167.8 today. That's after last night's failure of three baked chicken wings, cheesy scalloped potatoes and lots of sweet peas. I'm retarded.
Oh well. Today's off to a good start. 220 calories and lots of cold, cold water. Feeling pretty good, though I could use some coffee. Too lazy to make it.
The fiancee and I got into a long, drawn-out cry fest last night (I was the only one crying). I admitted that I had binged and purged a couple nights ago when he was gone. That marks the first time in over a year. I promised him that I wouldn't do it again and I hope I can keep that promise. I hate throwing up. I hate binges even more.
So yes. 167.8. I'm on my way. Between 400 and 800 food calories a day for the past week or so. Alcohol naturally decreases as I don't eat as much. Don't wanna get shitfaced. Often.
I miss all my lovelies. I hope you are all well in whatever stage of this crazy life you find yourself.
Stay perfect.
P.D.
Showing posts with label binge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label binge. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Sunday, February 14, 2010
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
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
Friday, February 12, 2010
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
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
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Poetry and Binge-monster... Beauty and the Beast...
Sooooooo......
Today was a bingey day. Yeah. Lame. But you know what? I think I prevented most of the damage my severely shitty will-power would/could have caused by c&s'ing the majority of it. Not that this is a good thing. I know c&s is NOT a good thing. I realize this. I DO think, however, that it's better than swallowing it all and hating myself that much more for the following three days as I starve and exercise trying to lose it...
This was a humdinger, yessiree. This was not your amateur binge, ladies. Oh NO. This was professionalism put to work, lemme tell you. Premeditated; I actually moved things around in my daily schedule in order to make this thing go down. Gave myself the time to go to the store (on the way home from class, but still), walk up and down the aisles for a good while, deciding what was acceptable and what was not (not that ANY of it is acceptable, but you get what I mean), and then grabbing a package of FOUR cherry & cheese danishes and a box of TWELVE chocolate Swiss cake roll things... And a tiny single serving of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. It was all I could do to walk away from the rows and rows of stacks of boxed Valentine's chocolates... I nearly bought the whole damned store out, but kept telling myself, "You've got enough, just go!" Got home and c&s'd half of each box...ATE the ice cream (220 calories...not the END of the mutha-effin' world, but SO CLOSE!) and now here I sit, instead of going to the gym to work off the 100 or so calories I probably actually ingested. I really wanted to swallow the lot of it and then go purge...I don't know what's wrong with me! I DON'T PURGE! I won't! I've done it maybe ten, fifteen times in my entire life, and I KNOW myself well enough to foresee a major problem with it if I allow it to get a hold on me. Won't do it.
Wow, I really don't know why else I came here other than to completely spill my guts to you guys...Hope you don't mind serving as my own personal confessional. :P I'm not religious in the slightest, but I *do* have the need to get this stuff off my chest, so to speak, rather often. Hence, my presence here now. I should be typing up this poem for class (yes, I'm actually in a poetry class... doesn't that just kick the most ass ever?)... Hey, since it's ana related, maybe I'll type it up and share it with you guys. Is that okay? Hmm...Yes. I think I will. If you don't care to read it, then meh... No hard feelings. It's not that good...It's just me writing in hopes of somehow getting what I actually feel and think out on paper. Not like I don't do that EVERY day here, huh?
Oh, and this is random, but today in art class our professor set up the skeleton model for us to draw...HA! I couldn't stop fawning over the shoulderblades like the sicko that I am. I'll show you my drawing. :D
I hope you're all well...Thank you so much for your comments, your continual support, and yes, I'll get my knee checked out! I have an appointment on Tuesday. Heh, you're all so adorable and concerned for me. I love it. I totally eat it up. Ha. Like everything else edible, it would seem. ;)
Stay lovely! <3
PS - Here's that poem: (I think I'll just go with something I wrote a while back)
Quiet outside, even this close to parted lips...
Where is she,
screaming?
You can't hear, but it's so loud in my eyes
that it hurts in your chest.
Incessant internal cataclysmic cacophony
behind closed eyes, closed in around Self.
My surroundings undisturbed by uproarious soundings
of alarms, systematically disarmed...
Walls leveled by cannons of my own machination
are rebuilt with intent to destroy again.
It's constant: the repair, dismantling...
rescue, exile...
forgiveness, condemnation...
Splinters of a mind full of memories
(mindful memoirs)
reminding that all is not yet lost,
unless, of course, you crave that loss...
Do you? Wouldn't you care for a little more destruction?
Distraction? You know it's a release,
like a drug hardening in your veins.
It's readily available, easily enough attained,
freshly boiled in a clean, cold spoon
and cooked to perfection for your flesh, your tomb...
Yes! You DESERVE it; beg, child, no longer,
I'll give it freely
Because I want you in return.
...No. My past has broken me, ripped stitch from seam
in slow, deliberate, meticulous care.
It's all so planned, the rise and the fall;
Pretended surprise, feigned strength to fight.
A cycle I crave, I undoubtedly need...
My psychosanity requires it.
This
is who I am.
Peace and quiet have their place
and I know, and have known, love.
But they do not live within me here
without fighting for their home.
PPS - I don't know if I like what's going on with my therapy sessions. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my therapist. She's wonderful. She's so far from being all hung up on changing me...it's great. She's more focused on getting me to listen to the real me, behind the ED, behind my depression and anxiety, and instead finding out what I really want from myself without all of the other shit in the way. We have deep sessions, and I usually feel really good after them. BUT... Somehow... I feel more and more inclined to consider recovery as time goes on...It's CRAZY! Not that recovering is a bad thing AT ALL... In fact, I know I'll probably have to more seriously look into it as my daughter gets older... I just...I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready to relinquish this, my only control. It allows me to bend all of this chaos to my will, at least to some small degree, and makes everything a little more bearable when the world feels like its shitting on my life... Ugh, sorry for the rant. I just don't know...you know? :P
All I *do* know is that talking with her makes eating seem like a good idea, and makes starving (what I love most!! agh!) seem like a bad idea. Where the hell *ARE* we, Backwards Opposite InsaneLand??!
