Walking along the carpet, the energy builds up. My foot hits cold wood and I remember relief. Off to my room again, loaded in yellow and strung through with black. The beehive for one.

My nails scrape the keyboard. They’ve been growing in beautifully. DO they know that their nourishment may be false? How could I tell them? All that matters for now is that I get rid of them.  I need to type. I cut them off at the base. Ugly, stubby nails, hello my friends.

I enter the information on cronometer; 3 packages of cookies. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pizza, potatoes, a pyre of toast, rice crackers, bowls of cheerios. 4,000 calories by 7:30am. It’s my first day in recovery from the weekend’s apocalyptic binge.

At least I don’t have anywhere to be this morning. A few more laxatives, some anti-inflammatories, probiotics, and caffeine, and I’ll be de-bloated enough to stand and cheer on my anorexic runners during practice this afternoon.

1757 calories surplus so far today. That’s about a 17 mile run.

A small update the current weight goal could provide some psychological relief. Cronometer tells me how to maintain my weight. Maybe I should have my baseline at a higher level. I’m large-framed, so my weight needs to be higher.

It’s just that I was getting too skinny.

But I had tracked my calories in and out the whole time.

I could be hungry, but I know what happens to hungry. It feeds itself. The food goes to the hunger while my body remains uncomfortable, stifled, growing weaker.

This isn’t normal yet. I’m still in a tailspin, but from what?