My heart's beating funnily, and I'm SO not starving myself.

I have managed, all day, to blur the lines of me...
Hiding from myself, from my conscience, and from the me of tomorrow, especially.
Oh, will she be upset.
She will probably cry.
Definitely.
She's going to try not to weigh herself.
Morning will come and the tears will come, too,
and the scale will beg her to face the music;
a death march, of sorts,
and that number has the power to break her, shatter her,
from the inside out,
leaving pieces of desperation and determination (that were never enough)
all over the bathroom floor.
I think I'd rather stay there...It feels like it's there that I belong...
Amongst the dust and dirt and filth,
Left to be lonely.
I've brought it upon myself.
Stupid bitch...you do it every single time.

I ate so...

so...

so much today.

I don't know what happened to me. I know I'm depressed.
I live in a fucking vacuum of constant depression.
That's not anything new, or surprising.
You'd think I would've adapted by now.
That's what the strong do, isn't it? Adapt? Learn to deal, to cope, to move on and up in life, triumphing over adversity and all that bullshit?
Why have I not learned to recognize the agony that resides within me, single it out, and destroy it? Instead I allow it to destroy me, every single day...

On the days I wear a smile, I worry that everyone sees it and knows that I'm faking.

Last night at the party, K made a comment as I took my finger along the side of his tiny slice of cake and scooped up some frosting... "Fuck it," I said aloud. "I don't care at this point." Who would? I'd downed at least a thousand calories already, between liquor and champagne and party food. What's 50 more? I'd given up again, and given in. "Don't do it!" he said, somewhat joking, but mostly serious. He wanted to remind me of the mini-meltdown ordeal before we'd left his place earlier...Hating myself for how I looked in those jeans, I felt like never eating again. Now my inhibitions were shot and I was feeling as if nothing mattered, as long as I was numb. Couldn't I just stay numb forever? "Fuck it," I said again, and put the frosting to my lips. 50 more, down the hatch. "All right, then," he said, resigned. "You'll just hate yourself tomorrow..." He was right, and we both knew it. A friend said, from across the table, "Maybe that's what she wants." He chuckled and took another swig of his beer. "Maybe she wants a reason to hate herself. Ha...Women."

I looked at him and I wasn't angry. He was right. "You've just hit more of the truth than you even know, just now..." I wasn't kidding, but we all had a good laugh over it. Fucking hilarious.

That was last night. Today...

God.

I won't even list all that I've eaten, and I haven't kept track of my calories. Usually don't on binge days. Pretty impossible, really. If I had to estimate, I'd say around 3,500.

I'm in pain. My stomach is killing me. It feels like it's going to explode. Literally. Worst part is, I haven't purged ANY of it.

Isn't that the worst part? Depends on your perspective, I s'pose.

I feel so weak. So dizzy. Blurred. Like I exist only between those two television stations you can never get to come in with rabbit ears, so you keep adjusting the tin foil and moving the lamp next to the TV stand but you never can quite get that image to come through. You can see that it's human, and maybe female, but the static surrounding it/her is too much, she's just too gray and fuzzy, so you give up. Switch to Everybody Loves Raymond and move on with your night.

Today is done.
I know this.
There's nothing to be said for changing it, going back in time. I'd pay every dime I have it I could have that power. Somebody, quick! Invent that.

The hardest part is reminding myself that this is not the end my world.
Melodramatic melancholy...
I should be the queen of it.
I'm not kidding, though. That sounds extreme...the end of my world...
But that's what it feels like. Because I associate today with the ultimate inability to stick to anything to which I put forth my full effort...

Wondering if it's all worth it, instead of being sure that it is...
That part sucks, too.

Too much liquor = angry tummy (and yet minimal regret?)

Give thanks for what you are now, and keep fighting for what you want to be tomorrow. ~Fernanda Miramontes-Landeros


Isn't that a nice quote? I'm thinking I should try my hardest to read it daily...perhaps print it up so that I can post it on my mirror. It'd be nice if I could follow its advice.

I'm hoping this will be a short post. My belly is burning, kind of like the way it does at 3 in the morning when I give it a whole bunch of laxatives for dessert the night before...Yeah. Ouchie.

So after two days of partying hard and not working out, eating too much at said parties and bingeing here at home yesterday... The scale... The lying sack of shit scale... :P ...felt it necessary to give me a reading of 137.0 today. Yeah, I know, it's not possible. Two pounds in one day and one night? To be honest, I'm not even worried about it. Water weight. It'll be gone in two days. Yay for being rational and not panicking, right?

I did kind of panic last night, though. I had this awesome outfit all picked out and it was lovely, and I fully intended on taking pictures for YOU lovelies, but things didn't go as planned. Firstly, the overshirt/flowy open cardigan thing...I don't even know what you'd call it...maybe I'll try and find a picture of something similar...Ah, here we are:



So anyway, K didn't like it. "You should take this off..." He's not a big fan of the billowy type fashions women are wearing these days. "But it's what women want to wear, it's in style, and it's comfortable, etc..." was my reasoning for wanting to wear it over my tank top last night. His response? "Honestly, though...What do men LIKE about women?" ...

He has a point.

In that type of clothing, as with most of the big flowy dresses and tunics out there, my entire curvy frame is concealed. Not to say that I'm necessarily "curvy," in the traditional sense, but I'm not exactly showing off my hips or boobies in that outfit, either. WHICH IS WHY I WANTED TO WEAR IT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

Ah well, so I take it off. I mean, he's the one whose opinion matters the most to me, so he wins this one.

Then I catch a full-on shot of myself in the mirror, tank top and jeans. UGH.

FUCK ME, I'm fucking DISGUSTING!

That's all I could think. I felt the familiar lump form quickly in the back of my throat and warm, wet tears sting my eyes. "I can't do this," I heard myself saying.

"What?"

I swallowed, best I could, past the steadily growing anxiety in my esophagus. Repeated myself. "I can't do this."

I just looked so...wretchedly...horrid. I wished immediately and earnestly for the ability to borrow his eyes for a moment, to see myself as I would be seen by "normal" people at this social function, where the aim was to have fun and let loose, not hide in the darkest corner with a glass of water and a fake smile. I suddenly didn't want to go at all.

But no. I can't borrow anyone else's eyes. I have these, and these are telling me that I'm fatter today than I was a year ago at 150. WHY? God, it fucking sucks.

Anyway, enough whining. We went to the party; it took me no less than ten minutes of fiddling with my shirt, jeans, and belt to get the outfit to look even close to acceptable, but definitely NOT flattering. My ass looked huge, I kept thinking... My stomach, hips, and Gaaaaahhd, my THIGHS!!! Touching! In the tiniest place, and barely, but still touching! And I was painfully aware of the status of my thighs for the duration of the party. Yes. Because we all know how awesome that is.

I got pretty drunkish, but not wasted like the night before. I had about four or five bites of sugary white icing chocolate birthday disaster. It was wonderful, of course. Some tortilla chips. Crackers. Dip. Whatever. I think my headache wants to make me not care.

So much for being a short post, huh? Yeah... Deal.

Oh, and I'm thinking I should probably go back through all of my old posts and delete the pictures that include my face, little B, K, etc. Just...because. I mean, I have no qualms at all with sharing them with you guys, but they're also just out there for the world to see, and I'm feeling paranoid lately. Maybe there's no reason for feeling that way, but all the same... Yeah. Prolly gonna do that here pretty soon.

Ummmmmm...what else...oh yeah!

I love you! <3

I'm off to recover from the alcohol (thanks for the advice regarding the hangovers, ladies...I appreciate them immensely!) and probably make breakfast for the both of us (though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't somewhat sickly enjoying the lack of appetite I'm experiencing as a direct side effect of aforementioned alcohol consumption...) :P

I hope you've all had a good weekend.. Let's try and make this week our own. Take it by storm and whatnot. :)

I don't think I've ever woken up *still* drunk...

...but this is probably what it feels like.

Firstly, I'd like to say hello to new followers; HELLO!!! :D Followers get lots of love here at my blog, and for good effin' reason. I'd be absolutely lost in this world, no kidding, if it weren't for the understanding and support I find here. Thanks for taking an interest and...umm...hold onto your butts. It's gonna be a ride to remember, I assure you.

