Running myself into the ground

A cup of tea with semi-skimmed milk started my day, along with the final four episodes of Heroes (volume three). Simon kept me in bed to 'appreciate my body' all day. At five, I got a sudden attack of claustraphobia and had to get out of the house. He moaned a little but agreed to drive me home. Rage and inexplicable depression hit me and I flew off the handle in the car when I couldn't roll a cigarette. My irritability was like a rash and it soon rubbed off onto him. It all left me alone at my house with my mother; who is, incidentally, in a foul mood and sparing no good feelings for me. Fifteen meatballs, 23 BBQ Pringles, 10 pieces of fusili, half a bag of chocolate coins, a chocolate egg, a bottle of diet orangeade and 15 minutes vomiting later, I feel hideously guilty and blank. I'm not sure if that's better or worse than what I felt before.
Live at the Apollo is on and Simon's come back now. Another cup of tea and I'm trying to dissect what went wrong. Why did I feel like that? Can I prevent it or deal with it better?
I tried to stick to Atkins these last five days; I only vomited once when I realised I'd eaten 150g of fat in one bowl. It was somehow too much for me to deal with and even though I tried to convince myself I didn't need to, I found myself over the toilet as usual. But for me, I thought I was doing well until I weighed myself at Simon's house yesterday. His scales told me I am 11 stone. That day I wore a UK size six in New Look. A size six and eleven stone? How the fuck does that work? So maybe his scales are broken or something but sizewise I haven't lost anything (still maintaing 26 inches around the waist) and I've been following Atkins almost to the letter. At an average of size eight already, I wasn't expecting to lose very much but nothing at all is clearly not enough. The disappointment broke my resolve and yesterday I ate 2 flapjacks, a bowl of cinnamon grahams with semi-skimmed milk, 3 jam doughnuts, half a bag of jellybeans, a cinnamon swirl, a bottle of diet ginger ale, a bottle of diet orangeade, two pieces of gala pie and a chicken kiev in less than an hour and spent a long fucking time in the bathroom afterwards. Deciding to change diet today, I think the spikes in blood sugar and massive carb overload after five days of Atkins were the main cause of my outburst.
I plan to begin a more rigorous exercise regime tomorrow and get back to a low calorie diet rather than a low carb diet. Fingers crossed.
My first appointment with Eating Disorder Network is in two days. They're going to weigh me. Shit. If I weigh eleven stone, I might spend the entire meeting crying. I've been trying so fucking hard. The questions about returning to college in the next few days and my plans for the future are making me uneasy; who wants to say they're taking time off to recover from an ED? How weak does that make me sound...
Shit. I feel like shit.
This is the very beginning of my first, stumbling steps to recovery and I wanted to record it just in case anyone else was contemplating, suffering or needing some solidarity.