Well hell, you thought you were rid of me...

But I had forgotten that I wanted to post these... Just some stuff I had written a while back, but it's all relevant.

I don't know what's happening to me, but the overwhelming weight of this depression is clouding my thought, my ability to reason with myself, and I'm suffocating every moment in this devastating tailspin of confusion and loss of self...

I'm eating now, constantly, to make up for lost time and months of relentless restriction... it's never enough, the bingeing is endless and uncontrollable, and the agony of disappointment in myself is only exceeded by the wrath of an infuriated master... She can hardly believe her piercing eyes, and yet She refuses to turn away. The gaze of Ana, in all her emaciated perfection, is burning white-hot and searing, blistering my soul with her condescending disdain... Her realization is evident, painfully obvious to both of us: choosing me was a mistake, her miscalculation was fatal... My heart, body, mind, and soul... She wanted it all, and I promised it to her in full and sincere abandon. Words continuously fail to delineate the sheer anguish of this affliction, and yet I try...I try and I try, bleeding, hating, faltering... wanting...needing...crying and screaming, pounding the walls of my own sanity and consciousness with scarred fists, clenched in frustration, in loss... If I've lost myself, then I've lost everything...

But therein lies the problem. I've never lost all of myself; I've come so close, only to be jerked back to reality and to life itself by the ones who love me most... They don't even know...My little girl, my amazing, innocent, sweet babygirl, she knows absolutely nothing of what she does for me, nor of how many times she has saved my life. Why do I try so hard, strive so earnestly for what will surely hasten my own death? The glimmer of reason that remains has not yet been extinguished, and it reminds me each time to put the pen down...don't sign it all away...

But I love Her so, I need Her, and I want Her to forgive me for eating this way... save me from the cage that is this cumbersome, leeching body... I hate Her so, I reject Her, I push Her away and scream for my freedom, begging, pleading, needing...

I don't even know what I need anymore.


*****



This one never really got the chance to be given a proper beginning or end; I stopped myself from completing it when I realized that I was only doing more harm in writing it at all.


...Crimson hate bleeds from every pore, springing, flowing, trickling down and over so many imperfect curves...dreadful, disgraceful curves...pooling, forming tranquil lakes of loathing around my feet into which I dare not tread...

But you cannot ignore the storm for long. Ominous clouds gather in sanguine skies; the bloodthirsty demon awaits the inevitable. Lightning strikes and again I fall, thrown savagely to the depths of a darkness so black I'd rather close my eyes than look into its emptiness.

Furious fingers search fervently, craving that cherished gauntness, tight, smooth skin over perfect bones...It's never there, never enough...Will I ever just disappear?


Funnily enough, I don't feel anywhere NEAR this down right now. Nope, I'm all excited about camping and celebrations of Halloween and fall and all that good stuff, plus I've got tons of studying to do for next week's exams so there's simply not any room (at the moment) for depression. Cheers to that.

I really need to pick up another late night hobby.

So it's midnight and the house is quiet, I'm done with the majority of my housework for the evening, and I actually *finally* have a few moments to myself in which nothing is expected of me. Wow. It's quite a feeling. I fell asleep for a few minutes while putting my little girl down; she had to keep waking me up because I was nodding off between bedtime books. :P Funny, now that I have the time to write I don't feel like writing at all. Why am I here, then? Good question. Boredom, probably. Restlessness. I'm tired but not sleepy. Sleep is never a waste of time but sometimes it can feel that way. I have a speech outline due Monday afternoon and I've not even *started* it. Granted, I do have a good hour and a half break right before that class, and, given my literary skills and advanced degree in bullshitology, I should have no problem in simply whipping something up right before class. All the same, I kinda enjoy that feeling of preparedness that comes with actually having planned something in advanced for once... New Years Resolution Idea # 56: Stop procrastinating. Pssh. Riiiiiiight.

Night, all. Camping tomorrow!! Hiking! Yay! ((Hiking burns TONS of calories...should be awesome after the three miles I'll run in the morning.))
Be well. :)

37 seconds of musing...

Measuring success in the loss she can see,
she calculates worth with seamstress' tape.
Clavicle, shoulder, elbow, wrist,
flesh so wretched they cannot escape.
You're fooling yourself, fueling yourself,
the food you consume destroys you as well.
Your fingers that search for ribs through skin
serve you most poorly in a long crawl to Hell.

The things I think about while doing my chores...

*Survivors of domestic violence are at a higher risk for developing eating disorders.
*Women/girls who are victims of sexual abuse during childhood often grow to develop eating disorders.
*Girls who were without a father or male authority figure in their young life may be at greater risk for eating disorders including, but not limited to, anorexia, bulimia, binge eating disorder, and body dysmorphic disorder.

...I hate being a statistic...but I hate sounding like a fucking pitymevictim too.

"Not fat" is NOT good enough.
I will be thin, damn it. And yes, it matters. More than anyone knows.

Procrastination lives here...

It's been a few days and I feel it. When you have a whole lot of bullshit to get off your chest but then you don't, where does it go? It certainly couldn't just continue to pile up in a huge heap of shit on your chest, right? Because after a while, physics would have to kick in somewhere and shit would just be falling off the pile, left and right, this way and that, until you found yourself buried in all of the shit you just couldn't get off your chest... right?