Also, to those of you who have commented in the past few days, thank you! I haven't given myself much Blogger time as of late, but I do get the notifications in my email, and I love every single one of them. <3

MAN, I feel like I'm gonna hurl any second. :O

Yesterday was one rough day. Woke up at 134.2 at least...AWESOME SAUCE! That number, if accurate (and we know the scale's track record in THAT department), would be indicative of a .8 pound loss in one day. I'm inclined to believe it, as I did an awesome job restricting the previous day/evening. Today...well, let's just say I'm satisfied to see 135.0 again. I drank. I ate party food. I gave in...and I did my best NOT to bury myself in guilt over it. I wanted to let go a little, but not go crazy, and I think I came close to achieving that for a few hours. It was really nice. I DID go back for a second cupcake... :/ ...and another four tortilla chips with corn salsa... :( BUT I could have done a heck of a lot worse. All day long I restricted and exercised, making sure I got the best workout possible from my house cleaning duties. That, added to my 350-cal-burned mini-workout in the morning, served me well in the face of massive foodage and booze. I was at about 1,500 for the day when we left for the party. One glass of wine, one vanilla rum 'n sprite, one whiskey 'n coke, and one shot of Knob Creek later, I was pretty toasty, considering all of that occurred in the span of about three hours...and I make my drinks strong. Only way to do it, right?

Alas, NONE of the soda choices were diet. I haven't had "real" Coca-Cola in I don't know HOW long. There's no point...my tongue can't tell the difference, especially when there's alcohol involved, so why take in all that extra sugar? Ugh...Anyway. What's done is done, and I have the chance to regain my footing today.

Wait--what? But there's another party TONIGHT, you say??

Yes. That's correct.

Another couple is having another party, and of course there will be mucho munchies and alcohol there as well. Perhaps even more than last night. I'm thinking, though, hopefully, that the hangover I'm experiencing now will serve as a reminder to my tonight-self that drinking like that is not only a bad idea, but more than likely my very undoing, as I have responsibilities and real-world stuff to get back to on Sunday morning. But the food! Last year there were pastries and chips and donuts, chocolate and cookies and all that crud...I'm thinking she'll have salad or a veggie tray, too, which turned out to be my saving grace last night... *fingers crossed*

Cucumber martinis. Yep. Sounds amazing. And I can't even think about putting anything in my mouth right now without inciting Insta-nausea. Meh. I've got all day to get over it.

I feel like I'm rambling. Oh, look! I got my hair done last night for the party. :)



And here's ... us... :P



Of course I think I look fat, but that's goes without saying. I'm trying harder these days to let others think what they're going to think before I go ahead and start prefacing myself with downtalking and self-deprecation... Lofty goals, she has...

So...yeah. I should drink a shit ton of water, take some aspirin, and get to reading/catching up on blogs...then get to work on my art project, go grocery shopping with the man, try my hardest to keep myself under 700 before the party, work out anyway, blah blah blah... And work out how I'm going to accomplish my next mini-goal...Weighing myself only once a week. :O I KNOW! It feels...impossible...at this point. But I'm a work in progress, right? To begin, begin.

Stay lovely, my dah-lings. <3

So this should be quick, but the ribs...

...they're trying their hardest to make a comeback! :D

I probably won't keep this pic up for longer than a day or so, just because...well. You know. Me sans clothing is probably something I don't want plastered ALL over the internet, but then again, I'm not showing anything that wouldn't be seen in a bikini pic, either, so. There you have it.

No, no, definitely not amazing...yet. After all, I'm still at 135. But yes, that's 135.0, down again from yesterday. :D This is what I'm all about, right here...Daily loss. Heck yeah.

Okay, so I'ma go get ready for school, avoid the kitchen, and come back later to update (hopefully) or at least just to read/comment on your lovely blogs. Hope you all have an amazing day... Stay *beautiful!*

Sorry for posting AGAIN, but hey look, poetry! :P

So in my creative writing class we were asked to come up with a blank verse poem on the spot yesterday, in class, consisting of three stanzas, on any subject of our choice. After reading Robert Frost's "Directive" (I highly recommend it) and commenting on the fact that the last few lines resulted in my having goosebumps, my professor jokingly noted that all of our poems should give him, in turn, "goosepimples..." :P

I thus set out to write something meaningful and personal, but doing so in 10 syllables a line is more difficult than I had anticipated, as it's not my usual writing style. All the same, here it is, for your reading pleasure:

Giving Thanks

Following my passage down a darkened
hall is a memory repressed, edges
untattered, its corners are sharp; lines clean
and crisp like a photograph never touched,
nor cherished, but instead it's locked away
as in a secret album, or a young
girl's diary with a brushed copper clasp
and a forgotten key. The colors are
faded but the image is clear, biting,
stinging, frightening. Her innocence is
stolen in this memory, taken by
one who will never know hurt the way he's
hurt her. Unfair? Her answer: "Life's not fair."

"I won't let it change me!" she may shout in
defiance, as her sharp little chin juts
out in a display of proud resilience,
and she convinces herself she's okay.

Her childhood lost, she replaces it
with a determination to survive
all in her life that aims to destroy her.
You may avert your eyes in shame, disgust,
or shake your head in pity at how much
he managed to take away, but please...Don't.
After all these years it's become clear...Should
I not thank him now for making me strong?

Don't you ever want to color outside of the lines?

Wow, you guys are awesome. :)

I felt so shitty, seeing that number staring back at me, but all of your support and encouragement manages to make it all better, every single time.

After that weigh-in yesterday, I felt immediately compelled to binge my ASS off. Or...on. Yes, it'd be bingeing my ass ON, since it would, in effect, add width and girth to my ass. Yes.

In my head, the part of me that knew better (she's always there, hiding) did her best to fight back, taking tiny, weak swings at Ana's delicate frame, each time only missing her aim by an inch or so. "Stop lying to us!" my rational side would shout. "We are NOT pathetic! We're working hard and we're trying our best, we don't need YOU here to screw us all up!" I strained my ears to hold onto that voice, all the way to daycare, all the way to the dollar store, all the way down the snack aisle... "Don't do it." It was both of them. Both voices. Don't do it? Neither one of you want me to do it, so why is this compulsion SO strong?

If Ana was against my bingeing, and my healthy, cultivated-through-weekly-therapy voice was against it, then WHY was I here, standing before rows and rows of shelf after shelf, each positively FILLED with cookies and candies and crackers and chips?

C&s doesn't have a cutesy little ED name. I can't really come up with one at the moment, and I guess it's not a good idea anyway. Regardless, this voice is strongest in times of upset, stress, worry, anxiety, and though she sounds a lot like Mia, her voice is lower, softer, but more impatient, more urgent. I gave in. It would feel so good...I knew it would.

Cue twenty-minute c&s binge, just about as soon as I can get all of my bags into the house. I could go on for days about all of the reasons I did it, why it felt good, why it felt bad, why it didn't stop after the first ten minutes, and why I did it again this morning. But I won't. Not now. I have a full day ahead of me and I'm feeling actually pretty good about my intake so far, so I'd rather not delve deeper into all the bullshit that gets me down at the moment. Thanks for understanding.

Anyway, half a box of cereal, half a bag of Oreos, a whole box of donut sticks and four sugar free chocolates later... NONE of it swallowed... relaxation finally overcame me. I breathed in. Held...it... Breathe out. *HUGE* sigh. That alone felt fantastic. I felt oddly calm. And not full. And that is always a plus.

I carefully packed away the rest of the naughty food and put it in a box on a shelf til next time. I went on with my day and went to therapy, confessed my sins, uncovered a bit more of my subconscious, felt good about that, and went home. It was snowing/sleeting off and on all day, and I'll admit that I used this as an excuse to avoid driving to the gym. Yeah. No bueno. But I kept my calories under 1,500 and the scale showed me a very welcome 135.8 this morning. Down two pounds from that horrid number yesterday, at least. Ex-lax helped a little, but I stuck to the dosage chart on the back rather than giving into the temptation to take the whole damned box.

I keep remembering back to when I initially broke my plateau of 140...after 139 came along, the pounds just melted off of me. Granted, I was working out about 30 minutes to an hour EVERY day...but my knee wasn't killing me then, either. I was also restricting down to about 800 to 1,000, in addition to burning that 500 daily, so it's no wonder I was losing half a pound a day. How lovely that was. I want to go back to that. I know it isn't healthy, and that's more than half the reason I'm not doing it RIGHT NOW. God, my conscience is killer for rapid weight loss. The unhealthiness, the harm I was doing to my body, all of that was the furthest thing from my mind before, just as long as I was getting thinner. Now... it's ALWAYS there. Reminding me that I need to eat right, exercise more instead of starving myself, and do things slowly. I swear, the internal dialogue that rages within me constantly would throw even the most seasoned psychiatric professionals for a loop some days.

