Lost

Very original title, for very original behaviour. I've lost some weight. It was not intentional, and by all accounts I actually thought I had gained, which is what led me to weigh myself in the first place. The loss can only be put down to the nausea of which I've been near-daily experiencing and a reduction in intake on those days, but, the effect of knowing I've lost is most detrimental to my recovery. I am ridiculously excited by it, having struggled through my once-current weight for months trying to accept it. And now that it's lower, i'm paranoid i'm just going to gain it back again, and feel as uncomfortable as I was then. I am now consciously choosing restriction and relishing in the sensation of hunger, because assuredly this will mean I can't be gaining. This is the one thing on my mind again, well not the only thing, but it is taking precedence, and rationally I know this is not good, but damned if I want to gain any, and really, if I were completely honest, i'd like to strive for the next lower weight just to ensure I wont get back up where I was. Or maybe i'm just over-analysing it all, and as soon as i'm well and able to start exercising again I can drop the obsession with the number and work at feeling fit and healthy- if that day ever fricken comes, for as things stand, i'm currently at consecutive day #4 of vertigo and still bed-ridden. My dad did pop around this morning however, so I got up for that, and tried as I might to appear normal, but there was no fooling anyone, so I ended up telling him the truth. Now he will take that back to my mother and she will call this evening and ask me what i'm going to do about all of this, suggest I quit work because I can't handle the stress, tell me i'll never be able to work a full time job, and leave me feeling the guilt and blame for whatever physical mess is happening to me of late, like I've caused it, like I choose it, just augh!