'Cause it's the ones with the sorest throats, Laura, who have done the most singing.

I seriously need to sort my life out. I'm sick to death of constantly scouring fashion blogs in some vain attempt to fire up motivation for self-improvement, yet not actually possessing the will power to make any fucking effort. But by 'self-improvement', I am of course referring to weight loss.
I can't figure out if my boyfriend's support concerning the issue is actually worsening or improving matters. In a positive sense, he's only the second person I've been able to even partially confide in, in terms of my eating issues - even my previous long-term boyfriend and still very close friend was actually physically sickened when, after snooping through my drawers, his suspicions were confirmed. So in that sense, I am very lucky to be with someone who I can be a bit more relaxed around. And, hell, perhaps one day he could help me recover - not that he isn't trying now. It's tough though since he himself has problems with eating. It's not so much to do with weight or body image but he has major issues with digestion, like he can't bear the thought of all the badness in his body. He apparently has a load of habitual habits, still unbeknown to me, so his eating disorder is more anxiety/OCD based. He claims that because of these habits, he feels more robot than human. It sounds melodramtic, and the guy has suffered from depression for most of his life, but the way he says it is so level-headed and accepting - coupled with, "I didn't deal with it when I was younger and I just don't want to see you end up like me" - I'm more torn than ever before between wanting to be thin and wanting to just accept the way I look.
But since I've started actively dealing with my depression, I really feel that I need this form of control, this illusion of power and achievement. I've been self-harming for about five years now and the scars on my arms have been visible to my friends and family for the past two with little intervention from them. But since I had to get my wrists stitched up over the Christmas holidays it really hit home how selfish and insensitive I've been by making no attempt to recover. But I'm not yet at the point where talking about what goes on in my head makes me feel any better either. So until I figure out a less destructive way to deal with my petty insecurities and anxieties, I'm sticking with the 'no food for fatty' policy.
For better or for worse, Amen.