Okay, leaving now. LOVE yas! :D
Today was a bingey day. Yeah. Lame. But you know what? I think I prevented most of the damage my severely shitty will-power would/could have caused by c&s'ing the majority of it. Not that this is a good thing. I know c&s is NOT a good thing. I realize this. I DO think, however, that it's better than swallowing it all and hating myself that much more for the following three days as I starve and exercise trying to lose it...
This was a humdinger, yessiree. This was not your amateur binge, ladies. Oh NO. This was professionalism put to work, lemme tell you. Premeditated; I actually moved things around in my daily schedule in order to make this thing go down. Gave myself the time to go to the store (on the way home from class, but still), walk up and down the aisles for a good while, deciding what was acceptable and what was not (not that ANY of it is acceptable, but you get what I mean), and then grabbing a package of FOUR cherry & cheese danishes and a box of TWELVE chocolate Swiss cake roll things... And a tiny single serving of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough ice cream. It was all I could do to walk away from the rows and rows of stacks of boxed Valentine's chocolates... I nearly bought the whole damned store out, but kept telling myself, "You've got enough, just go!" Got home and c&s'd half of each box...ATE the ice cream (220 calories...not the END of the mutha-effin' world, but SO CLOSE!) and now here I sit, instead of going to the gym to work off the 100 or so calories I probably actually ingested. I really wanted to swallow the lot of it and then go purge...I don't know what's wrong with me! I DON'T PURGE! I won't! I've done it maybe ten, fifteen times in my entire life, and I KNOW myself well enough to foresee a major problem with it if I allow it to get a hold on me. Won't do it.
Wow, I really don't know why else I came here other than to completely spill my guts to you guys...Hope you don't mind serving as my own personal confessional. :P I'm not religious in the slightest, but I *do* have the need to get this stuff off my chest, so to speak, rather often. Hence, my presence here now. I should be typing up this poem for class (yes, I'm actually in a poetry class... doesn't that just kick the most ass ever?)... Hey, since it's ana related, maybe I'll type it up and share it with you guys. Is that okay? Hmm...Yes. I think I will. If you don't care to read it, then meh... No hard feelings. It's not that good...It's just me writing in hopes of somehow getting what I actually feel and think out on paper. Not like I don't do that EVERY day here, huh?
Oh, and this is random, but today in art class our professor set up the skeleton model for us to draw...HA! I couldn't stop fawning over the shoulderblades like the sicko that I am. I'll show you my drawing. :D
I hope you're all well...Thank you so much for your comments, your continual support, and yes, I'll get my knee checked out! I have an appointment on Tuesday. Heh, you're all so adorable and concerned for me. I love it. I totally eat it up. Ha. Like everything else edible, it would seem. ;)
Stay lovely! <3
PS - Here's that poem: (I think I'll just go with something I wrote a while back)
Quiet outside, even this close to parted lips...
Where is she,
screaming?
You can't hear, but it's so loud in my eyes
that it hurts in your chest.
Incessant internal cataclysmic cacophony
behind closed eyes, closed in around Self.
My surroundings undisturbed by uproarious soundings
of alarms, systematically disarmed...
Walls leveled by cannons of my own machination
are rebuilt with intent to destroy again.
It's constant: the repair, dismantling...
rescue, exile...
forgiveness, condemnation...
Splinters of a mind full of memories
(mindful memoirs)
reminding that all is not yet lost,
unless, of course, you crave that loss...
Do you? Wouldn't you care for a little more destruction?
Distraction? You know it's a release,
like a drug hardening in your veins.
It's readily available, easily enough attained,
freshly boiled in a clean, cold spoon
and cooked to perfection for your flesh, your tomb...
Yes! You DESERVE it; beg, child, no longer,
I'll give it freely
Because I want you in return.
...No. My past has broken me, ripped stitch from seam
in slow, deliberate, meticulous care.
It's all so planned, the rise and the fall;
Pretended surprise, feigned strength to fight.
A cycle I crave, I undoubtedly need...
My psychosanity requires it.
This
is who I am.
Peace and quiet have their place
and I know, and have known, love.
But they do not live within me here
without fighting for their home.
PPS - I don't know if I like what's going on with my therapy sessions. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love my therapist. She's wonderful. She's so far from being all hung up on changing me...it's great. She's more focused on getting me to listen to the real me, behind the ED, behind my depression and anxiety, and instead finding out what I really want from myself without all of the other shit in the way. We have deep sessions, and I usually feel really good after them. BUT... Somehow... I feel more and more inclined to consider recovery as time goes on...It's CRAZY! Not that recovering is a bad thing AT ALL... In fact, I know I'll probably have to more seriously look into it as my daughter gets older... I just...I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready to relinquish this, my only control. It allows me to bend all of this chaos to my will, at least to some small degree, and makes everything a little more bearable when the world feels like its shitting on my life... Ugh, sorry for the rant. I just don't know...you know? :P
All I *do* know is that talking with her makes eating seem like a good idea, and makes starving (what I love most!! agh!) seem like a bad idea. Where the hell *ARE* we, Backwards Opposite InsaneLand??!
Okay, leaving now. LOVE yas! :D
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Not beating myself up too much...
I'm at like, 500 for the day.
I don't know how I feel about that. Seems to be right on track, for being nearly 1 PM. Haven't gotten to go running yet, but it's in the plan, as soon as I can get little B down for her nap.
I ate a lot last night. I drank quite a bit of alcohol. I don't know why I do that. I mean, sure, it's relatively fun while you're doing it, depending on with whom you're drinking and what you're doing. K and I were at a friend's house playing video games and chatting, drinking, and eating. Salty cocktail peanuts, tortilla chips, pita chips, Pringles, and dried apricots. Fruit juice with my vodka. I stopped counting calories. There was no point. Couldn't keep track in my head and couldn't pull out my calculator without looking insane. :P
I kind of let go intentionally. I spent a lot of time last night thinking about how nice it would be to retain this lifestyle of restriction and steady weight loss (as I can't stand the thought of getting any bigger, of course) but still manage to enjoy normal social-type interactions without that intense guilt. To be me, in all of my food/calorie eccentricity, but with the ability to have a few cocktails without hating myself, to laugh and be carefree, say yes to a few nachos or a slice of pizza because that's what everyone else does without a second thought. People I go out with peruse the dessert menu in excitement and anticipation of how wonderful a slice of cheesecake sounds right now...Let's get one! We'll split it! Ooh, with chocolate covered strawberries on it! Yeah. No. I'm not allowed to even think about that kind of thing, much less entertain the thought of really EATING it. Jesus.