*sigh...* I feel like I have much more to say, but I somehow doubt that anyone would find it of much interest. Plus, this thing is pretty long. I'll go for now, read up on how you lovelies are doing, and get to work on my art project that's due tomorrow. If I have time, I'll post a copy of the poem I'm writing for English today, too, perhaps as an edit to this post...or a new entry...I don't know which his better. Meh.

<3 you all dearly.

It wants me to give up...warning: shitty toned post.

My first day of proper restriction, my first day back to feeling strong and motivated and inspired to undo what I've done over the past few weeks...

I went to bed famished last night, after a 1,000 calorie day (this is including about 500 calories of vegetables and light fruits in the afternoon around 4 - 5). My empty stomach pained me, and felt better than any sensation I've felt in ages. It promised a lower number this morning. Something lower. I wasn't expecting much. I was just expecting SOMEthing less than 136.6. Please.

My little angel woke me up 8 minutes before my 6 AM alarm sounded. I didn't mind; my thoughts flew to the scale. How well would it reward me for my restriction yesterday? What further motivation would it bestow upon me for today's continued adherence to the new plan? The anticipation was all I could take.

I could cry.

137.8?

1...37...point...8???!!!

What the mother FUCK!!! is wrong with me!?

*breathe*

I...I'm pretty practical, usually. I try to remind myself that there is no way I could have gained that weight, truly, considering what I ate (and did not eat) yesterday. Add to that the three or so miles I walked and shit...I was most DEFINITELY at a deficit last night at bed time. No question about it.

So what is it? Where is it? It must be stuck inside of me. Laxatives. I seized the beloved blue box and stared at what could and almost certainly would be guaranteed agony (to take place at school, I'm sure) in 4 - 6 hours.

I put them down.

FUCK me.

Seriously.

It must be water weight. It must be all those veggies. That's lots of fiber stuck in your system, just give it time. Why don't you just trying weighing every other day, instead? Or even once a week, like you used to back in the day...you know, when you were 'normal' and shit?

Then the other voice: (she always shows up eventually)

Water weight my ASS! YOU did this to yourSELF! You binged on strawberries and blueberries as SOON as you got home yesterday, AND ate those noodles with broccoli and tomatoes... You stopped counting just because they're vegetables? What the fuck is wrong with you? You did so well and then you RUINED it, you expect me to *reward* you for this? You expect to see a lower number after ONE day? You're fucking stupid, an ingrate, naive and pathetic! And then you had oatmeal this morning? You don't *deserve* to put ANYthing in that hateful mouth of yours, I will make SURE it goes straight to your cellulite covered ass, just to remind you of your place...

STOP...goddamnit, just stop! I've been asking for her, silently, to return to me, to restore my sense of purpose in life...

I just don't understand.

Why can't I ... I don't even know what I'm trying to say.

Just...WHY CAN'T I?

*sigh*

I'm sorry, my lovelies.

I'm trying to be strong. I'm so much closer to 140 again...I was SO freakin' close to 130...to seeing the 120s I haven't seen since my freshman year in highschool.

*Note: I realize how illogical and unreasonable it is to expect, at 23 and a mother, to weigh as much as a 15 year old girl. Doesn't stop me from wanting it, and pursuing it.*

She wants me to starve for the rest of the day. Live all day on this 200 calories, and then she will show me what I long to see.

SOMEthing lower.

I hope you all are well...I'm off to face 20 mph winds and probable snow and sleet...a 25 minute walk from my car to class in *that* kind of weather should burn off that oatmeal, huh?

God, I *am* pathetic.

I've died and gone to Miracle Noodle HEAVEN...

I can't believe I've been living without these things my whole *freakin'* LIFE!


Seriously, though!? It's like ramen, but better, and ZERO CALORIES!

*squeals in excitement* :D :D :D

Mix them with fresh steamed veggies, throw 'em in a pot of bouillon (which we all know is full of sodium but only 15 calories per serving) and add a little oregano, basil, chili powder, garlic...whatever! The "noodles" (which are something like 98% water, mostly made of vegetable fiber) absorb the flavor of whatever sauce you choose...O..M..G.. Orgasmically good.

I could live on these, you know. That, and whole wheat toast with Walden Farms apple butter and caramel...both zero cal as well, of course... JESUS!

Sorry. I get excited.

Today...I am more motivated than I have been in weeks...probably closer to a month. I weighed myself, was naturally disappointed, but you know what? NO MORE. Whatever has been missing from my being as of late...my passion, my will-power, my drive...I've remembered it somehow, and it's in full force and I love it. I feel like I've been gifted something here, from someone...Like I was literally without this...thing...for the past month or so, and now it's been given back to me. I'm so grateful. :D

I'm excited and inspired and motivated to get back to ME...to who I really am, my happy self, my alwaysgettingthinner self, and it feels FANTASTIC.

Today, my lovelies, is an 800 calorie day. I'm at 445 and it's noon. I am RIGHT on track...craving a nectarine. That was random. I'll have one when I get home. It'll be my reward for sticking to my guns today.

Ooh, look, my shirt matches my nails today. Love it when that happens. :P



Thank you all so much for your support, always, but especially through these last few weeks. They've been so terribly trying, and though I'm not certain why, I'm certainly happy that it's over. I can only thank you for commenting on my posts, as well as all of your own inspiring blog entires...They help me SO much more than I can ever say.

I love you all dearly, I really do. I don't care if it's lame, but you're some of the best friends I have in this crazy, messed up, disordered world. Thank you for being so wonderful. <3

What's wrong is that I so often *enjoy* eating...

...and I should have trained myself, by now, to abhor eating, instead.

K says it all comes down to wanting one thing more than you want another thing.

How simple. How true.

If I wanted to be thin badly enough, I would just stop eating.

If seeing my bones and being free of this fat, disgusting body I've created for myself was of UTMOST importance...then I wouldn't even have the desire to eat when I'm not hungry, since that will do nothing but bring me the opposite, and therefore, more pain.

Honestly.

How much simpler could it be?

And why the fuck is it not simple at all?

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia. ~E.L. Doctorow

So let's get the number crunching out of the way, shall we?

Yesterday's weigh-in (first thing in the morning): A ridiculously depressing 136.4. Mind you, I was down to 131.0 (a very hard-earned 131.0, I will add) about a month ago. Yeah. I've effed up a bit...and that's more than an understatement.

136.4. Ugh.

So my intake yesterday was about 1,600, including the alcoholic/juice beverage I allowed myself to have in celebration of my darling K's game and its progress; he's spent months developing his own game for the iPhone and iPod Touch and it's finally coming together. :D It hasn't yet been submitted to Apple for publishing, but it's SO close, and now he's got tons of forums and websites hitting him up, writing the most positive and promising reviews, and publishers all trying to get a piece of his genius...heh...I'm just a little proud of him. <3

So I picked up some Raspberry flavored Skyy vodka and some club soda (zero calories and all) and tried that, but it turns out it wasn't as good as I had anticipated. Added some OJ and of course it was much better, and much more calorie-laden. Meh. I only had one. So I'm estimating 1,600 for the day, 460 burned via elliptical, and my BMR is about 1,400...figure in about 500 for cleaning house all damned day...Either way, somehow, I burned enough. Because this morhing...

134.2! Yay! I know that some of that must have been some water weight or some excess fiber still stuck in my somewhere, but still...seeing the 134 made my whole morning. Now, here's the weird thing, and I wanted to ask you guys about this...

This morning at about 5:30 AM I woke up to get some water. Went to the bathroom. The scale stared at me. I had to see. I almost never have a choice in that matter. Will be working on that in a while, but for now it's nice to be able to know at all times where I stand. So at 5:30 this morning, the scale said 136.0. I thought, "Ah, *sigh...* at least it's down .4 from yesterday..." and went back to sleep. Three hours later, I wake up for good. Weigh. 134.2. UH. What? Um...I'm pretty sure I didn't just sweat out 2 pounds. But I could be wrong...

Anyway, I thought that was interesting. Ooh, ooh, and now I have a pretty picture for you. This, my lovely lady friends, is my mid-morning snack:



Doesn't it just look wonderful? :D It is. And it's virtually calorie-free. The dressing is raspberry vinaigrette from Walden Farms, so it's sugar, fat, and calorie-free. Mmm...