Too bad I lack the sense of focus and the time necessary to fully explain my absence and the events it witnessed, but I did want to stop for a moment and provide a small update. I'm not sure if I'm happy about the numbers, but my overall feeling and sense of self are surprisingly not impacted negatively by this week's disheartening measurements. Scale says 142.8. I say shut the fuck up. There's no way I've gained 2.8 lbs...My jeans fit better than ever. So then, what...it's muscle mass? Sure, it's tempting to say that, but that's the easy way out...make yourself feel a little less shitty, will ya? By pretending those reckless binges were all made up? Oh no, they were real...very real... but then, what's this? Well, my good old friend the measuring tape seems to think I'm right on track, still measuring at approximately 34.2 around the bust, 27.8 around my waist, and *cough, gag* 37.2 around my hips. God damn, that hurts. Disgusting, I know, but fuck, I'm getting there. I looked at some pictures of myself from about two years ago and couldn't believe how much I've changed. 20 lbs makes a HUGE difference. Then I took a quick look at some photos of my from last December... No change between then and now. Fuck me. Seriously? All of the bullshit I've put my psyche through, my body through, all of the time and money spent on diet pills and all of the pain of starving/bingeing/hating this...with nothing to show. Not a single...fucking...pound. Sure, my legs look fantastic. I've been running nonstop, daily, and it shows. My ass is looking much better, yes, but why in the world am I nowhere CLOSE to satisfied? I keep saying I'll be happy when I hit 120. But would I? I guess we'll have to wait and see. I'm doing my best to chew gum when I'm hungry in the evenings...There's no excuse for eating after 7. Or even after 6, really, but I'm allowing myself the extra hour because the babygirl eats late.

I'm boring even myself. Off to clean this ENTIRE house... and then camping this weekend...Should be awesome. Cannot WAIT. Sweet escape, indeed. Thanks for your attention...carry on.

;)

The 'T' on my keyboard has come loose...

...and it's really bugging the crap outta me. I can't simply avoid the use of the letter 't' in my writings. Simply won't work for me. So instead I've just had to modify my typing speed quite drastically, making sure each and every word that uses the letter 't' comes out correct. This, as you can imagine, does not make blogging very easy or enjoyable. I think I may actually cut this one short just because of this very reason...I don't think I have the patience tonight. Suffice to say that I didn't binge today, my belly is still flat at 7:28 PM, and I'm not allowed to have anything but celery or tomatoes after 7 anyway, so no worries! :D Should be a good night. On the bad side of things, I didn't make it to the gym today, so that makes three consecutive days of no running. Tomorrow I plan to wake up extra early to try and make it an hour instead of 30 minutes on the treadmill. Crossed fingers. Ugh, enough with this T nonsense...driving me batshit. Lates, ya'll. :)

Binge-tastic...

Okay, so I suppose you wouldn't really necessarily call today's scenario a full-on binge so much as a temporary loss of self-control resulting in overeating to the point of physical discomfort and emotional distress. Close to a 'real' binge, but lacking the total and reckless abandon involved in your classic case, and in this one, I only consumed approximately 600 calories in one sitting instead of multiple thousands of calories. Still. To me, someone who strives for a daily allotment of about 1,000 calories, 1,500 MAX... 600 in one meal feels like a total and complete failure. Feels like a binge because I didn't ever intend to consume that much food, but did anyway, seemingly against my own will. Will. There's a word for ya. For me. I could go on for hours about will, will power, and the many disconnects between the two, particularly concerning appetite, diet (plans), and, of course, eating. *Sigh...* Whatever.

So I've been pretty depressed today. Big surprise, huh? Aren't I always? Well, clinically speaking, yes, but considering the fact that I take medicine for this condition I expect to feel normal/happy at least part of the time, preferably most of the time. Funny, though, how one disorder of the mind can so effectively and efficiently exacerbate another, forming a dynamic duo of shitty-day-starters and rock-bottom-downers that stick with you throughout your afternoon, usually ending in the sweet solace of escape in sleep or in the escape found in a liquor cabinet, which never, ever, ever makes you feel any better. At all. Distracted for a tick, but certainly never better. I polished off the last glass of wine in the bf's fridge about an hour ago, but I should have known better: three glasses of wine will give me that buzz I'm craving, that slip into forgetful bliss; one glass of wine will simply remind me of how tired I really am, inciting a craving for a comfy bed and time to kill. I can find the first easily enough, but I often doubt if the latter even exists. There's always something else to do. Study, for one. I have a test on Wednesday for which I am definitely NOT ready. Geography. Africa. I'm fascinated by most of it, really, all except for the part about sitting down to study before the exam. Yeeeaaaah.... I can feel the innate sense of lazy kicking in right about now... My brain felt it...knew that I was about to make it do something it doesn't want to do. :P

