled to control my breathing. I've had panic attacks before, and this went one step beyond panic. I quite literally could not control myself. In these situations, I'm always ok. I can handle myself, I can calm myself down. But the one fucked up thing was that inside that little intoxicated brain of mine, all I wanted to do was stand up and weigh myself. The scale was sitting right beside me, but my legs would not stand up, my breathing would not slow down, and I had next to no idea what was going on.
I don't know how long I was in there, but the same thoughts kept sprinting through my mind. weighmyselfweighmyselfweighmyself. I knew I had to get out of the bathroom and away from the scale. I hauled myself up using the toilet, stumbled into the living room, and splayed myself on the couch. I layed there, tripping out, and eventually got all the thoughts of weight out of my head. When I knew I was solely  thinking for myself, I got up, struggled to the washroom, and weighed myself.
122.
It's the lowest I've been in over a year. I was ecstatic. I then returned to my beloved couch.
It would appear to anyone else that I had given in, but it goes a little deeper. In my subconcious, Ana was the one behind my food intake (and Mia my outtake). Now, when I refer to "Ana" or "Mia", I'm not inferring that I have another personality or specific "voice" in my head. Ana and Mia are simply the subsect of me that became obsessed with food and calories. A part of me took my new habits to a new level for wrong reasons. And in that fucked-up moment on the couch, I retired that part of myself that was hungry for everything other than food, and regained my strength. If I'm going to starve and become skinny, that's my decision. I'm not doing it to be noticed or loved. I'm doing this for me.
But back on track with the story...My best friend came in to check on me and I told her I was hungry. She made me popcorn. I ate the whole bowl. I spat in the face of Ana who had been screaming at me what felt like moments before. I came to the realization that if I'm doing this to have control over something, I have to keep control of myself.
I then proceeded to eat 2 plates of nachos with rediculous amounts of salsa. I decided that for the weekend, I was going to eat (relatively) normal and starting Monday, I would start this process over with more insight and more determination than ever before.

So, here I am. It's Monday. I'm ready.