My intake so far is 300 (I'm trying to continue with my idea of having a relatively large, carby breakfast to get my energized for my workout and then tapering off the rest of the day with lots of veggies, fruits, and lean proteins). Oatmeal, 3/4 cup cereal with no milk, and one spoonful of low-fat cottage cheese. I feel good. I feel satisfied. I'm likin' this.

So if I didn't already thank you for your comments on my new hairstyle...THANK YOU! Ha. For real. I think it looks nice, but that doesn't count...I'm a huge compliment-whore, self-professed, and I'm not ashamed to admit that sometimes all I need is a big-ass ego-boost to get myself going for the day. ;) I used a lot of hyphens in that sentence.

*sigh...* Randomness...but fuck, I miss Della. :(

I feel like I could write all day, but I should go. K's BIG-ASS TV is back from the shop and he needs help bringing it back into the apartment.

Have a positively lovely day. I can't wait to go read all of your blogs...seriously. I have no life like that. :P

He got joo-joo eyeball, he one holy roller He got hair down to his knee Got to be a joker he just do what he please...

So I weighed myself this morning. After all of the sugar free chocolates I've had over the past few days, I shouldn't be surprised to see a gain, right? I mean, those things are FULL of saturated fat. Sugar free does NOT mean they're anywhere close to okay. Damn it.

136.4.

Highest since the awful weeks of Xmas vacation. How have I let myself get to this point? I ask over and over again, but I'm only answered with an eerie silence, as if there's no one home.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror last night, eating a handful of pretzel crisps. I was eating because I was anxious, and I was upset, and I was bothered, and I've begun medicating myself with food (over the past few weeks) for some ungodly reason. THIS is why I'm getting fat. I have fallen to a new low. I pulled out a pair of size 9 jeans I had tucked away because they had finally gotten too loose on me. They were too big to wear any longer, even with a belt. I remember putting them away, feeling triumphant, loving the fact that all of my hard work had delivered me to a size 7...one size closer to that 5...then 3... But no. I pulled on the size 9 jeans...and nearly cried. They fit...snugly.

What the fuck am I doing to myself? The scale tells of a 5 pound gain, and yet I feel tons larger. I've missed out on exercising for nearly two weeks now, mostly due to my knee injury, but fuck...that's no excuse. I could be doing SOMEthing, I could be. Pain is only pain. This is not worth it.

So back to my mirror, back to those pretzels, back to the hand to mouth motion that seemed to exist only in a hazy dreamland...I wasn't present, I wasn't tasting them, I wasn't even focusing on the hateful image reflected in that glass...I was numb, quiet, completely still, aside from the hand, mouth, chew, swallow, all of it very slow and robotic...and it hit me. There's a disconnect here. I'm staring at my failure, and it's staring back at me, and I'm eating EVEN AS I SEE MYSELF gaining, DAILY, seemingly exponentially, I'm still overeating, and eating foods I KNOW are forbidden (and for good reason). I realized it, then...I'm failing to see the overeating as the cause for the weight gain. I'm eating like it doesn't matter, like that's not the reason I'm getting fat again. I'm chewing and swallowing like an animal, without enjoyment, without thought, grazing carelessly and yet going insane on the inside... My mind is refusing to acknowledge the truth of the matter, it's pretending that this gain *must* be the result of something else, my depression, my anxiety, my injury, my ...whatever...but NO! It's NOT.

It's right there. The fucking food in your hand, in your mouth, and no one's putting it there but YOU. Then the question comes, "Why don't you hate being fat anymore? And more importantly, where has your passion for being THIN gone?"

It's like it doesn't exist anymore. I look at my thighs and of course I'm not happy, but I'm not hating what I see anymore. If you're complacent, if you're willing to *settle* for what you have now, where's your motivation to CHANGE it? There isn't any. I want my passion, my drive back, and I don't want to have to gain back up to 140 to finally feel that intensity again... I want to remember what it was like to crave 110 so savagely, so obsessively, that I was willing to do anything and everything to obtain it. Where has it gone??? And why does it feel wrong to be without it?

I had planned on going through each of your lovely comments and making return comments back individually, and personally, but now I have to go because my computer's dying and the coffee I just chugged is already driving my bladder crazy. On the bright side of things, I worked out today, burned 460 calories (about half of what I've consumed) and that felt good. My knee hurts a little, but sweating out my frustrations with myself felt even better, made me feel strong, for the first time in ages. I'm looking forward to making today awesome, and making tomorrow even better, but I'll need your help. That's right, I'm not above asking for advice. Have any of you ever found yourselves questioning your motives as to why you're doing this, why you've chosen to continue it versus fight it, and when you do find yourselves lacking in motivation, what do you do to pep-talk yourself out of the slump? Anything is welcome...and as always, I love you dearly. Thank you so much, for everything.

EDIT: Oh, and I forgot...I got my hair cut. So that's cool. I'll post a pic for a bit, so you guys can check it out. :D

Change your procedure, or change your perspective.

Thank you, all of you, for taking such time from your day and care from your heart to comment on my last post...I've really been falling apart lately (yes, even more than is normal for people like us). ;)

Today, I have hope. And delicious, aromatic coffee, zero calories and wonderful. And cinnamon oatmeal, with tiny pieces of apple in it...My very favorite. And a 100-calorie chocolate chip Eggo waffle that, not surprisingly, wasn't as orgasmically good as I had anticipated. Live and learn.

Hope is obviously the most important of that list, as it is enduring, and the rest of the things are temporary...and actually gone by now. 'Cept the coffee...Lemme remedy that sitch right quick.

Ah, much better. 6:33 AM and I'm technically ready to start my day. That is, of course, if it were completely socially acceptable to go traipsing about outside in nothing but a pair of socks and a pair of glasses...No, it's not. Plus, it's cold. So no, but I'm *nearly* ready. This is good. I just need to remind myself that when you're in Bloggerdom, time passes at hyper-super-warp-speed, and hours can pass in mere seconds.

My little prescription pill escapade yesterday managed to achieve the desired effect: I found myself without appetite for the remainder of the day, but I ate, nonetheless. Ended the day at about 1,500, I'd say, but that's without keeping my log. God, I've gotten so lax about that. Journals and spirals and notebooks FULL of foods, calories, grams of fat, everything I consume and everything I burn, all of it so meticulously recorded...and here I've been, eating foods I'd never dream of eating, and failing to record them *on purpose*, I'm sure...to some degree.

Well, no more. Seriously. Last night, I entered into a pledge with http://dreamsxandxbones.blogspot.com/ to stop my binging. There is absolutely no reason whatsoever to put it off another day. It's not like I ever consciously think, "I think I'll go ahead and wait til Monday to start anew, because I know I'll want to binge my ass off this weekend." Of course not. That's not how my internal monologue works. But it's something close...Like I know I'll want to, and it's happened so many times before that it feels almost inevitable... so in order to avoid the imminent failure feeling that follows after I make a promise to myself and then break it, I'd rather just not commit myself to such a thing. Pretty wussy, huh? Yeah, surely reads that way, now that I... read it....

This brings us to my next announcement...I got tattooed yesterday. Yes, spontaneously and randomly and literally about an hour after the impulse to do so hit me. RIGHT after I finished posting my last entry, actually. Remember all the talk of altering myself? Wanting to escape? Yes, well, I don't cut, and never have, but the searing burn of that inky needle in my flesh, driving into my skin over and over again...There's something much more deeply symbolic in my need to have someone do that to me than I'm letting myself explore at the moment...but you get the picture.

So, without further ado...(and I think you'll all be able to see why I love this so much):



-William Wordsworth

Yes...Because when the swirling chaos that is this world is too fucking tumultuous to bear, and my life feels too heavy to hold in my own two hands, I can't help but throw my arms up to the heavens and scream out in a whisper that no one hears...Where do I even begin???

There's your answer, P.D.

Just do it. Simply...begin. Everything else will follow...because it *has* to. That's what things do. When you start them...they continue. Life...continues. But *you're* the one that has to get the fuck up out of your self-pity and misery and *begin* to live it.

I'm living today. And now I have another reminder...a permanent reminder...to keep it up. There is NO reason to wait til tomorrow, to wait til later.

I love it.

And I love you all. I have to get the little one up for school. I have to try and see if I can take on the treadmill in this adorable knee brace. I have to get dressed and brave traffic and the cold and art class, even though I'm not quite feeling inspired. But when the weight of daily bullshit even tries to bring me down, I will think of you all and your support and how you genuinely care for me, and I will know I've got the best god-damned cheerleaders a girl could ever need. <3

Be well, and stay lovely.

I am officially someone else.

I just accidentally posted just the title to this. Umm...sorry? Editing now.