My boyfriend is out helping some of his friends move and I elected to stay home and take care of the little one, get her down for her nap and all so she won't be entirely impossible later tonight. I made him lunch for when he gets back, and it's delicious. It's a burrito beef-and-bean cheesy skillet thing, HUGE amount of food, because I like to leave him some leftovers for the week to come when I'm not able to be here every night. Not that he can't cook for himself, of course, but I love being the one to take care of him. :) I thought it would be extra cool-girlfriend of me to make him some dessert too, maybe some homemade chocolate chip cookies or a batch of super delicious apple cinnamon oatmeal muffins. As it is, though, I think I've decided that I won't, just because I know myself well enough to KNOW that I'll end up eating a shit ton of them before he even gets here... I can't be trusted to bake by myself. At least not yet. I eat and eat and eat until I'm concerned that someone will notice..."Hey, didn't this recipe yield like, 3 dozen cookies?" "Oh, no, definitely only 1 dozen." Yeah. That'd be me. Liar, liar. With a binge belly to prove it. When I woke up this morning and my belly was still semi-bloated from yesterday, I knew that I had definitely overdone it. After a good hard day of bad eating, it'll take me about two to three days of really great running and restriction to get myself down to where I should be again, like I am in that picture on my profile. Today...not so much. Damn burrito skillet shit turned out fantastic. Perhaps if I were a horrible cook/baker, I wouldn't have to worry about eating so much of my own food all the time. Too bad I adore cooking...Oh yes, I'm a passionate and ardent fan of the culinary arts, and am always looking for new techniques, recipes, and ways to improve my skills. Irony, anyone?

I should go, I think. Not that I have anything else to do than to write for hours to an audience I'll never know, because I tend to love doing this. But my back and wrists are starting to hurt from typing the way I am and I could really use that little power nap I've been needing for the past 23 years.

Be well.

It nearly fits...

I realize that this is a pretty ridiculous expectation, goal, or whatever, but when I first started trying to lose weight last September I decided that I'd be satisfied when I was small enough to fit into my old prom dress from my junior year of high school. It's a size four, and it's absolutely beautiful. I leave it hanging in its dry cleaner's garment bag in the hall closet, occasionally pulling it out to simply gaze upon its sheer awesomeness, inevitably recalling some of the happy memories associated with the times I wore it. I was 16, though, and obviously not done growing. Not yet an adult, not a mother. So to expect weight loss alone to whittle me down to that same size four is not only unreasonable, it's unfathomable. Honestly. BUT...I tried it on anyway. Yesterday, before the Halloween party. It nearly fits. My boobs are actually apparently smaller now than they were back then, because there's this gap in the bodice area where my chest is too small for the dress. :( Thing is, the zipper comes all the way up in the back, leaving only about two inches before it'd be completely zipped. It's not my boobs, obviously, so what is it? My waist isn't keeping it from fitting...it's my ribcage. Barely! Makes sense. I was 16. Duh. That, and pregnancy often permanently widens the ribcage as well as the hips. But still! I can't get over how awesome it is that it's SO close to fitting! :D

Just thought I'd share that with... anyone? Hm. I was thinking today that it's entirely possible that no one's reading. Does it matter? I would like to think that someone out there is, but at the same time I know that the main purpose of this writing is to save myself from insanity. That being said, I'm going to go upload some pictures of my awesome Halloween get-up from last night... I was one smokin' hot zombie prom queen. ;)

Tah.

Breakfast is served...and eaten. And eaten. And...Ugh.

So I woke up this morning to a toddler in my bed, patting my forehead lightly as if I were a cat she's only met for the first time today. I was NOT ready. I also woke up feeling incredibly dehydrated (drank too much at a Halloween party) and incredibly THIN (more than likely due to my strict avoidance of overeating yesterday AND the level of dehydration I'd brought upon myself via beer and vodka). My hands crept down beneath the huge comforting comforter to comfort themselves by touching my belly, or lack thereof today... craving the flatness, and finding it. Loving it. Grazing fingers find sustenance in lean, sparse fields where hipbones jut up from the landscape like smoothyetjagged hilltops... My head was swimming and pounding, my mouth was dry and disgusting, but my body felt thin and light and I thought, "Well, at least there's that." THEN... drag myself out and into the real world, where my uncle is making pancakes and homemade breakfast sausage. The only thing I really want is a ginormous cup of strong coffee and a three mile run, and I can't get either at the moment. Instead, I must finish the housework I decided to forgo in favor of that party...good times, too much booze... Oh, but I can't very well pass up all this food, can I? NOooOOOoo... Damn it. Granted, I did follow my own (new) rule of consuming only half of what I'd normally serve myself, as that worked well for me yesterday. So I had half of a whole wheat pancake with sugar-free-low-cal-maple-flavored syrup... And a piece of sausage with a diameter similar in length to that of my pinky finger. Doesn't sound that bad, huh? Sure, as long as you stop there. I proceeded to add a banana, half an apple, a chocolate/peanut butter Atkins bar, a tablespoon or so of semi-sweet chocolate chips, and half of my daughter's pancake as well. YEAH. FAIL. Or is it? I'm going to do my best to be proactive in my positive thinking here and see it as what it was...A big breakfast. A breakfast not much bigger than the one so many others will eat this morning, thinking nothing of it. Move on. Get over it. It's not a big deal. Plus, I took one Alli (fat blocker), two carb-intercept type capsules (should help with the pancake), and two other thermogenic something or other calorie burning pills that I take pretty regularly before any meal, large or small. *sigh...* Cross your fingers.

