It was very enticing.
Hm, I thought. 109.6. Not too far from 105. That's not too bad - slim, but not anorexic.
109.6. Hm, I thought. Not too far even from 100. 100 would be cool. Cool 100, reeling me in with its delicate sound. 100. Sounds like an adult weight, but oh so small and tiny.
109.6. Just 10 pounds and hm, I thought - double-digit weight. The siren call of double-digit weight. What do you weigh? Why, I weigh so little it only takes two numbers to measure it.
I remember the first time I dropped below 100. I stared at the scale in amazement and joy. I did it! I was Agent 99, 99 pounds - no round 100 for me. It was too good to be true; and of course, the weight drop continued.
I remember when I hit 92 pounds. Hm, I thought. Two more pounds and I would be in the eighties. The eighties seemed so thin, light and delicate; it hammered my brain night and day - go for it! Just two more pounds, and oh, you will be the thinnest of all.
Of course, that's when I started seeing my doctor. And damn him, he pumped nutrients back into my sorry little heart (almost literally, via a TPN) and pound by pound, the number kept increasing.
Until it stopped in December.
Until it dropped the other day, and landed on 109.6.
I must have a fever of 109.6 to even think about going back.
But oh, it is so enticing to think - what would I be like if I just pushed it a little bit? Not as far as before, but maybe a few pounds. Just enough to feel really thin again.
So far, I've done the opposite this weekend, filling myself with several bites of triple chocolate cake and a complete dish of fettucini alfredo. Anything, anything to stave off those thoughts. Anything to keep me from following through with this insane plan I have in back of my head.
Anything to keep 109.6 from become 105 ... 102 ... 100 ... 98... 92