I don't know what's going on with me.

I'm not myself. The brain that is fueling my actions is not my own. This has happened before, off and on, but this time...

I was tentatively prescribed Strattera a while back, if you recall, if you've read that far back, for my ADHD. After taking it for a few days, I decided that the side effects of the drug (which gave me horrible flashbacks of what it was like to be addicted to meth) were not worth the trade-off. Stopped taking them. The only upside to those pills was the appetite suppressant effect. Kept them in my bedside drawer, for a rainy day, if you will.

It's sunny out. Hasn't rained for days.

There's this thought, this random, unsolicited temptation, that's been rolling about in my head for a few weeks, and today, I acted upon it.

"Snort that shit."

What? W..t..f..

Who in the hell thought that was a good idea, who whispered THAT into my brain?

"You won't be hungry for days..."

True. But lack of hunger doesn't usually keep me from eating when the binge-monster attacks. We all know that I could've just finished a five-course meal and I'll still eat another, plus three desserts, if that's what the bingeosaurus commands at that moment.

But still. It was there. I can't even begin to describe the horrors of my life during that time...17 years old and addicted to meth, trapped in a house with a man who never loved me, but somehow always held me in such a way that made me hope, believe that it was possible to make that happen... If I would just do everything right, he would love me. I had to keep trying.

For two years, I tried. And I never succeeded. He said he always loved me, he was just "bad at showing it."

Yeah. Beat me daily, but leave no bruises on my face. Force me to wear turtlenecks in July to hide the thumbprints on my throat. Yeah, you loved me.

I hate him.

Anyway. So. Why would I want to return to that? No, not the meth, but the snorting of mind-altering chemicals at all? I hated that part of me. I am a strong, intelligent, responsible woman, with a life so full that it deserves all of my presence of mind, all the time...

Why?

I don't know. As I sit here at school, skipping chem again because I hate it, my heart is skipping as well, just lightly, just softly, because I only did the tiniest bump anyway. I finally got my regular Wellbutrin back today, so I'm on that again, too...I was never fully off, but I was forced to take SR instead of XL (doctor said that most people don't notice much of a difference, but I think I'm not most).

No one can answer that question: Why did I do that? I think it comes down to wanting to escape. We all have something from which we feel the need to escape sometimes, it's normal. What's not normal is feeling so overwhelmed by daily life that you feel a constant need to be altered in some way, emotionally or chemically or physically or all of the above simultaneously, so that you are not forced to be completely conscious of the world around you, the life that's probably not all that bad at all, but that your mind has somehow turned to chaos and pain.

I used to drink. Daily. Every morning, noon, and night. For months. To escape. To not be...here. To not...feel. I gave up on that when I realized that I had dug myself into full-fledged alcoholism at 21; my daughter deserves so much more. Now I can't even get myself to enjoy drinking anymore. Too many calories, makes me feel unhealthy and dehydrated and fat and lazy and tired. I drink a shit ton of coffee and energy drinks because they make me feel sped up, in a way, and that has been, for now, my little escape from the constant exhaustion in which I find myself languishing...But now...

I can't let this happen again. I mean, as I type that, I think, "How did I 'let' this happen in the first place?" Just about 30 minutes ago, I stood in the bathroom stall and looked at the bottle of pills in my hand. Watched my hands go to work, effortlessly, chopping a neat little line of soft, snowy powder, just as they used to, as if they remembered it all by themselves. Rolled the dollar. Stared at it. Remembered N's voice in my head, his short, strong, muscular hands hitting my flesh hard, fast, when I couldn't load the pipe quickly enough...I was never enough.

Drugs are bad.

Now I don't know what to do with myself. I don't feel like eating, and that's a good thing, because I've eaten nearly 1,000 calories today already. Yes, by 11:41 AM. Yes.

I feel guilty, and ashamed, somewhat, and I'm worried of what you'll all think of me when you read this, but at the same time, I feel compelled to confess this somehow, and I've no one else. Nowhere else to turn, to go and spill out all of myself, because you're the only ones in my life who understand.

I am officially someone else.

What a novel concept...

This is one of those rare occasions in which I have the opportunity to actually realize the imminent danger of a binge and, should I be strong enough to choose the higher road, to stop it.

The lapse in control is what starts it. I have a menu plan in my head, and I promise myself that I will not deviate from it. This is a lenient plan, too, allowing me 1,200 today (yesterday ended up at about 1,500, with 420 of that coming from a sugar-free chocolate binge). I should have no problem sticking to 1,200...right?

So I had my carbs and protein for the day, early on in the morning, and I swore that not another bite of anything would pass my lips EXCEPT for vegetables. That's right, I gave myself the ENTIRE broad category of vegetables. Anything I wanted, up to 400 calories worth. Told you...lenient! Giving myself lots of space, because I'm taking baby steps, dang it. Coming off of two weeks of absolutely unstructured binge eating is tougher than it should be.

Green beans, lettuce, tomatoes, asparagus, cauliflower, artichoke hearts, carrots, broccoli, anything I want! And yet all of those foods are at home, waiting for me. Not here at school with me, where I'm hungry now. And dizzy. And, unfortunately, the responsible, healthy side of me says that this is reason enough to eat something, veggies or not.

Pretzel crisps...they helped me break my promise to myself, and I ate 220 calories of them. Then yogurt. 80 calories. Then a coffee with chocolate flavored creamer (I never do that!) probably around 30 calories. Then a Fuze drink, 70. See a pattern? No? It's because there isn't one. My binges are always like that...random, sporadic choice of foods, because I have no plan...I just see and grab and eat. So this isn't too bad, no, not yet. But then the subconscious admission of failure occurs, somewhere in the back of my brain, amidst a sea of altered serotonin and dopamine hormones, and it happens: something clicks. Somethings now recognizes today as LOST, today is officially no longer a day of restriction and CONTROL. Today is suddenly a BINGE day. I don't...quite know why this happens. Something to do with that infamous all-or-nothing, black-or-white extremist effect I can't yet seem to escape.

Regardless of what it is, or why it occurs, it did. Just like it always does. I stood in line for five minutes to get a HUGE chocolate chip cookie at this little bakery place here on campus, and I sat down here at this picnic table outside with my computer and my coffee, and I ate it. Every last bit of it. Every last morsel, thinking with each bite that I should put it down, but hell...why turn back now? (Yes, I realize there's every reason in the world to turn back now, but I didn't).

180 calories. Certainly not the end of the world. I have yet to add up the total for my day so far, but I know it's under 1,000. This is why I stopped here to contemplate this. Mostly because there is, as I sit here, NO other food in my possession on which to binge. I would have to pack up my stuff, pull out my wallet, and walk back inside to purchase more in order to continue this. But I have elected not to do that. This may seem like nothing...may. It is, in fact, quite a huge something. I have stopped mid-binge, and I have sipped my coffee instead of rushing back inside to buy the crispy golden-fried Chick-fil-A I can't stop smelling mere feet from where I sit. It would be almost too easy, wouldn't it? But...look where I am. You have NOT ruined your day, P.D.!!! NOT ruined it! That...in itself...is amazing to me. Had I planned ahead for this and packed more food, I could be at 2,000 by now, who the hell knows? But the fact is, I've stopped, and I don't have to let it get me. I don't have to let it win. I can go home, and have my salad, and the one sugar-free chocolate I promised myself at the end of the day, and I can finish strong and see a lower number tomorrow...

Right?

Yesterday: 134.8. Highest in over a month.
Today? 134.2. This...is okay. :)

I'm really and truly hoping I can keep this positive momentum I feel right now going through the evening. I want to remember how wonderful it feels to be rewarded for my efforts, for my strength and my adherence to the guidelines I set for myself...I can do this. I will be successful. ...I hope.

I know you ALL believe in me, and this makes me happier than I can say. Thank you in advance for all of your support. :D

Love you! <3

Facing the ugly, inevitable truth...

Even after completely obliterating my entire insides with Ex-Lax and waiting til first thing in the morning to weigh... I am still...

1 3 4. 8.

(See how I spaced that? That's how slowly you're supposed to read it.)

134.8 is...I don't even know. I feel like I maybe have been hiding myself from the fact that all of my reckless, indulgent, disgusting bingeing would catch up with me. I wish I had thought to record the start of this downward spiral, so that maybe now I could look back and see how far I've fallen, and in what amount of time. I can guess at about two weeks.

Nearly a four pound gain in two weeks?

This is the kind of thing that could get ugly FAST.