Oooh... The bike. :D I should get on it right now. Well, grab my heart rate monitor and chest belt and then get on it. So I can't get to the gym... so what? There's cardio potential right here, so close. Gotta vacuum first, I suppose. I'll use the opportunity to exercise and burn off breakfast as a reward. Yay. :)

Oh, and a side note? In all of my drunken lack of inhibitions last night (no, I didn't make out with any girls... :P It's been over a year since I did that)...No, last night I simply broke down into an emotional heap of tears and confessions and finally told my boyfriend everything about my eating disorder(s). He's known for a while now that I struggle with my body image, and that I've been restricting my calories for over a year, and that lately I've made more changes in order to make myself healthier and more fit than ever before. That's pretty much all he knew. For fear (irrational as it may be) of losing his respect or causing him undue concern, I've not divulged any more than that through everything that I've been through. The mental agony, the anguish, the confusion and hate, the bingeing and starving, the cycle that literally sucks the life from... my life... it's all been bottled up and we all know how healthy that is. As I finally caved and told him everything, mixed feelings enveloped me. "What will he think of me now? Does he love me the same way, does he feel sorry for me, does he think I'm full of nonsense and making a big something out of nothing?" Ugh. Explaining eating disorders to people who've really never experienced any type of major psychological issues is so ... nearly impossible. Impossible to accurately describe it in mere words. I know I've said that before. It's just so true. The constant preoccupation with something, the obsession, the hate-love-hate relationship with something that's vital to life... Alcoholics can overcome their addiction and avoid alcohol for life to retain their sobriety, their sanity. Drug addicts? Same thing. I have, incidentally, been both, and have managed to come out on the other side better for the experience, glad to be alive and healthy after it all. But food... You can't just "give up" food. You can't swear it off, you can't make a conscious decision to improve your life by quitting eating. Unfortunately. I mean, you can, but then you're just a pro-ana wannarexic which, if that's what blows your skirt up, by all means, knock yourself out. I did that too. It doesn't get you anywhere good.

I'm rambling when I should be cleaning. That's what this little white box is here for, though. So I can ramble and it doesn't hurt/annoy/bother anyone.

Thanks. Happy Saturday.

High-ho, hi-ho (sp?)! It's off to bleepin' work I go...

So I guess you're lucky this afternoon (depending on how you look at things) because I don't feel much like writing. *Anticipates collective gasp of disbelief* Yeah, I know. I adore writing (in case I haven't made that painfully obvious as of yet. Today, however, my brain is tired and my body is too, and there is much housework to do before I am set free for the weekend. I managed to get myself to the gym today (fifth consecutive day...yay... :P) and used the elliptical for about half an hour, but, truth be told, I had chocolate in the car and didn't want it melting before I got it home. No, it's not for me... I actually owe a certain someone that particular component of a proper s'mores experience, seeing as how I somehow consumed the last of a Hershey's bar for breakfast one morning, leaving him s'mores-less. Luckily for me, the weather is beautiful today and nothing melted. Fantastic.

So much to do, so little energy or motivation. So little time, too, actually. Ideally, I'd finish ALL of my "chores" before 6, so that I could go pick up the little one and spend some time with her this evening before she heads off to bed. As it is, I'm nearly certain my duties will keep me from such pleasures, as I've only begun and it's 4:25 in the PM... *sigh...* Won't someone just help me escape for a little while? No, I don't mean from the house...just from life. From responsibility. From concern, worry, stress, LIFE. I know exactly to whom I want to run, right now... and he'd gladly take me in a heartbeat, like the wonderful prince charming that he is. Alas, I am not a princess in a fairy tale, try as I may to wake up each morning as such...and the entire friggin' house requires my immediate attention. Off to work I go...dunno how to whistle...need me some dwarves... I know, so un-PC...gimme a break, just leave me be with my princess metaphors and have yourself a merry little Friday.

Something to add about my waistline...

...well, maybe not my waist so much as my ...ahem... to be crude, lemme say T&A? Yep, my bust and my butt. Both have decreased in size over the past month or so, despite what I consider to be frequent overeating and breakage of plan rules, etc... My boobs have gone down an entire cup size over the past three months; I'm at a large A at the moment (much to my chagrin, as you can imagine) and I've lost about an inch around my hips, around the widest part of my butt. Awesome, right? I don't know. I've stayed about the same around my waist, which means that my waist-to-hip ratio has slightly changed, possibly in the wrong direction. Sure, I'm still in the healthy range, but ideally my waist would be shrinking along with the rest of me. The only thing I can figure is that my consistency in the areas of running and remembering to take my pills is paying off (probably mostly the running, since the pills haven't served me very well at all over the past year and a half). Huh. Fancy that. I'm seeing longer, leaner leg muscles instead of my previously bulky (albeit strongly stacked) calves and thighs. Walking and elliptical = thick, strong muscular legs, very defined, cut calves, etc... Running daily = leaner, thinner calves and less definition of that muscle group, with more definition in my outer thighs. To sum it up? Keep running, binge less, and maybe I'll start to see an improvement in the waist area. Awesome.

