Second post today...hey, it's Sunday, and I'm bored.

I was playing with my computer's webcam a second ago...because playing is fun. You should try it sometime.



This is what I would look like if there were two of me and we were about to get it on.

Schmexy...

So I don't know if I've mentioned this key fact yet or not, but I just realized that I've been neglecting to address it within myself all this time, so I've probably not mentioned it whilst blogging.

All right, so you know all this binge eating bullshit I've been going through lately? The fail behavior that's resulted in my gaining back seven pounds of painstakingly burned/starved FAT?

Yeah, you know. THAT shit.

Well, I don't know if this is of any interest to you guys, but it's definitely of HUGE concern to me.

When I eat like this, I'm not even hungry.
Never.
I can't remember the last time I felt hunger.
It was probably a few days ago, but I didn't let it last...I'm sure I commenced to stuff my face immediately just as soon as those peristaltic juices began flowing...Tummy growls are good things. They mean you're doing it right. They mean you're resisting and you're strong and you're empty. Ah, lovely happy emptiness.

No, not for me. I eat. As soon as I feel it. And then it doesn't come back for days. I don't let it. I eat something as soon as I wake up, justifying in my mind the need for a good, hearty metabolism-kickin' breakfast. True, it's important. But you don't have to keep going, P.D. You don't have to have that oatmeal, then eat a bowl of cereal, then have a bowl of yogurt, and then have a banana, and then eat a peach, and then scarf a granola bar, and then go to school, daydreaming of food the whole fifteen minute drive, even though your stomach is already so painfully full that you're SURE you've reached your daily quota already, all before 10 AM.

It continues, throughout the day. I live to eat. I consume food instead of breathing. And I hardly ever purge it. When I'm not eating, I'm thinking about eating, or C&Sing...This has been my life for the past three days. And for many days prior to those, these spans of failure only separated by a few days of good restriction and healthy exercise. On and off, on and off. It's not good enough.

Never will be.

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

I've said this before, and yet each time I say it, it seems to mean something different to me.

Do I want to be that thin? Do I want to be emaciated, skin and bones and beautiful? I used to hold such a passion for it, like it was all that mattered. And I was well on my way. Then, to use Pasco's term for what I feel this must be, it occurred: The Mind Flip.

Something switched in my mind, and I didn't ask for it, and I can't go back. I can't go back to blissful disarray, disordered and loving it. Oh, wouldn't that be nice?

Last night my labret stud came out in my mouth and it's not supposed to, not yet. It's not done healing, and it kinda freaked me out. It's been developing scar tissue inside, not out, very slowly but pretty consistently. I've been doctoring it the way my piercer suggested, and while I think that's working, I'm sure random purging and regular C&Sing doesn't help at all.
Anyway, so the stud came out. I rushed to the bathroom mirror (my arch nemesis...fancy seein' YOU here) and rinsed my mouth with mouthwash, attempting to press the jewelry back through the tiny little hole in my lip.
It wouldn't go through.
What? No no no no...This can't be happening, not at 9 at night...I've had so many problems with this thing already...
Managed to get it fall through the entry hole on the inside...but it wouldn't come through the hole in the front. I pressed harder, causing pain now, but certain that it would go through eventually. It didn't. I could see the metal trying to push through my skin, like some kind of alien creature...it was kind of sickening. It started bleeding beneath the skin, and the pain was unbearable. Being the girl girl that I am, seeing that stud swimming just under the surface of my transparent, now bloody, skin, I nearly passed out. I felt a wave of heat and nausea wash over me and everything went kind of tunnelly for a second. Ha, and being me, of course, I thought for a millisecond: "Ah, that's what it used to feel like when I would starve..."

K drove me downtown to the shop and I had my girl re-pierce it. Excruciating. Hurt ten times as much as the initial piercing. At least it's back in place. Geez. Life's unexpected little pleasures, huh?

I'm sorry I'm rambly. I can't think. I've got a ton of distraction swirling about me and around me, and I'm feeling claustrophobic in my own body. A three year old is banging her little blonde head against my shoulder as I type, telling me that this particular episode of Dora the Explorer is boring, she wants the one with pirate piggies. Her mess all over the floor of my boyfriend's apartment stresses me out FOR him. He doesn't need all this. The kitchen is a mess from my cooking experiment (which turned out in-fucking-credible, I will add) and from cinnamon rolls this morning (disaster for my ass).

At least it's Spring Break.

I will NOT be donning a bikini like more than half the female population of my university this week...No, no, please...No.

I need to...figure out why I don't care to try anymore. Why I'm jaded. Why I could very well be up on my feet and exercising (through excruciating pain in both knees and one ankle) but instead I'm sitting here in self-deprecation, on my ass...Not moving = not burning calories. Sure, I ran today. One measly mile. Walked another. It feels like it did nothing.

Some days, I am so strong.

Others...

I am me.

<3