You hear all the time these stories of people that lose a ton of weight and are doing great for themselves, and then something breaks in their perfect little prism of daily life and they suddenly find themselves thirty pounds heavier with nearly no recollection of how in the HELL it happened.

I...can't.

While I will not deny that it has been nice, at times, to be able to put something utterly forbidden and delectable in my mouth and enjoy every single savory second of eating it without guilt.... I will, at the very same time, say that right now, NONE of it seems worth it. Nothing tastes better than thin feels? I think the truth of that statement depends on the context, and the state of mental clarity or inner peace or turmoil in which one finds herself at any given moment. I say this because, obviously, had thin been better than that martini and chicken penne the other night, or the half-bag of sugar free chocolates I had yesterday, then wouldn't I have stopped after one bite, put down the food, and walked away thinking, "Man, I'm not even CLOSE to wanting any more of THAT shit, because being thin is MUCH better!"

But I didn't. Instead I pushed more and more down, down, down my throat and almost NONE of it came back up. I let it sit and fester within me, bubbling and gurgling as it digested, breaking down into sugar, sugar, sugar...too much sugar for my body to handle, more than my body needed, and so now...days after...it is FAT. Purely disgusting, gelatinous mounds of fat. Four pounds is ...Ugh. It will take me a month to "healthily" undo this gain. Yeah. If I go that route.

I don't see myself going that route.

I think, somewhere in the backish middle of my mind, I have been waiting for this realization to come. Needing this morning, that number on the scale, that wake-up call, and I've been waiting for it, eating all the way here. It's like I've managed to completely lose all motivation and drive and perspective and now it's fighting, pushing through to try and show me that I can still have it back, just STOP DOING THIS to myself long enough to notice its return.

I could be making no sense whatsoever. I don't know.

Simply put, 134.8, AFTER laxatives, mind you...It's real. It's here. No water weight. That's all me. That's unacceptable.

I've been waiting for this gain, this behavior, to finally trigger that...THING...in me that sees this as utterly unacceptable. Waiting for the return of SENSE to my brain.

God, my stomach hurts. Fuck. One dose of laxatives would've worked, just would've taken longer. Impatience is often painful, though, so I shouldn't be surprised.

Umm...I should go. I first wanted to share this:



...because she makes all of this that much more bearable.

(She says "Mommy, can you look at this really quickly, please? I think these shoes you have fit me PERFECTLY!")

Big English dork that I am, I'm thinking, "Man, I'm really glad I've chosen to use correct (if often somewhat advanced) grammar with her since she was itty-bitty...Look at that three-year-old use her adverbs!"

Yes. I'm a big huge nerd. But I'm more than a little proud of it, so it's okay.

Yeah, I woke up forty-five minutes ago, figuring I'd get a head start on my day. Instead I've managed to sit on the couch for about half an hour, somehow, and spend at least fifteen in the bathroom, alternating between toilet and scale, toilet and scale, wishing and wanting and waiting for the number to change.

It doesn't, of course.

*sigh...* I'm making a change. I have no choice. I do, however, have a choice as to what kind of change is made. I know I must decide carefully.

Be well, my pretties, and as always, thank you so much for your wonderful, lovely comments. I can't ever thank you enough. <3

What were we *thinking?* No more drugs for my boy...

Wow. I have... SO much... to tell you guys.
I honestly don't know where to begin.
I kind of like (read: really love) writing in random, all-over-the-place little spurts of information, no awkward attempts at flowery segues because I'm just not focused enough to do anything but say exactly what's on my mind right now. Please excuse the lack of revision, proofreading, or artful language. Thank you.

First order of business... Holy shitmonkeys (yes, Calla, I stole that from you! :P) 56 followers??? THAT, my lovelies, just made my day. :D Thank you so much! I am speechless. You're wonderful.

Speechless never lasts long for me. :P Moving on...


So. Um...First of all, I've eaten a lot today. Already. And I'm sitting here in all of my fatness and knee pain and sedentary laziness thinking I have absolutely NO room to talk about my scale, or my ass, or my steadily growing thighs, because I'm not doing anything to stop the gain. Not right now, I'm not. I find this to be, in a nutshell, the result of (a) depression and lack of motivation, (b) inability to get five minutes to myself...no baby sitter or daycare on weekends, but mostly (c) the aforementioned knee pain. It's only gotten worse, but I have an appointment on Tuesday, so we'll see what the good doctors have to say about my meniscus, or whatever it is that I've managed to injure.

For some reason, I feel this anticipation like I'm going to go in, get poked, prodded, and x-rayed, and then get some kind of diagnosis, and then leave immediately to the nearest gym to work my ass off. This is illogical. Just because I have an appointment on Tuesday does NOT mean that I'll be able to resume my normal daily workout routine that same day. In fact, I need to face the very real possibility that I'll be asked to refrain from strenuous activity or unnecessary usage of that leg for a while...Fuck, exercise is NOT unnecessary. It is vital. I need it. I can not allow myself to gain any more than I have over the past few weeks. Yeah, I was at 131. And yes, I'm now at 134. May not seem like a big difference...oh, but it IS! Because it was like pulling teeth to get to 131. And so easy to mess it all up. MOVING on...

Don't give up on me here, ladies. Please stick with me; I know this post will be on the longer side, but man, do I have a STORY for YOU.

Okay, so let's just get to the pictures I took really quickly of my super-cute outfit. Yes, I managed to feel beautiful, and it was nice. I tried to take pictures last night, but none of them came out, so I have some that I took this morning (same outfit, explanation behind that to come in a few paragraphs):




I apologize for the shitty quality of the pics, but hey, it's just me and a camera phone, you know? I gotta make do with what I got. ;)

All right, so check it. This was my night. I will try not to be too terribly long-winded.

I spent all day yesterday eating very little in anticipation of an AMAZING pre-Valentine's dinner with K. We couldn't find a sitter for tonight, on Valentine's Day itself, so we decided Saturday evening would work well enough. I also spent the better part of the afternoon searching for the most romantic and highly rated restaurants downtown. Income tax return was nice, and it hit my account a few days ago, so I told him the evening was on me. I wanted to feel classy, and more than that, for ONCE in my life, I wanted to pretend money was not an object. I wanted to go to a fancy schmancy restaurant and dress up like a princess and feel AWESOME and eat amazing, exotic, expensive food and at midnight, I'd come back to real life, pick up the little one, and head home. Simple enough, right? It's not every day (or ANY day) that we get to do something like this. I was stoked.

We go back to my place from his so I can change, and as I'm getting ready in my room, I overhear my uncle (with whom I'm staying while I'm in school, in case you guys didn't know) talking with K. He's in there trying to get my boyfriend stoned. Seriously?! Why. Why? K has never been high in his entire LIFE, why must you make tonight be the time that we try this? I took a deep breath, realized it wasn't a huge deal, and that if anything, maybe he'd have a little more fun, right? Let's see the good in it. Maybe I'll even hit it a couple times myself, and then we'll go, and the food will be that much more delicious (because by this point I'd decided that I was going to enjoy this food, goddamnit, and worry about the consequences later).

I got ready, came out into the living room and we got a little high. Fine. Then I'm standing in the kitchen and realizing that I'm not even hungry anymore. But I have to be hungry, we're going to have sushi, damn it! At the fanciest, most awesomely highly acclaimed Japanese restaurant in town! And K is just smashed. He's really slow in his reaction time and he's not hungry either. Fan-damn-tastic. I'm thinking, "I've paid $25 for a sitter tonight AND tons of time on my sexy-as-hell outfit and makeup, we're going somewhere."

We get in the car and I realize, much to my chagrin, that I am now fully impaired. My feet can't remember which pedal is the gas and which is the clutch, and I nearly tried starting the car *again* while it was already running. Frustrated with myself, I get out of the car to allow K to take my spot, and we drive into the tiny, much less glamorous and exciting downtown of my neighborhood, instead of into town. Awesome. Not.

Figuring I should try to make the best of this, we head into the only sit-down restaurant in town (a little Italian joint) and I order the very dirty martini I've been wanting for ages. It was delicious and strong. I sipped it slowly, allowed my eyes to trace the lines of my perfectly manicured fingers and down my slim wrists, decorated with silver and sparkly jewels.. and tried to imagine myself a lady of high society. I smiled at K and he smiled back and suddenly, all of this was okay. Not amazing, not incredible, but we were going to make it our own.