Yeah, I guess there's no point in fantasizing about this kind of life. It simply doesn't exist for me. Meh. I'm not feeling as passionate about it as I was last night.
Felt like total garbage this morning. Dehydrated and heavy, slightly hungover. Oh, and did I mention the fact that I ate approximately 5.2 metric tons of all that party food? I kept eating, shoveling it in FAR after I was uncomfortably full. Why? I have no idea. I really don't. I know that I laid down last night, feeling as if my stomach was literally going to explode. Like the food inside of it was about to burst forth from my mouth any second, and I wasn't even that buzzed by this point. No, this agonizing nausea/stomach pain was completely unrelated to alcohol. I had eaten to a point of pain, of shock; my body had no idea what to do with all of that.
Weighed in at 133.8 this morning. I know that a lot of it is still food left over inside of me. Maybe a pound or so? I should have finished off the night with a box of laxies, but the mere thought of putting another ANYthing into my mouth was too much to bear.
My fingers look fat right now. Ugh.
I'll be okay. For some reason, rather than feeling as depressed as I probably should after the last few days I've had, I feel...optimistic. Perhaps reading some of your blogs before I sat down to write my own post was a good idea. You all inspire me to be more than I am, to be better, to be stronger. Thank you. :)
I'm off for now... The little one is restless and it's my job to entertain her. My pleasure, I mean. Both. ;)
I hope you're all well...Here's to a strong and successful week ahead... Back down two pounds by Friday, that's my goal! :D
I don't know how I feel about that. Seems to be right on track, for being nearly 1 PM. Haven't gotten to go running yet, but it's in the plan, as soon as I can get little B down for her nap.
I ate a lot last night. I drank quite a bit of alcohol. I don't know why I do that. I mean, sure, it's relatively fun while you're doing it, depending on with whom you're drinking and what you're doing. K and I were at a friend's house playing video games and chatting, drinking, and eating. Salty cocktail peanuts, tortilla chips, pita chips, Pringles, and dried apricots. Fruit juice with my vodka. I stopped counting calories. There was no point. Couldn't keep track in my head and couldn't pull out my calculator without looking insane. :P
I kind of let go intentionally. I spent a lot of time last night thinking about how nice it would be to retain this lifestyle of restriction and steady weight loss (as I can't stand the thought of getting any bigger, of course) but still manage to enjoy normal social-type interactions without that intense guilt. To be me, in all of my food/calorie eccentricity, but with the ability to have a few cocktails without hating myself, to laugh and be carefree, say yes to a few nachos or a slice of pizza because that's what everyone else does without a second thought. People I go out with peruse the dessert menu in excitement and anticipation of how wonderful a slice of cheesecake sounds right now...Let's get one! We'll split it! Ooh, with chocolate covered strawberries on it! Yeah. No. I'm not allowed to even think about that kind of thing, much less entertain the thought of really EATING it. Jesus.
Yeah, I guess there's no point in fantasizing about this kind of life. It simply doesn't exist for me. Meh. I'm not feeling as passionate about it as I was last night.
Felt like total garbage this morning. Dehydrated and heavy, slightly hungover. Oh, and did I mention the fact that I ate approximately 5.2 metric tons of all that party food? I kept eating, shoveling it in FAR after I was uncomfortably full. Why? I have no idea. I really don't. I know that I laid down last night, feeling as if my stomach was literally going to explode. Like the food inside of it was about to burst forth from my mouth any second, and I wasn't even that buzzed by this point. No, this agonizing nausea/stomach pain was completely unrelated to alcohol. I had eaten to a point of pain, of shock; my body had no idea what to do with all of that.
Weighed in at 133.8 this morning. I know that a lot of it is still food left over inside of me. Maybe a pound or so? I should have finished off the night with a box of laxies, but the mere thought of putting another ANYthing into my mouth was too much to bear.
My fingers look fat right now. Ugh.
I'll be okay. For some reason, rather than feeling as depressed as I probably should after the last few days I've had, I feel...optimistic. Perhaps reading some of your blogs before I sat down to write my own post was a good idea. You all inspire me to be more than I am, to be better, to be stronger. Thank you. :)
I'm off for now... The little one is restless and it's my job to entertain her. My pleasure, I mean. Both. ;)
I hope you're all well...Here's to a strong and successful week ahead... Back down two pounds by Friday, that's my goal! :D
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Breakfast binge...Really?!
580 calories. And it's only 11 AM.
Good job, P.D. Way to effin' go. Fuck.
Last night, I drank alcohol. Not very much. Little vodka/fruit juice cocktail I made here at K's house. It was tasty, and highly caloric. Good thing it only took one glass to essentially put me to sleep. But before that, I had binged nearly all day. Probably about 2,100, total. Yeah. Fail much? No cardio. Just housecleaning. *sigh.*
This morning, I woke up and weighed myself. 132.8. Yeah. That means I've consistently gone up over the past three days. How much of that is water weight? How much is actual fat from all of the chocolate I ate yesterday?? The yogurt, the fruit, the bread? Two bowls of oatmeal? Three bowls of cereal? Milk? What was I thinking? I wasn't. I was eating because I'd been eating all day, and fuck it, I've already screwed up this entire day, there's no going back now...
Still. That was no reason to wake up this morning and continue. Why? I don't have an answer. I just wanted to eat. And eat more. And even after reading Della's *amazing* account of exercise euphoria (which inspired me beyond words, really, dear! :D) I still can't get myself off of this couch. Is it because this adorable three-year-old next to me won't be taking a nap until about 4 PM? Yes. Is it because my knee hurts for no reason, promising more pain each time I attempt to move it? Yes. Is it because I'm lazy and somehow exhausted and would apparently rather lie around in my own self-pity than get up and burn those disgusting calories? ...I'm done. You don't need to hear all that. No one does.
So. We return to the realization that it's All-or-Nothing Land here. That's where I live. I either restrict properly and lose the weight (and parts of my sanity) or I choose to try and eat an "appropriate" amount and feel like such a fatass that I begin to truly take on all other characteristics of an actual fatass (lack of motivation to exercise, total abandon of all responsibility concerning diet, bad choices of breakfast foods, including (but not limited to) fat-free ice cream and sugar-free pudding)...really?? It's like someone else lives here. This is not me.