See ya'll. ;)

Just a quick little update...

So I don't feel that I have much time to write tonight; maybe it's because my daughter is fussing about wanting a lollipop even after I explained to her the reason as to why she cannot have one, AND we're getting ready to head off to the bf's house for the night (hopefully) AND I need to get more laundry done before we do that. I actually have something positive to report today (crazy, huh?) concerning my physical and mental well-being: I ran today even though I didn't have time and felt a ton better all day because of it. I skipped a shower in order to work out longer, but it was worth it; not a single person noticed. ;) Then again, no one was all up on me or anything either, so I'm thinking I should actually get cleaned up before I go planning on hugging my significant other. Another tick on the to-do list. As for the mental side of things... I feel that, during my weekly dose of therapy, we may have discovered at least part of the reason I'm struggling so much with my eating lately... Now I don't know the reason behind the reason yet, but we're taking baby steps here. I'm using food as a distraction more than anything else, I think, but we're not yet sure what I'm trying to escape in the first place, just that food is the channel chosen to escape it. For the few minutes that I'm eating any given thing (the more of my senses involved in enjoying the food, the better) I am not doing ANYthing else, nor am I thinking about anything, anyone, anyplace, ANYTHING else at all... Just the food. I'm pausing the world and taking it all in, breathing in with all of me, smelling it and loving it. My eyes are hungry as they take in all of the colors and curves and lines of whatever it is, and my fingers touch it all over, anticipating the texture as it will feel on my lips, my tongue, and between my teeth and cheeks. Texture is huge. Nearly as huge as taste. Naturally, taste is the most important, but the feeling of the given food ultimately moving down my throat and satisfying hunger, physical or emotional, sometimes somewhat masks the full enjoyment of flavor, sweet or salty, sour or savory. I've always eaten this way, and thought nothing of it, thought I just really really enjoyed food. Apparently, there's a deeper reason for it. Working on exploring that currently. Makes sense, though, when you think about it... The moments spent enjoying something that fully, that wholly, simply cannot be moments of anything unpleasant. Like sex. Kinda, huh?

Have a good one.

What is going on here?

This restless, hurried feeling won't go away... and for once, there's no reason for it. I don't have any exams tomorrow, I don't even have any assignments due, and yet I feel like I can't relax. I sit down at the computer to chill out and suddenly feel that I'm wasting time, like I should be up doing something productive...but what? Ride the exercise bike some more? That old thing is too damn loud to use this late...liable to rile up the little one and it's nearly her bed time. I suppose I should be bathing her...Well, not really, not yet... Damn. It's the weirdest thing. I'm often restless, I suppose, anxious even. But not like this... I feel like if I don't "take care" of something, or fix something, or do whatever needs to be done (which, in this case, is an unknown or nonexistent something) then I'll go crazy. I'm wondering if it stems from a combination of a few things. I know I've overeaten today and I'm obviously not content with that fact, and I'm looking forward to the morning as the time I finally get to (somewhat) make up for it by getting to the gym early and running more...That's not it, though. It could also be related to the fact that I may have failed my test today in my last class because, despite plenty of time to study, I didn't, and I was completely unprepared. :( Man. Oh, and some really, incredibly important paperwork I mailed yesterday is due on the 23rd... day after tomorrow... I realized this afternoon that I didn't put a stamp on that envelope at all. How could I forget something like that, you may ask? Well, it's no excuse, really, but I mailed it with a stack of other pieces of mail that didn't require postage at all, and so it simply slipped my mind. As I checked the mail today I had a sudden flash of yesterday, and suddenly became very worried. Sure, it'll probably be sent back to me tomorrow (I can only hope) but then the chances of my getting it back to the recipient in time are very slim...I'll need to call tomorrow and see if I can't fax it to them instead... Hearing a 'yes' to that question would remove a whole heap of new stress from my shoulders nearly instantly.

I can tell that this is probably boring you. I apologize. I'm just trying to find the origin of this weird anxiety so I can get rid of it. I'll need to, if I'm to sleep at all tonight...

An update: (Please don't judge me...) Peanut butter is consistently and continuously and constantly the bane of my very existence. Ugh.

Trying to keep up with this...

Today I ran three miles. I ate very little for breakfast and felt relatively good about myself, despite the undeniable failure of yesterday.

Then I came home and ate a bit... Not a binge, necessarily, but I definitely ate more than I needed to feel full. Compulsive overeating, I've discovered, is pretty hard to accurately explain with mere words...If you've experienced it, then I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. Here, lemme rant. Please? All right then.