I went all out. Fried calamari with marinara sauce, spicy chicken and penne alfredo, bread with olive oil, and half a tiramisu for dessert. GOD, I've been wanting tiramisu forever. It was so very difficult, even with my mind all messed up, to keep that ana voice from my head...Stop, I would say to myself. Stop counting the calories. Enjoy the fuck out of this food, it's delicious and it's a special occasion, and just stop.

We left, not able to tell if we were full or still hungry, even though I knew by looking at my empty plate that I had to be full. As we approached the car, K took my hand and pulled me in close for one of those unexpected, but oh-so-passionate "I wantyouneedyouNOW kisses"... Allow me to say that he's not usually the type to talk dirty...In fact, he never is. ONLY when he's inebriated do his inhibitions go into hiding, and even then it's pretty mild. The kiss was hard and fast and hot and then..."All I can think about right now is how bad I want to fuck you..."

Holy shit. I wasn't even thinking about that yet, babe, but... I definitely am now.

I considered our options quickly. The weed was finally wearing off and my thoughts were somewhat clear. His apartment was a twenty minute drive. My house was out, since my uncle was there. I felt wild and crazy and not myself, and I wanted to do something kinky and naughty and spontaneous; I guess I was still in "pretending to be someone else tonight" mode. I was fine with this.

"Let's get a hotel room!" I said, and he immediately said no. Ha...He's always thinking of money. Good. Because I need that voice of reason, and often. But no, tonight, I wanted this. I didn't care that I was paying to get a room only ten minutes from where I lived...it was the craziness of it all that I craved, the seediness, the sudden, unplanned and reckless NEED to be alone so we could ravage one another, tearing clothing off faster than we could think, and doing what we both love to do to each other, for each other, in a place completely foreign to us... I convinced him, and I bought the room for the night, a king-sized master-suite at the Holiday Inn. God, that room was gorgeous! Totally made my night. Completing my fantasy of being someone else, someone rich, someone glamorous and classy and carefree. Even the simple act of tossing my purse casually to the floor as I flicked on the lights...I felt like an actress. Acting in a different woman's 4-inch heels. The plush carpet felt good between my toes when I kicked off my pumps, and the sofa was firm and luxurious and new beneath me. The bed was amazing. Gigantic mahogany headboard...crisp white linens under the thick down comforter...So lovely. It felt magical.

I pulled K into bed and we were naked instantly. I couldn't wait to try out the lip ring. Yeah, I hadn't done that yet. It's been healing, after all.

It works great.

(Ha! While I'm thinking that's probably too much info, I'm also thinking that those of you who have stuck with me through this monster entry probably don't mind the nitty-gritty details all that much.) ;)

So that happened, and then everything went crazy.

K had started shivering a little when we got to the hotel, but I figured he was just cold. Now he was just shaking. Trembling, hard, uncontrollably, and there was this scary expression in his eyes. I held him tightly and asked him how he felt, but he couldn't put his thoughts into words without shaking more violently, so I just "shhh'd" him and stroked his hair the way he likes and tried to hold him down hard enough to stop the shivers...His body was just wracked with this extreme tension, which would release itself in these miniature seizure-like bursts of energy, and then it would subside for a few seconds and he would breathe in, and be still. I could tell it took an enormous amount of concentration for him to stop it, and it was apparent, too, that the shivering worsened when he allowed his mind to wander back to whatever frightening thoughts were racing through his head. He felt warm to the touch, but as a mother, I've got this built-in fever detector device in the core of my being, so I could tell his temp wasn't any higher than about 100. All the same, it was elevated and this, coupled with the violent trembling, of course, worried me more than I could let on.

"How do you feel right now?" I asked. I wanted to get in his head, find out what it was that I was up against. "I just feel...really weirded out. Scared. Negative. It feels like every thought I try to think is being crushed by this..." he began shaking so hard that he couldn't finish his thought and I stopped him. Asking him to describe it was apparently not a good idea.

I started humming to him, singing the hymns that my mom would sing to me when I was sick as a child. Little B loves those songs. As long as I was singing into his neck, the crook behind his ear, and holding him tightly, his breathing was slow and constant, and the shaking was minimal. When he would start to break into it again, I would get firm and tell him that there was nothing that could harm him here, that he was safe with me, and that I would NEVER let anything bad happen to him. He was so... scared. Paranoid. Terrified. He said later that it felt like he would be that way forever, and that at one point he was almost sure he was going to die. God, I've NEVER seen anyone react that way to marijuana. Seriously. I'm sure it happens...I'm thinking I should do a little research on it...but this happened hours after he smoked. He didn't have any alcohol at the restaurant. He's always had really bad problems with sleep, and hasn't been getting much rest at all lately, but I'm not certain if that had anything to do with this episode. It was so intense, so scary. I made sure he saw me calm throughout all of it; I was prepared to call 911 at any moment, but I didn't tell him this. It only would've panicked him more in the moment.

"You're fine, babe. You're going to be okay, I *promise*..." I don't know how many times I repeated those words, or how shaky my own voice was as I swore that, over and over again, my own body vibrating along with his as he convulsed in rhythmic, rapid trembling. About two hours after all of it had started, he was silent, and still. I turned on the television and this seemed to help, for some reason, even though it was just infommercials and HGTV. I figured it would remind him of home. We laid awake for quite a while afterwards, and he seemed a ton better by the time I nodded off. I had gone to pick up B earlier, and she was asleep on a pallet on the floor, and everything felt okay enough for me to rest. I was more than spent.

I woke at 5 and he was still awake. I felt horrible for leaving him, even though I had been right there next to him the whole time. He said he felt lonely. Yes. My heart tore a little. I hugged him harder and tried to stay awake, but woke up at 7 again to find that he'd finally dropped off. B woke me up and reminded me of the amazing hotel breakfast I'd promised her the night before. Ah yes. Food. You always come back to destroy me.

And here we return to the first part of this post. I have eaten A LOT of food today. Hotel breakfasts are the devil. Why? Because you pay $117 to stay there for less than 8 hours and you want your money's worth (same reason we're sure to take all of the little travel sized shampoo and conditioner bottles home with us, even when we have plenty of those same products at home...am I right? :P). Also, because you still have that vacation mindset going on. Like you don't have to exactly follow all the rules because you're not home. Whatever the reasons, I ate. Cinnamon roll, raisin bran, yogurt, biscuit, and eggs. Coffee. Oatmeal. I essentially binged right there in front of my daughter and the love of my life, but in a controlled, socially acceptable manner. It was a controlled binge, but still completely out of control. Sigh... And all I can think about is chocolate. Yeah.

Okay, you've suffered enough. :P I can't believe I wrote that much, and I'll find it even more hard to believe that any of you will make it all the way through this and live.

Thanks for listening.. I'm off to either do some jumping jacks or binge some more. Honestly, I could go either way. I'm kind of numb at this point. Project Self-Destruction by Way of Food 2010 is still in full force, apparently.

Love you all immensely. <3

Non sequitur: Please take care to avoid stepping in my Crazy.

You like this one? It's called: "P.D. is still sitting her fat ass on the couch at 3 PM with no make-up on and she has no desire whatsoever to move a muscle, much less make herself feel less ... plain." Title is tentative, of course.



My Google Chrome browser window is overloaded with...let me count...33 open tabs...all of them blogs I have yet to read. I've been doing this all morning, playing catch-up. I promise I have a life. Somehow. K laughed at me this morning, looking at my computer screen. Hours and hours spent reading and commenting on blogs, and I'm still not done. And nearly every day, I add more to my reading list. I literally spend more time reading blogs here than I do reading any of my textbooks combined. Probably three times as much. No life? That's a very good possibility, you're right.

Go, Diego, Go! is playing next to me, and my perfect little angel is pointing out the differences between brontosauruses and microraptors. Lots of differences there.

Ha...her little voice. I wish I could record it for you. "That's a Teeee-REX!" :P

I want to thank everyone individually for taking the time to comment on my blog. I'm such a lame-o that those little tidbits from you ladies totally make my day, my hour, my life, to an extent. I mean, getting that little email that tells me you commented...It makes me happier than it should, probably. I get all excited. What a loser. Back to what I was saying: I'd like to thank you all individually, but I'm not feeling very...something...today. I'm sorry. Perhaps I'm feeling too much of nothing. Yes, I think that's more like it.

My binge failure(s) have taken their toll. Even after a moderate dose of laxatives, I've hit 134. Yeah. And you know what? The surprise, shock, self-loathing, and holyshitfuck howdidIletthishappen? feeling...is absent. This is...beyond...horrible. It's like I don't care that I'm getting fat. Oh, I care. Somewhere. Somehow. I feel powerless to stop the eating. In fact, I feel powerless to stop myself from loving the food I'm eating, and wanting more. Those are separate feelings, separate ideas. Sometimes eating (bingeing) is punishment. More often than not, that's what it is. I've yet to really delve into the reasons why I feel the need to punish myself this way, but I'm positive they number in the thousands.