I've gotten really used to enjoying the feeling of being the thinnest I've ever been. 131 felt great. I mean, physically. I felt like total dogshit mentally. YOU remember. Not pretty. Crying and shit. Yeah. Guilt. Shame. Fear. Confusion. Grief for events that have yet to occur. But I was getting thinner. Shouldn't that matter more than anything else?
Not when your life is less important than that of another. Not when this precious little embodiment of perfection is yours and yours alone to protect, to nurture, to love, to raise in this world, as goddamn scary a place as it is... She's my one call back to reality. Always has been. She keeps me from falling right off that cliff... I ...should be thankful. I should be grateful. She saves my life. Why am I not glad for that? Why do I not rejoice at the thought that I will always have someone to keep me from leaping full-on headfirst into this? ...for it would surely kill me if I let go and let it in...
Instead I am torn. I will always choose her over anything else. But the very small and very selfish part of me that wishes to destroy ...ME... It regrets my devotion to her. It asks for all of my soul and, in return, promises years of thin and agony and beauty and pain. My soul is already hers. I should be glad.
I'm done rambling. I need to figure out what I need. 132.8 makes me unhappy. But would 110 make me any happier? Would a BMI of 17 make me feel better about myself? Obviously not. Does that stop me? Something's trying to stop me. I feel it more than ever. And I'm fighting it...and I'm giving in at the same time. I can't do both. That's what's tearing me apart. Not knowing.
I just want to know.
EDIT: I thought this addition was worth..adding... :P But I didn't want to start a new post (I try not to post multiple times in a day, but it happens)...
So I just went running. It was good. Della, I thought of you. ;) I burned about 700 calories, but had to come back because K was watching the little one for me and he can only take so much of her shenanigans before she drives him crazy. Thing was, the binge that preceded that run tallied up to approximately 1,000 calories. Yeah. At least I got rid of some of it. A lot of it. That makes me somewhat happy.
You know what makes me fully happy? Catching a rear view of myself in K's full-length mirror fresh out of the shower...and seeing a *significant* reduction in the cellulite on my thighs and butt. YES!!! That NEVER happens!! I thought for sure it must just be good lighting, so I checked myself out in the bathroom too...And OMG, if it wasn't true! I know you may be thinking, "How could you be surprised by this? It's not like it happened overnight..." No, it didn't, but I tend to avoid looking at that entire area as much as I can. It's not pretty. Today...it was! :D
I know I've gone up about a pound over the last few days, but this...this is enough to chase away those blues, and motivate me further to keep it up. So I binged. It's what we do. Why? Because we're not perfect. But I can move on. I WILL MOVE ON. Starting two hours ago, when I pulled myself off this couch and went for that run.
Stay strong, my beauties, and stay lovely. <3
Good job, P.D. Way to effin' go. Fuck.
Last night, I drank alcohol. Not very much. Little vodka/fruit juice cocktail I made here at K's house. It was tasty, and highly caloric. Good thing it only took one glass to essentially put me to sleep. But before that, I had binged nearly all day. Probably about 2,100, total. Yeah. Fail much? No cardio. Just housecleaning. *sigh.*
This morning, I woke up and weighed myself. 132.8. Yeah. That means I've consistently gone up over the past three days. How much of that is water weight? How much is actual fat from all of the chocolate I ate yesterday?? The yogurt, the fruit, the bread? Two bowls of oatmeal? Three bowls of cereal? Milk? What was I thinking? I wasn't. I was eating because I'd been eating all day, and fuck it, I've already screwed up this entire day, there's no going back now...
Still. That was no reason to wake up this morning and continue. Why? I don't have an answer. I just wanted to eat. And eat more. And even after reading Della's *amazing* account of exercise euphoria (which inspired me beyond words, really, dear! :D) I still can't get myself off of this couch. Is it because this adorable three-year-old next to me won't be taking a nap until about 4 PM? Yes. Is it because my knee hurts for no reason, promising more pain each time I attempt to move it? Yes. Is it because I'm lazy and somehow exhausted and would apparently rather lie around in my own self-pity than get up and burn those disgusting calories? ...I'm done. You don't need to hear all that. No one does.
So. We return to the realization that it's All-or-Nothing Land here. That's where I live. I either restrict properly and lose the weight (and parts of my sanity) or I choose to try and eat an "appropriate" amount and feel like such a fatass that I begin to truly take on all other characteristics of an actual fatass (lack of motivation to exercise, total abandon of all responsibility concerning diet, bad choices of breakfast foods, including (but not limited to) fat-free ice cream and sugar-free pudding)...really?? It's like someone else lives here. This is not me.
I've gotten really used to enjoying the feeling of being the thinnest I've ever been. 131 felt great. I mean, physically. I felt like total dogshit mentally. YOU remember. Not pretty. Crying and shit. Yeah. Guilt. Shame. Fear. Confusion. Grief for events that have yet to occur. But I was getting thinner. Shouldn't that matter more than anything else?
Not when your life is less important than that of another. Not when this precious little embodiment of perfection is yours and yours alone to protect, to nurture, to love, to raise in this world, as goddamn scary a place as it is... She's my one call back to reality. Always has been. She keeps me from falling right off that cliff... I ...should be thankful. I should be grateful. She saves my life. Why am I not glad for that? Why do I not rejoice at the thought that I will always have someone to keep me from leaping full-on headfirst into this? ...for it would surely kill me if I let go and let it in...
Instead I am torn. I will always choose her over anything else. But the very small and very selfish part of me that wishes to destroy ...ME... It regrets my devotion to her. It asks for all of my soul and, in return, promises years of thin and agony and beauty and pain. My soul is already hers. I should be glad.
I'm done rambling. I need to figure out what I need. 132.8 makes me unhappy. But would 110 make me any happier? Would a BMI of 17 make me feel better about myself? Obviously not. Does that stop me? Something's trying to stop me. I feel it more than ever. And I'm fighting it...and I'm giving in at the same time. I can't do both. That's what's tearing me apart. Not knowing.
I just want to know.
EDIT: I thought this addition was worth..adding... :P But I didn't want to start a new post (I try not to post multiple times in a day, but it happens)...