You know what I hate? Here are just a few things:
* "Oh, you are SO lucky! You're so thin, it must be nice." Two words: Fuck. Off. Seriously. I am NOT so thin, nor am I effing LUCKY. There is not an ounce of luck involved here, nor is there happiness or satisfaction or contentment. Thank you very much for checking your ignorance before you open your mouth.
* "Why can't you just...stop eating? When you're full, you know, just stop." RIGHT. If life were really that simple, that easy, do you think either one of us'd be here right now? Honestly.
* "You're beautiful, just like you are. You shouldn't compare yourself to others, it's not fair." All right, on this one...I'll give a little slack. It sounds like the speaker is genuinely trying to 'help.' Sort of. Thing is, we need more than compliments as we struggle with this; we need understanding and acceptance of the problem itself, not closed minds and outright denial of the disorder's existence. I have problems. I know I do. I have problems that prevent me from seeing ME the way you do. My issues don't let me see other people as just that...other people. Instead, many of these individuals...someone I see at the supermarket, a group of girls running past me at school, and of course, the models in the magazines... these people are aspirations, goals, women I desire to emulate in their appearance, weight, level of fitness, etc. They are idols and they are enemies; they are thinspiration and they are unattainable perfection, tormenting me in their beauty, that which I feel I am simply unable to achieve. *sigh* I'm done ranting. For now.

So today I didn't overdo it as badly as yesterday, but I did, once again, break my own rules, my own agenda, and that disappoints me. I've taken numerous steps today to try and proactively pull myself up out of this rut, this angst, before it spirals down into something so much deeper and darker because I know that's what waits around the corner if I let it overcome me. I'd prefer to repeat corny-sounding affirmations over and over to myself for hours, staring at my reflection in the mirror and telling the failure that looks back at me that she's beautiful. She's an intelligent young woman with numerous talents and goals, she's a wonderful mother, and she's beautiful. Ugh. I can hardly choke it out. But I do, because it's supposed to help. We'll see. Anything I can do to avoid the depression...the emptiness...the one that drives me to eat and even worse, drink...A lot. I won't do it.

What I WILL do is go running again tomorrow. I'll eat nothing else for the rest of the night except for celery, because I've already had more than enough of everything else for today. I will stretch for an extra long time tonight and in the morning before I run, as my shin splints are getting worse (and I'm still not willing to give up my cardio).

Time to go get the little one. I'm looking forward to her bright, excited smile as I walk in the door to pick her up; she loves me so unconditionally... She's my number one fan, and always will be. For that, I am inexplicably grateful.

Be well, all. Thanks for reading...(If, in fact, anyone is reading). Hmm. G'night.

So I suck at blogging...and I don't even know if anyone is reading...

This is the first time I've written anything since I decided to start this page... Yes, I know, epic fail. Seriously. This was months ago. I initially thought that writing what I feel and think here could, in some way, serve to help me in addressing my body-image/disordered eating issues. I suppose, though, that if I don't give this type of therapy a chance, I can't fault it for not working, now can I? Yes, I'm rambling. On to the reason I was compelled to return here once more...

I'm going to go ahead and forgo any background information for now; the real reason I'm here is to write for myself, for my own sanity, to get everything off my chest and out of my head to avoid further loss of said sanity. Damn it...My two year old daughter is fussing to my left, peanut butter smeared across her face, complaining that her 'legs hurt too bad' to...to do what?..to be a toddler? A child? A perfect, precious, innocent and ignorant little human with not a problem in the world? What I wouldn't give for that kind of freedom for just one moment... for just a few seconds...I'd relish it forever, remember it when the weight of the world overcame me, threatening to crush my psyche and my soul...

I am not overweight. Far from it, actually. I am not underweight. Far from that, as well. I am, alas, painfully average. Seen as 'slender' by a few, but not by my own eyes, and that's what really matters (to me, at least).

**Short intermission...time to put the little one down** I hope to return before my writing muse leaves me for the night...

All right. Back. I apologize in advance for the sporadic nature of my entries, as well as the ideas I present within them. My therapist calls it ADD, but I just call it me. I wasn't diagnosed with that bologna disorder until I was 22, and managed to get through life just fine without treating it thus far, so screw that nonsense. Anyway...back to my point...I promise I'll try to stay on it this time.

So yes...I'm average. Lemme give you some stats. If you've ever seen a Sear's or JCP catalogue featuring lingerie models then you've seen me. No, not ME personally, but my body type, for the most part. I'm approximately 5'6 and 1/2 (the half matters to me), 140 lbs, measuring in inches a perfect 36/27/38, on a good day, and measuring in all the right places...You know how a lot of people really don't know where their correct waist is, or where their hips should be measured, or even their bust, for that matter... Well, when you're as obsessed with weight and appearances as so many of us are, you tend to learn these things pretty early on in the game. 36/27/38... Not too bad for a 23 year old mother of a two year old with a whole shitload of genetics/family history of obesity against her, right? That's what I like to tell myself sometimes, but I know it's a crock of shit. A BMI of 22? Seriously? So... fucking... average. I can't stand it. I look at myself and see imperfection after tormenting imperfection...sometimes...SOMEtimes...If I'm lucky and my brain is feeling benevolent...I'll catch a tiny (faint) glimmer of...what's that?... beauty? Really? HERE? In my fucking mirror?! I was fairly certain that didn't exist... No, it's not all horrible here in my world, and I know so, so many have it worse, but I won't let that fact alone make me feel shitty for complaining. You know why? Because this is my blog, damn it, and I came here to complain. Hopefully, if we're both lucky, you came here to read.