See that behind me? Love handles. No one loves them. And they're always the first to return when I start to gain. God. Damn. It. All.

What kills me is that I can see the damage I'm doing, but my passion to change it, to better myself, is completely GONE. I thought perhaps that this was a passing phase, but it's not passing. I don't understand. The complacency is suffocating, but my empathy prevents me from caring about even that. I grab a straw, stick it up through the surface of the calmly swirling waters, and suck at the little bits of oxygen that are permitted me this way, and yet I do nothing to shake off the big, beefy hands that hold me under... What's WRONG with me? God, someone please tell me.

No, you won't. You're lovely. You'll tell me there's nothing wrong with me, and that tomorrow's another day, because that's what I'd tell you all. *sigh.* Things with my ED have only gotten worse over the past few weeks, and I'd have to be blindfolded not to see the connection to my therapy/counseling sessions. Is it because dabbling in the thought of growing healthy has suddenly stirred my responsible side from its long slumber, promising all sorts of false happiness if I'll just throw in the towel and accept life, ED free? Fuck, I have so many questions and alongside those questions, in a very random fashion, lie all the fragments of reality that tell the truth: No One Has The Answer.

That's a rather disheartening thought.

I started out today with full intentions of holding myself to a liquid fast until dinner. That's right, not even a full day, just hold out til supper time. Lasted all of five hours. Vegetables with baby shrimp. A tablespoon of peanut butter. A bite of cottage cheese. A bowl of oatmeal. I haven't counted calories yet, but I will. I've been doing a lot of food stalking online, as K and I will be celebrating V-Day tonight, and I want to go somewhere new and interesting and exotic...something I've never tried before, like French food or African, or Turkish, or something. I want to eat and not care, drink and not care, and look amazing in my new skirt.

If I do, I'll post pictures.

I want to know why it feels so good to eat, when that feeling should be the one thing I dread most in the world. I want to remember and LIVE the feeling of being lovely and light and empty, and I want to hate the thought of eating because it only serves to destroy me, slowly, painfully...Why in the world would I want to do that to myself? Apathy. I..just can't care. None of this makes sense.

Sorry this is so long, and that the tone sucks. Meh.

Oh, and in the time it took me to write this blog, B fell asleep next to me on the couch. I should definitely take this time to work out...should. I'll have a serving of motivation, please, with a side of getthefuckoffthecouch and a stopbeingsodamnlazy salad. Thanks.

For your daily dose of smiles:



Love you all...

<3

My (fail) day...with pictures! :P

Umm... I binged again.

Not surprised, you say?? Yeah, me fucking neither.

All day binge. You know the kind. The worst kind. I won't even name all the shit I ate because it doesn't matter.

I also didn't work out. I also didn't purge. I also didn't go to chemistry today, but instead went shopping and bought some clothes in hopes of making myself feel better.

Found a pair of slacks I liked. Tried them on, loved how they fit. Checked the tag.



Are you fucking serious? There's really no way.

So I tried on some shorts in a size 5. Yep, just as I figured. Too damn small. I knew it was a fluke. Don'tcha just hate that? When one brand says you're skinny and another says you're a friggin' land whale.

Whatever.

I bought some skinny jeans that are two sizes too small to remind me of my goals. Hope that works, since nothing else does anymore. :/

Baby B's Valentine's Day party at school was today. Took a few pictures for you ladies. :D




Here is a random shot of my shoulder. I wanted to post this because, here before you, is an image of the part of me I most enjoy when I am thinnish. When I start to gain weight, this little set of ridges and bumps in my shoulder/clavicle area starts to soften, and is far less prominent. This is how I tell if I'm doing okay or failing, without the scale.



Oh, and I got some cute socks. I wanted you to see them.



Umm...I promised myself this would be short. I should go. Poor K is sitting over there on his computer bored out of his mind, and all I want to do is curl up with my tiny laptop and all of your blogs...and another 500 calorie serving of Godiva chocolate truffles like I had earlier today. OH YES. That's what I said. F...M...L.

<3

So there's this girl, Mia... :/

...and she's been hanging around quite a bit more than I'd prefer as of late.

I can't put my finger on it quite yet, but over the past few weeks I've experienced what I'm beginning to term, in my mind, an enormous shift of purpose. I can't tell yet in what direction i'ts taking me, but if the past few days are any indication, it's nowhere good. :(

Restriction has always been my forte. Sure, I have binge days. That's relatively normal, up until a point. There was a short, glorious period of time during which I wanted nothing to do with food and all of its horrific calories...I was just fine with subsisting on the bare essentials, and it was lovely. Didn't last long, of course. That'd be too good to be true.

No, lately, things have been changing. I've been eating a ton more (or what feels like a ton more) and exercising less and somewhere along the way, my drive to keep going, my will to starve, is fading. I'm not comfortable with this. I know it would be more than prudent of me to roll with this, take it as a chance to seek out recovery, wherever it may be hiding, but I just...can't. I'm not ready.

The c&s shit has gotten out of hand, and fast. I am able to admit this, and I'm not at all proud of it (who would be?)...but even as I recognize it as a problem, I am not yet taking mental steps to stop myself from getting worse. I used to use it whenever I felt like bingeing but was conscious enough to spit before swallowing, and it saved me quite a few calories on numerous occasions. Now...Well, now I do it so much that it's interfering with my thoughts at home and at school: I think about what I can c&s next, at home, or at school, hiding in the bathroom and waiting for everyone to leave so I have some privacy... I'm actually spending extra money on binge food only to spit, and this is happening multiple times throughout the day and night. Not...good...at all. What's worse? I'm progressing to the point of saying fuck the spitting part...Eating feels so goddamned good...I want to swallow this stuff. Of course I can't let it get me fat. Next logical step? Purge that shit. Right? Wrong.

I know I'm walking a fine line here. I know this is more dangerous than I can even comprehend. I've made a promise to myself and to K that I will not let bulimia take a hold of me...and yet here I stand, at the precipice of something so enticing and so harmful...even deadly...I read all of your wonderful blogs and I see the pain that so many of you endure daily, the misery bulimia has brought you. How is this not enough to push me far, far away from even considering this? I HAVE to talk myself out of this...and I need to figure out a way back to hard restriction, reduce the c&s cycle til it's gone completely. My mouth has even begun to feel a little tender when I eat due to the constant, rapid chewing and pushing out of food..mostly sugary, baked items. Shit I'm not allowed to have.

Fuck, I'm sorry I'm so messed up. I really am. I can just picture some random stranger finding my blog, reading this with absolutely no understanding of the mental and emotional anguish behind the disorder itself...Thinking to themselves in disdain and condescension of my weakness, my stupidity, my obvious innate desire to hurt myself. No shit, sherlock. That's what it all comes down to; I believe, in my heart of hearts, that I deserve to be punished, to feel pain, and I long for it, because at least this pain serves to mask all of the unending suffering I won't ever escape, the internal, eternal torment of my past and present...

God, P.D., breathe.

I sit here at school, after class, with two large, saran-wrapped slices of store-bought cake (one chocolate and one carrot) sitting in my backpack, neatly wrapped up in the plastic bag in which they came. I stare down at them. I need them. I want that food in my mouth, in my throat, in my stomach, and then I will hate myself. The hate for the fat that they would add to my thighs will propel me into the nearest bathroom, or even my bedroom, wherever I can be alone and not overheard...And I will fail to get all of it up because I suck at purging, and my mascara will run a little bit and I'll pull my hat down further over my forehead to hide the bloodshot glaze of my eyes...I have the power to stop this binge from occurring. In reality, I know that I have the power to stop Mia from entering my life...I just...have to find it. I have to find this strength. It's not okay for me to break, not here, not with this.

Thank you for reading, lovelies... <3


EDIT: Add-on...8:46 PM: So...I binged, right? But...as fail as that is...I promised Della (and myself) I wouldn't purge. I'm so sorry, Della...and everyone else. I purged half my dinner. Half. Before I came to my senses and pulled myself back from the edge, yet again. And here I sit, feeling so fat and ugly and foolish and HUGE...Yeah, cuz I binged again. F-u-c-k. You can't see how much it hurts from the outside...it's stretching my insides to their limits. Ugh. End edit.