So I just went running. It was good. Della, I thought of you. ;) I burned about 700 calories, but had to come back because K was watching the little one for me and he can only take so much of her shenanigans before she drives him crazy. Thing was, the binge that preceded that run tallied up to approximately 1,000 calories. Yeah. At least I got rid of some of it. A lot of it. That makes me somewhat happy.
You know what makes me fully happy? Catching a rear view of myself in K's full-length mirror fresh out of the shower...and seeing a *significant* reduction in the cellulite on my thighs and butt. YES!!! That NEVER happens!! I thought for sure it must just be good lighting, so I checked myself out in the bathroom too...And OMG, if it wasn't true! I know you may be thinking, "How could you be surprised by this? It's not like it happened overnight..." No, it didn't, but I tend to avoid looking at that entire area as much as I can. It's not pretty. Today...it was! :D
I know I've gone up about a pound over the last few days, but this...this is enough to chase away those blues, and motivate me further to keep it up. So I binged. It's what we do. Why? Because we're not perfect. But I can move on. I WILL MOVE ON. Starting two hours ago, when I pulled myself off this couch and went for that run.
Stay strong, my beauties, and stay lovely. <3
Friday, January 22, 2010
Once again, you guys save me from myself...
...Thank you.
I could try and think of a better way to say it, but the truth is I don't have the brain power nor the time to do so at the moment, so I really hope that ya'll know how grateful I am for you. You're...amazing. You make this life bearable.
So I went to the gym last night after the whole binge/c&s episode and I burned off 700 calories in an hour. I was so faint by the time I was done I nearly passed out on the way out to the car. Not good...but at the same time, very good. You know what I mean.
Today, I've eaten much more than I should have by this point, but fortunately for my fat ass I was able to stop myself before it got really out of hand again. I'm at about 800 for the day, and I'm going to stop there. I know it's only an afternoon fast...less than a whole day...but I need this. I need to remind myself that *I* am in control. I'm the one that calls these shots. Not the crazy stress-induced, anxiety binge monsters that are currently taking up residence in my brain.
I didn't weigh myself this morning. I think I'll wait. Yep.
Oh, and I'm supposed to be cleaning the house right now. Like, hardcore cleaning. That's what Fridays are all about. Except now my Fridays also include going to both my Children's Lit class AND my boring chemistry class...THEN cleaning. Less time for cleaning equals more stress and more binge-- NO. NO more. I won't let this screw me over. It's a new semester so, naturally, I have a new schedule. It's a fact of life. Get over it, get used to it. Adapt. Gracefully. That's my plan.
Posted a new profile pic. Hope you don't mind it. Better yet, I hope you like it. ;)
Stay lovely, my perfect, wonderful, AMAZINGLY incredibly inspirational beauties.
<3
I could try and think of a better way to say it, but the truth is I don't have the brain power nor the time to do so at the moment, so I really hope that ya'll know how grateful I am for you. You're...amazing. You make this life bearable.
So I went to the gym last night after the whole binge/c&s episode and I burned off 700 calories in an hour. I was so faint by the time I was done I nearly passed out on the way out to the car. Not good...but at the same time, very good. You know what I mean.
Today, I've eaten much more than I should have by this point, but fortunately for my fat ass I was able to stop myself before it got really out of hand again. I'm at about 800 for the day, and I'm going to stop there. I know it's only an afternoon fast...less than a whole day...but I need this. I need to remind myself that *I* am in control. I'm the one that calls these shots. Not the crazy stress-induced, anxiety binge monsters that are currently taking up residence in my brain.
I didn't weigh myself this morning. I think I'll wait. Yep.
Oh, and I'm supposed to be cleaning the house right now. Like, hardcore cleaning. That's what Fridays are all about. Except now my Fridays also include going to both my Children's Lit class AND my boring chemistry class...THEN cleaning. Less time for cleaning equals more stress and more binge-- NO. NO more. I won't let this screw me over. It's a new semester so, naturally, I have a new schedule. It's a fact of life. Get over it, get used to it. Adapt. Gracefully. That's my plan.
Posted a new profile pic. Hope you don't mind it. Better yet, I hope you like it. ;)
Stay lovely, my perfect, wonderful, AMAZINGLY incredibly inspirational beauties.
<3
Thursday, January 21, 2010
And...she binged.
I don't know what happened.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
My drive, my motivation, my strength, my presence of mind and purpose. Where has it all gone?
I would say that I'm "not proud" of what follows, but that doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. I hate this. I love this place. I need this place so that I can let out all of my hateful feelings about what I've done and how I am... and maybe, if I'm lucky, find someone else who doesn't think I'm half as crazy as I feel during all of it.
It started out with Starbucks. Walked in there with full intentions of purchasing one coffee and one pastry item to sneak away with and c/s. Not even positive as to why I needed this, but I did...The urge, the desire, the NEED to c/s that pumpkin bread was ridiculously profound...almost as strong as the need I had to starve myself so very recently...Where the fuck did THAT go?
Got two baked items from Starbucks. Took them to the bathroom. Felt very mia. Very. Sitting in secret, in hiding, trying to stay quiet when I heard footsteps on the tile. Waiting. Waiting for silence to denote that I was finally alone. Shoving handfuls of bread and blueberry crisp bar into my mouth, chewing ferociously, fervently, like an animal...Disgusting. Rolling the precious fattening crumbles of sugar and fruit around in my mouth and over my tongue, careful not to aggravate my piercing (which is still tender, naturally)... Spit. The second cup of coffee wasn't necessary, but I planned ahead...I would need a cup to spit in, right?
I swallowed about 1/4 of that food. Fail.
I left the bathroom feeling ashamed but still not fulfilled. What more do you fucking want? I wanted to ask myself aloud... I would get no answer anyway, but the frustration welling up inside me over this sudden and unexplained lapse in control demanded an outlet.
More food. Right.