I don't have anorexia. I used to wish I did. I still sometimes wish I did. But I know how stupid that would be, to wish such a dreadful, debilitating disorder upon myself, my daughter, my friends and family. Selfish, in a word, to WANT that, when so many would give anything to be rid of it. I have, however, precariously teetered along that ledge for over a year now, my arms outstretched in hopes of finding balance, instead finding nothing but self-loathing and yet... there's that other ...quality...that can't be ignored. Were my self-deprecating nature not balanced by this other thing, I don't know if I'd even be here writing now...I may have chosen instead to follow the path of self-harm, cutting, bleeding and punishing myself for all the wrong that I do in Ana's eyes....No, that life is not for me. For so many, many reasons, that life is not mine, and I am truly grateful. What is this thing that keeps me from that, the quality that changes my mind in the last instant, before I reach for the contract, signing my life away? My eyes, my mind, my heart have seen how absolutely beautiful this world is, and how precious life is, and my sheer appreciation for these facts will not allow me to so selfishly squander it.

Still... She doesn't let up. Ana has shown me her beauty as well, and it is not lost on me. The bones, the thin, perfectly fragile and frail, perfectly pure bones, under smooth, porcelain skin... They are the structure, the strength, the power that drives our bodies in their every movement, and I want to see them, everywhere. Every...single...morning... I wake up to an alarm I wish didn't exist. Every day, as I slide out of bed, my eyes instinctively drop down to examine my ankles...up the calves to my knees, perusing the flesh that covers my legs and connects them to my pelvis at the hips... I don't do this intentionally anymore. It just happens; it's routine by now. Do my legs look thin enough today? Never. I still hope, though, every morning... I keep hoping.

Then I make my way to the bathroom for weigh-in time. I'm always so excited to get there, and yet simultaneously hesitant to even look at the dreaded number that will decide how I feel that day. I remove every ounce of everything not naturally native to my body; clothing, of course, rings I never used to take off, any necklaces or earrings I may have left on overnight, hair clips or ties or elastic pony tail holders, bracelets, my glasses, contact lenses... Yes, they all weigh something, and it will show. I want to know what I weigh, all by myself...and then, suddenly, after I know...I no longer want to know. I want to forget. I want so badly to have never seen the number, because now my day is shit. 142.8? Are you fucking serious? But yesterday I was 140 even! God damn it.

Allow me to say that I am fairly well-versed in the ways of the human body, specifically the female version (obviously), and I am fully aware that it is entirely normal for any given woman to experience a fluctuation in weight anywhere between .5 and 5 lbs daily. That being said, I am STILL disappointed and disheartened, daily, by any difference (read: gain) in my weight, regardless of the amount or the reason for it. Shit, it could be water weight. It probably is. I don't care. It's more than before, more than it should be, and I hate it.

All right, so here I am again, quite a bit off topic. By now, you very well could have decided that I am way too longwinded for you. If not, though, and you're still reading, congratulations, because you're awesome; you can hang. Sweet. Let's move on.

Main reason I sat down to write tonight: I fucking binged, again. Like I did yesterday. Like I did the day before that. Like I said I wouldn't again, because I'm working hard to lose this weight, right? I started at 160 about 12 months ago, and lost 20 lbs in 20 weeks, EASY, no eating disorder required, just a quick, simple cut in calories (1200 a day) and I was golden. UNTIL, of course, the inevitable plateau, at which point I found myself stuck at 141 or so, fluctuating off an on as I ate/exercised/binged/starved my way through this summer. Diet pills, lemme tell ya, are addictive only to the mindset of a person obsessed with losing weight. Other than the caffeine you'd be missing if you gave them up, there is hardly anything to be 'hooked on' in any of them anymore. Sure, ephedra had its run, but now that it's illegal, you hardly find it anywhere (easily). Hydroxycut made me feel depressed, and since I already pay good money for actual prescription drugs to get RID of my depression, I figured it pretty counterproductive to my cause to continue taking it. Alli will help you lose about a lb a month, apparently, when taken in conjunction with a healthy diet and exercise plan... Pssh. I'm after bigger fish, thank you very much. I take Alli with any super fatty meal before which I actually have time to think and take a pill...thing is, before most of my fatty meals I'm not thinking about preventing those calories from setting in at all; I'm usually not thinking of food, in fact, right before I dive right in...That's the danger of the binge. It sneaks up on you (usually) without much warning at all, and still somehow manages to take your entire day by storm, throwing you for a loop you never could have seen coming...Indeed, it is a formidable opponent, and I have yet to find a way to conquer it.

I may often make light of the binge situation, or the events that lead to one, because it's such a common occurrence for me now and I see it mostly as a hopeless part of my life that cannot be helped... Fact is, it kills me. It really does. That's why I'm here tonight. I started my day off so well. Ran a couple miles, as I try to do daily, and then went to school for a few hours, as I do five days out of the week... Came home...ate. No, not just 'ate' like a normal person would. I ATE...like I do... Ugh... let's back up for a second...I feel the need to expound upon this briefly. Please stay with me.

