Steal away

I just spent an hour reading a Danish girl’s memoirs of her battle with anorexia, bulimia, self injury and all other sorts of shit. Man, that hurt. I almost cried even. It’s very clear from almost the beginning of her book, that she develops an eating disorder because she doesn’t want to grow up – she makes several references to wanting to be taken care of, wanting to be a little girl again, being afraid of “the real world” outside the hospital …

I don’t want to be sick. I am truly grateful that I decided to sign myself into a psychiatric ward when I did, because I don’t believe I would have been here otherwise. I liked it there, because it gave me structure and rules and manageable amounts of responsibility. I didn’t like it because they took care of me or because I didn’t want to become an adult. But on the other hand, here I am on subsidy, doing nothing with my life, angsting for fucking hours because I’m afraid to eat a god damned sandwich. Something is definitely wrong. I wish I knew what it is.

I used to steal a lot. Mostly shoplifting, but I would occasionally swipe money from my mother’s purse as well, and from the grocery store where I worked. I haven’t stolen money in a very long time, and I don’t intend to begin again. Then again, I didn’t intend on beginning to shoplift either.

I stole a dress the other day. Long sleeves, holes on the shoulder, ties with a bow in the back. Really pretty. Just put in on under my regular clothes, paid for a pair of legwarmers at the register and strolled out. My heart raced like a motherfucking old school choo choo train. That was the first time in a long time I’ve stolen clothes. I could never completely stop nicking small things, like jewelry and socks, but I honestly didn’t think I would steal clothes again … Today I stole a broche and a pair of lace gloves from H&M. I don’t even know if I am going to wear the gloves at all. I would never have bought them. I just took them with me into the changing room, pulled off the tag, and put them in my hat. Winter is great for shoplifting. I’ve never seen or heard of a security guard checking hats or gloves for stolen items. There’s a tip for you right there.

I think I might be addicted to it. Not the adrenaline rush, because I really only get scared, not high or excited … but to getting new things. If I had the money (and was raised by a very different woman) I would probably have been a shopaholic fo sho.

I’m bored and lonely. Whenever I’m bored, I get hungry. It’s a son of a bitch. I know I haven’t overeaten today or anything, but I am still deathly afraid of putting food in my mouth this late at night (it’s almost ten pm).

Today’s intake:

Apple on the way home from therapy

Muesli bar

1 deciliter of pasta with 100 grams of chicken and some arugula

With clothes on I weigh 51 kilos.