I headed straight over to the very overpriced little convenience store and purchased, with much internal shame, a large bag of chocolate covered pretzels, a HUGE Reese's peanut butter cup, and a big travel sized cup of Ritz Cheese crackers. Couldn't even get home before I busted out the crackers, right there in the parking garage, and went to town. Greedily, piggishly, like a fucking glutton, just eating c/s'ing, swallowing about every third bite. Started the car. Got on the highway. Kept eating and spitting. Got home. Came inside. Continued. Dipped the fucking chocolate covered pretzels in PEANUT BUTTER and chewed them. Spit them. Disposed of all evidence. Ate a cup of sugar free jello and a handful of Craisins. My total today is probably about 1,500 calories consumed. None burned by cardio...Probably only about 200 by walking around campus.
I have to get to the gym. I have to NOT hate myself. I have to tell myself that tomorrow will be okay. Today, for that matter, will be okay. The more I get down on myself, the worse it gets. This is a stumble, not a fall. I will be all right.
I just have to figure out where my drive went. That push, the loathing for the fat that covers my perfect bones...THAT is what motivates me to go on. The girls I see at school every day are so thin and perfect and I am so far from them, and that is usually enough to remind me to starve. But it's not working that way anymore. This has always been about me...the comparisons only help, just like even the best thinspo. Thinspiration doesn't MAKE me do this, I have to make MYSELF do this.
Fuck. I'm sorry. And for some reason, I'm sorry for apologizing. I am completely aware of how stupid I probably sound right now. Thank you in advance for not pointing that out to me later.
I love you all.
<3
I don't know what's wrong with me.
My drive, my motivation, my strength, my presence of mind and purpose. Where has it all gone?
I would say that I'm "not proud" of what follows, but that doesn't even begin to describe how I feel. I hate this. I love this place. I need this place so that I can let out all of my hateful feelings about what I've done and how I am... and maybe, if I'm lucky, find someone else who doesn't think I'm half as crazy as I feel during all of it.
It started out with Starbucks. Walked in there with full intentions of purchasing one coffee and one pastry item to sneak away with and c/s. Not even positive as to why I needed this, but I did...The urge, the desire, the NEED to c/s that pumpkin bread was ridiculously profound...almost as strong as the need I had to starve myself so very recently...Where the fuck did THAT go?
Got two baked items from Starbucks. Took them to the bathroom. Felt very mia. Very. Sitting in secret, in hiding, trying to stay quiet when I heard footsteps on the tile. Waiting. Waiting for silence to denote that I was finally alone. Shoving handfuls of bread and blueberry crisp bar into my mouth, chewing ferociously, fervently, like an animal...Disgusting. Rolling the precious fattening crumbles of sugar and fruit around in my mouth and over my tongue, careful not to aggravate my piercing (which is still tender, naturally)... Spit. The second cup of coffee wasn't necessary, but I planned ahead...I would need a cup to spit in, right?
I swallowed about 1/4 of that food. Fail.
I left the bathroom feeling ashamed but still not fulfilled. What more do you fucking want? I wanted to ask myself aloud... I would get no answer anyway, but the frustration welling up inside me over this sudden and unexplained lapse in control demanded an outlet.
More food. Right.
I headed straight over to the very overpriced little convenience store and purchased, with much internal shame, a large bag of chocolate covered pretzels, a HUGE Reese's peanut butter cup, and a big travel sized cup of Ritz Cheese crackers. Couldn't even get home before I busted out the crackers, right there in the parking garage, and went to town. Greedily, piggishly, like a fucking glutton, just eating c/s'ing, swallowing about every third bite. Started the car. Got on the highway. Kept eating and spitting. Got home. Came inside. Continued. Dipped the fucking chocolate covered pretzels in PEANUT BUTTER and chewed them. Spit them. Disposed of all evidence. Ate a cup of sugar free jello and a handful of Craisins. My total today is probably about 1,500 calories consumed. None burned by cardio...Probably only about 200 by walking around campus.
I have to get to the gym. I have to NOT hate myself. I have to tell myself that tomorrow will be okay. Today, for that matter, will be okay. The more I get down on myself, the worse it gets. This is a stumble, not a fall. I will be all right.
I just have to figure out where my drive went. That push, the loathing for the fat that covers my perfect bones...THAT is what motivates me to go on. The girls I see at school every day are so thin and perfect and I am so far from them, and that is usually enough to remind me to starve. But it's not working that way anymore. This has always been about me...the comparisons only help, just like even the best thinspo. Thinspiration doesn't MAKE me do this, I have to make MYSELF do this.
Fuck. I'm sorry. And for some reason, I'm sorry for apologizing. I am completely aware of how stupid I probably sound right now. Thank you in advance for not pointing that out to me later.
I love you all.
<3
Friday, January 1, 2010
Have you ever...?
Have you ever felt so confident in your ability to walk along the cliff's edge that you decided it'd only be a step or two more if you went ahead and stepped off?...you'd probably fly, after all...
I've been trying to write this post for a while. It's 2:31 PM on the first day of the first month of the first year of a new decade.
Talk about your time for fresh starts, huh?
Last night was an absolute abomination. I truly don't want to even begin trying to count the calories in last night's binge. Suffice to say... well, I've been seeing quite a bit more of Mia lately than my good friend/worst enemy, Ana. I don't know where she's been lately, that Ana. It's like she's decided to go ahead and take her holiday break right along with everyone else. She's probably off chillin' in Cancun *right* now, gracing the sunny beaches full of skinny bodies with her glowing presence. She knows I don't deserve her attention right now. Oh Ana, please...Please don't give up on me. I honestly am so, so sorry.
The problem is this (and I'm positive that my words will fail me here, as they have been apt to do as of late for some ungodly reason...I hate it):
Yesterday, I had one of the *THE* worst days I've ever had in terms of depression and self-loathing. It was horrible. Suicidal thoughts, anyone? No, I suppose not technically suicidal, if I'm not contemplating actually offing myself. Just imagining how much better life would be if I didn't have to live it anymore.
I should have blogged about it yesterday. The level of pure, unadulterated self-hatred was astounding. And the resulting madness was pretty impressive in its own right. I am my own undoing nearly every single time I come undone; this I know. My introspection goes too deep and suddenly I'm analyzing my every thought and emotion like it's my job. Too bad I don't get paid like my doctors and therapists do (when they could never do it like me).
"I'm just so sick and tired of feeling like shit ALL the time. I hate hating myself this much. I am literally *THIS* close to seeking help for this, finally... I just want to feel normal...I can't stand despising the woman I see in the mirror EVERY...SINGLE...MOMENT...of every hour, every day..." That was me yesterday. That's not even the half of it. Words don't work...ya know?
