Right.  So since my last post, I've lost five pounds which implies that the three pounds I gained was water weight.  Wonderful.  But I really feel like the weight I lost wasn't deserved since I didn't stick to the plan that I posted about.  I didn't stop purging for the most part, I just purged less.  Maybe four times a day instead of ten, and I've pretty much been throwing up everything I've been eating except for Well, except for my epic fail on Tuesday.  Yikes.  Let me tell you about that one, shall I?

I went to my hair dresser to get my hair straightened and dyed, which I love.  But my hair dresser is vietnamese and knows that I love Asian food of any kind since my study abroad in Shanghai some time ago.  She made me vegetable fried rice and it was absolutely delicious.  She's on the Q-needs-to-gain weight bandwagon so she's always bringing food in to me.  Granted, home-made fried rice fried with just a tablespoon of olive oil is not going to be nearly as bad as kind you get in Chinese food restaurants, but when you eat four cups of it...not good.  I threw it all back up and felt horrible that I was throwing up something someone had made specifically for me.  In fact, the only thing I didn't throw up that day was a plain bagel with a bit of jelly on it.

So I left the hair dresser and went home which is where I do all of my worst bingeing.  And, true to form, I did.  I had about two cups of mashed potatoes, and indeterminate amount of caramels and tootsie rolls, two servings of seven layer dip, about 30 whole wheat crackers, three cinnamon rolls * , two Samoa bars that I had baked for my mom, a brownie, two more cups of rice that I made in the rice cooker, the rest of a bag of potato chips, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (made with PB2, sugar-free jelly, and low calorie bread of course, we must stay healthy).  This all took place over the span of about three hours and went down the toilet in four separate shifts.  My stomach felt so rotten after it all that I went to bed early, partly because I felt ill and partly because I just wanted to get away from the kitchen and away from food.  I was so glad to get away from the house the next day and go to work because it was absolutely disgusting what I had done.  The only way i got to sleep that night was by taking a sleeping pill and by telling myself that the tally of my day only maybe added up to about 2500 calories and that, combined with my restricting from the rest of the week, could not possibly result in weight gain.  Now I'm hiding out at my boyfriend's house because I'm utterly embarrassed to eat like that around him and it's much, much easier to restrict down here.  I feel much better now.

* Those fucking cinnamon rolls.  I have asked my mom, begged my mom, and told my mom not to make them and she still does.  Every person in my house is morbidly obese (I am talking a BMI of at least 35 and up to 42) and no one needs to eat those bloody cinnamon rolls.  But she insists on making them because she cannot handle that I am the baker in the house.  People keep telling me that I need to open my own baking business an she can't handle the fact that I do something better than her.  She knows I have no willpower when it comes to cinnamon rolls because, while I can resist eating my own baking, I can't not eat something that someone else has baked.  So she keeps making those stupid things because she has to assert some stupid fucking power over me.  She makes them even though we still have some in the house.  She makes them when she knows that I'm coming home, and then tells me that I could still stand to lose weight even though people can count my ribs and everyone else tels me that I am too thin.  She makes them because she wants me to be fat like her and she hates me for constantly being the thinnest one in the house, even when I myself was overweight.  I fucking hate her for it and I hate her for it.

They're not even particularly good.  They're not handmade (made in a bread machine), they're doughy and they taste like something you can get in the store.  But they're very sweet and I have a horrible sweet tooth.  They're something I can easily throw in the microwave and eat three of.  These and cereal are something I can go fucking binge-crazy on when I go into my trance.  Anything else I can snap myself out of after having maybe one serving of, but not bloody cinnamon rolls and not bloody cereal.  Any other parent, one would think, would be supportive of their child if they were to tell their parent that they were trying to be healthy (hah, healthy) and watch what they eat and not bring unhealthy things in to the house.  I've done the same thing with her during her lame attempts at trying to be healthy.  Whenever I've baked, I take my baking out of the house and not left anything in the house to tempt her into eating things that would cause her to gain weight.  This has resulted in her yelling at me and saying that I don't care about my family.  Twisted, right?

Sigh, sorry about the impromptu rant.  This is something that has been upsetting me for a while.  I've been avoiding my house more and more.  I need to get my own pace, but being a full-time student and only being able to work 35 hours a week at an hourly wage is simply not conducive to living on my own.

109.  Hooray.  Nine more pounds to go until my next GW.