When you eat, why do you do it? What's the reason behind the action that ultimately results in food ending up in your mouth, and then your stomach? Do you ever think about it so much that it rules you? Overwhelms your thinking, overtakes your life? Probably not... I mean, maybe...since you're reading this and all. But if not... be thankful. Really and truly. I say that without an ounce of condescension in my internal voice... Be fucking thankful. To be free of the obsession with food that arrests my thought constantly...I'd give so much. Thing is...when I eat, it's not for the same reason most people eat. Because you're hungry? Because something looked good? Because of a certain event or occasion at which it is expected that you eat a little something? Nope... I eat...

*because I'm hungry. Normal? Not when you're hungry because you've starved yourself all day and you're about to faint unless your body gets some protein and carbs in it...you know, to survive? Why have I starved up until this point? Because I feel guilty for whatever it was that I ate/thought about eating earlier/yesterday, and I don't deserve to eat more/don't need to eat more or I will simply add to the disgusting fat that already layers itself over my perfect bones...they just want to show...

*because I'm depressed. Simple enough. Food tastes good. Food makes me feel better. Temporarily. Very...temporarily.

*because it's forbidden. That's right. I'm not supposed to eat, and so, naturally enough, I want to. And I want to eat a lot. When I feel like being bad, being naughty, breaking the rules, I eat. By myself, in my car or my room or the bathroom at school, because it's just that...it's against the rules, and by breaking the rules I feel like I'm saying, just for the moment, "Fuck you, Ana, I can eat, see? I can eat all this shit and it's all because You don't want me to..." ... She still wins in the end, though, you see, because she owns Guilt and she commands Self-Punishment, and she uses them well against the parts of my mind I thought I was using against her. Clever bitch, she is... Such a clever master.

*because I wanted something and have wanted it for a long...long... time. This ties into the whole 'forbidden fruit' idea. When you deprive yourself of something for so long, and then are somehow presented with it in an instance of weakness or peer pressure, you are very likely to give into it much more easily than you would had you your wits and will-power about you. Chocolate, for example, will always be my downfall. I have grown to accept this fact. When I am smart and strong, I stay away from it and all of its temptation. When I am weak and hungry and/or intoxicated (alcohol), I hardly stand a chance. And by then you won't settle for just a little...oh no... You must have all of it. Tons of it. Go to the store at 2 AM and buy more because you just need it, and you've already fucked up today and had so much, there's no coming back from this binge, you had better just give in and enjoy it now...Tomorrow's a new day, a day on which you have a brand new opportunity to be strong and solid and right... but not today...Today is suddenly binge day, and it's okay to eat all this shit, because, well... you've come this far, right? May as well...

Another short aside...I realize that this logic may be quite unfounded. In fact, I'm fairly certain it is a crock of shit. Doesn't matter. It's how I feel and think and my thought processes are hardly ever logical, so there you have it.

Today, after school, I came home and ate some fruit. People will say that you can have all the fruit/veggies you want and it'll be fine because it's so good for you. Bullshit. Not when you're in binge-mode, and all the fruit/veggies you want includes two bananas, an apple, two peaches, a cup of blackberries, a cup of applesauce, three handfuls of baby carrots, two stalks of celery, and a glass of Odwalla Superfood fruit puree...In one sitting. That's only the produce. To that we'll add two Atkins chocolate meal bars, a chocolate Slim-Fast milkshake, one serving of skim milk string cheese, two chocolate bars and a small bag of M&Ms. By now, naturally, I'm feeling more than uncomfortably full. My entire abdomen is distended and swollen, pushing out as far as it did when I was eight months pregnant. When tiny air bubbles struggle to escape from my stomach in a burp (which is expected after such a feast), vomit pushes up in my throat, threatening to escape as well. I swallow it down and wince through the burn of acid reflux, which is so common now that I actually feel odd when it's NOT present. I drink some water...take some tums... and get on with my life.

That was today. I did it again, tonight, and I know why. This afternoon's binge just served to erase any healthful/responsible eating and exercise of this morning, and in my twisted sense of reason, I felt that there was no coming back from it, no point in trying. So instead I go off the deep end, further perpetuating the cycle that won't quit, no matter what I do. Tomorrow, I will wake up again, as I always do, to the alarm I want to throw against the wall. I will stare down at my legs, my stomach, my hip bones that don't show enough, and lightly graze my collarbones with my fingertips...at least they're always faithful. They always show through...my ribs... they're finicky. They show when they wanna. My sternum, where the ribs connect... it's there, when I pull my arms back... and I love how my spine juts up through my skin down the middle of my back... All of this studying of my body will take approximately ten minutes of my morning, possibly more, and will ultimately end the same way: I will head off to school hating the way I look and the way I feel. I will run and work out and count the calories on the treadmill, watching the miles melt away the grams of fat I will inevitably ingest as the day goes on. In the evening...who knows what the evening will bring? More starving? More eating? More writing? Absolutely no one knows... guess we'll have to wait and see.

Thanks for reading. Time to go.