I know what it is to be happy...I do...just NEVER about myself. I can be happy when my daughter throws her skinny little arms around my neck in the purest embrace and whispers that she loves me...I'm the happiest when her smile is the direct result of something little I did, just for her. I know happiness when I consider how incredibly lucky I am to have such an amazing man in my life, and that I am the only object of his love and devotion is something for which I will FOREVER be grateful. When my cold nose finds warmth in the smooth place on his neck behind his ear...I am *HAPPY*...So happy.
When I look in the mirror and see...god...all that I see... My eyes search for some kind of something, any indication that I'm smaller, that I'm making progress, that the binge from the previous day hasn't completely wrecked the tiny castle of hope and thin that I've been building for so long...All I see is hatred for the disgusting failure of a human body I inhabit. The bulging fat beneath flawed skin, stretch marks deep and purple where my flesh had to expand to hold that tiny miracle I love every day...Cellulite that's been there for years, mostly due to heredity... God, the fat... The deafening absence of thin. I choke up, my throat closes to pull hot tears back and away from my eyes. I can't cry. Not when I'm at home. Not when someone might see and wonder and inquire, because then I'd have to lie, and I'm a horrible liar.
I hate seeing the jiggling masses of my thighs when I walk, when I step. I raise my arms above my head and fold my elbows across my face, hiding my eyes. Hiding the mirror from my eyes. Beautiful eyes, everyone always used to say. Blue. What's so great about blue? Perhaps the color does distract you for just a moment from all of the ugliness that surrounds them...They have their merit.
As my arms pull up, I see them. The ribs...they're there. They exist. Imagine that. They're beautiful and pure and yet dull, now, as I've put on at least a few pounds of fat (I know it must be...I just know it). That scale is so unreliable. I can't trust it. Perhaps my reckless bingeing as of late is somehow related to the fact that I feel that I'm growing so much fatter anyway...may as well shove some more food down there to hurry the process so I can feel something, anything...even if it's more disgust, more hatred.
I took some pictures yesterday, as I was contemplating the fact that I've probably simply gained fat and lost muscle tone over the holiday break. Perhaps I'll post them. Just for shits and giggles.
Ugh. I have so much to write, and yet here I am, sitting in bed, feeling guilty about not being sociable. We're still at the friends' house. Last night's celebration was a blast, indeed, as I had decided prior to coming over that I'd give myself this LAST day to have whatever I wanted. I wanted to try and eat and drink and be merry with everyone else. Maybe try to remind myself of what everyone else feels on an occasion like this.
*sigh...* I'm not everyone else.
I ate and drank to my heart's content. Then...Binge time. Eating what you'd like is one thing... sneaking upstairs multiple times while everyone else is still down playing Rock Band so that I can eat and eat and eat and eat more and more until my stomach literally feels like it's going to reject anything else I attempt to swallow. Eating what I like...having some appetizers and a brownie and some wine or liquor or beer and champagne like everyone else...
Letting my ED take over... Different story. I ate until it hurt. Then I ate more. Then I drank more. And I didn't purge.
I woke up this morning, dehydrated and fatigued and dizzy. My abdomen was swollen, and as I stood up, my heart pounded hard in my chest. My pulse skyrocketed. I imagined my bloated body putting such a strain on my heart that it couldn't keep up with digesting the spoils of the night prior AND keeping me upright.
My poor babe...He outdrank himself last night. Beat his own record... at least any he's set for as long as we've been together. Spent the night on the bathroom floor, after his friend and I spent a few hours consoling him through the vomiting. Ha. Is it completely wrong that, as I sat there stroking his back and listening to him puke up nearly a liter of Long Island Iced Teas, I thought multiple times of how I'd love nothing more than to be able to purge as *quietly* as he throws up? Barely a sound out of that guy, I swear. Not fair. :P I'm terrible.
I'm sorry if this has been somewhat incoherent or rambling...incongruous, even. I'm a bit out of sorts. Yes, even more so than usual.
So. Where do we go from here? Have to pick up the pieces and push on. You only fail when you refuse to get up, right?
Since this morning's fail breakfast (I won't even go into it...Crepes? Peanut butter? Syrup? Let's leave it there) of about 700 calories, I haven't eaten. I don't plan on eating anything else for the rest of the day. I know it doesn't necessarily "balance" out, but the thought of putting any more food into my body is nearly enough to make me sick.
As the day of our departure to go back home draws nearer and nearer, I find myself both relieved and excited to get back to my beloved gym and daily exercise routine...and of course, slightly disappointed that I'll have more than likely merely maintained my weight since we left nearly three weeks ago. God, it would have been so good to have gotten down to the 120s by the time I got home. Shit, who knows? With my resolution to do away with binges ENTIRELY, maybe I'll be able to turn this around and come out on the other side of 130. That would be...wonderful.
Ah, I've just realized that I'm probably boring half of you to tears. I'm sorry. I just had to take this opportunity to write, as my daughter is mostly entertained by the kids here and I actually have a few moments to myself and my thoughts...Dangerous, I know.
I've done quite a bit of blog fishing today, and managed to pick up some nice ones to follow for the new year. I know, the list of the blogs I follow is growing immensely, but I promise, I do find time to read them all at some point or another. It's just so nice to know that I'm not completely alone in my lunacy, my obsession.
Thank you all, and happy new year. <3
I've been trying to write this post for a while. It's 2:31 PM on the first day of the first month of the first year of a new decade.
Talk about your time for fresh starts, huh?
Last night was an absolute abomination. I truly don't want to even begin trying to count the calories in last night's binge. Suffice to say... well, I've been seeing quite a bit more of Mia lately than my good friend/worst enemy, Ana. I don't know where she's been lately, that Ana. It's like she's decided to go ahead and take her holiday break right along with everyone else. She's probably off chillin' in Cancun *right* now, gracing the sunny beaches full of skinny bodies with her glowing presence. She knows I don't deserve her attention right now. Oh Ana, please...Please don't give up on me. I honestly am so, so sorry.
The problem is this (and I'm positive that my words will fail me here, as they have been apt to do as of late for some ungodly reason...I hate it):
Yesterday, I had one of the *THE* worst days I've ever had in terms of depression and self-loathing. It was horrible. Suicidal thoughts, anyone? No, I suppose not technically suicidal, if I'm not contemplating actually offing myself. Just imagining how much better life would be if I didn't have to live it anymore.
I should have blogged about it yesterday. The level of pure, unadulterated self-hatred was astounding. And the resulting madness was pretty impressive in its own right. I am my own undoing nearly every single time I come undone; this I know. My introspection goes too deep and suddenly I'm analyzing my every thought and emotion like it's my job. Too bad I don't get paid like my doctors and therapists do (when they could never do it like me).
"I'm just so sick and tired of feeling like shit ALL the time. I hate hating myself this much. I am literally *THIS* close to seeking help for this, finally... I just want to feel normal...I can't stand despising the woman I see in the mirror EVERY...SINGLE...MOMENT...of every hour, every day..." That was me yesterday. That's not even the half of it. Words don't work...ya know?
I know what it is to be happy...I do...just NEVER about myself. I can be happy when my daughter throws her skinny little arms around my neck in the purest embrace and whispers that she loves me...I'm the happiest when her smile is the direct result of something little I did, just for her. I know happiness when I consider how incredibly lucky I am to have such an amazing man in my life, and that I am the only object of his love and devotion is something for which I will FOREVER be grateful. When my cold nose finds warmth in the smooth place on his neck behind his ear...I am *HAPPY*...So happy.
When I look in the mirror and see...god...all that I see... My eyes search for some kind of something, any indication that I'm smaller, that I'm making progress, that the binge from the previous day hasn't completely wrecked the tiny castle of hope and thin that I've been building for so long...All I see is hatred for the disgusting failure of a human body I inhabit. The bulging fat beneath flawed skin, stretch marks deep and purple where my flesh had to expand to hold that tiny miracle I love every day...Cellulite that's been there for years, mostly due to heredity... God, the fat... The deafening absence of thin. I choke up, my throat closes to pull hot tears back and away from my eyes. I can't cry. Not when I'm at home. Not when someone might see and wonder and inquire, because then I'd have to lie, and I'm a horrible liar.
I hate seeing the jiggling masses of my thighs when I walk, when I step. I raise my arms above my head and fold my elbows across my face, hiding my eyes. Hiding the mirror from my eyes. Beautiful eyes, everyone always used to say. Blue. What's so great about blue? Perhaps the color does distract you for just a moment from all of the ugliness that surrounds them...They have their merit.
As my arms pull up, I see them. The ribs...they're there. They exist. Imagine that. They're beautiful and pure and yet dull, now, as I've put on at least a few pounds of fat (I know it must be...I just know it). That scale is so unreliable. I can't trust it. Perhaps my reckless bingeing as of late is somehow related to the fact that I feel that I'm growing so much fatter anyway...may as well shove some more food down there to hurry the process so I can feel something, anything...even if it's more disgust, more hatred.
I took some pictures yesterday, as I was contemplating the fact that I've probably simply gained fat and lost muscle tone over the holiday break. Perhaps I'll post them. Just for shits and giggles.
Ugh. I have so much to write, and yet here I am, sitting in bed, feeling guilty about not being sociable. We're still at the friends' house. Last night's celebration was a blast, indeed, as I had decided prior to coming over that I'd give myself this LAST day to have whatever I wanted. I wanted to try and eat and drink and be merry with everyone else. Maybe try to remind myself of what everyone else feels on an occasion like this.
*sigh...* I'm not everyone else.
I ate and drank to my heart's content. Then...Binge time. Eating what you'd like is one thing... sneaking upstairs multiple times while everyone else is still down playing Rock Band so that I can eat and eat and eat and eat more and more until my stomach literally feels like it's going to reject anything else I attempt to swallow. Eating what I like...having some appetizers and a brownie and some wine or liquor or beer and champagne like everyone else...
Letting my ED take over... Different story. I ate until it hurt. Then I ate more. Then I drank more. And I didn't purge.
I woke up this morning, dehydrated and fatigued and dizzy. My abdomen was swollen, and as I stood up, my heart pounded hard in my chest. My pulse skyrocketed. I imagined my bloated body putting such a strain on my heart that it couldn't keep up with digesting the spoils of the night prior AND keeping me upright.
My poor babe...He outdrank himself last night. Beat his own record... at least any he's set for as long as we've been together. Spent the night on the bathroom floor, after his friend and I spent a few hours consoling him through the vomiting. Ha. Is it completely wrong that, as I sat there stroking his back and listening to him puke up nearly a liter of Long Island Iced Teas, I thought multiple times of how I'd love nothing more than to be able to purge as *quietly* as he throws up? Barely a sound out of that guy, I swear. Not fair. :P I'm terrible.
I'm sorry if this has been somewhat incoherent or rambling...incongruous, even. I'm a bit out of sorts. Yes, even more so than usual.
So. Where do we go from here? Have to pick up the pieces and push on. You only fail when you refuse to get up, right?
Since this morning's fail breakfast (I won't even go into it...Crepes? Peanut butter? Syrup? Let's leave it there) of about 700 calories, I haven't eaten. I don't plan on eating anything else for the rest of the day. I know it doesn't necessarily "balance" out, but the thought of putting any more food into my body is nearly enough to make me sick.
As the day of our departure to go back home draws nearer and nearer, I find myself both relieved and excited to get back to my beloved gym and daily exercise routine...and of course, slightly disappointed that I'll have more than likely merely maintained my weight since we left nearly three weeks ago. God, it would have been so good to have gotten down to the 120s by the time I got home. Shit, who knows? With my resolution to do away with binges ENTIRELY, maybe I'll be able to turn this around and come out on the other side of 130. That would be...wonderful.
Ah, I've just realized that I'm probably boring half of you to tears. I'm sorry. I just had to take this opportunity to write, as my daughter is mostly entertained by the kids here and I actually have a few moments to myself and my thoughts...Dangerous, I know.
I've done quite a bit of blog fishing today, and managed to pick up some nice ones to follow for the new year. I know, the list of the blogs I follow is growing immensely, but I promise, I do find time to read them all at some point or another. It's just so nice to know that I'm not completely alone in my lunacy, my obsession.
Thank you all, and happy new year. <3
Saturday, October 24, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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.
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