Archive for May, 2009
May 13th, 2009 | Author: trancejen
I’m feeling marginally better today, perhaps because the foul weather is echoing my foul mood.
I love a little commiseration, don’t you?
Half Baked divx Today’s been hard, though. Bullshit is… upset, understandably so, in the manner in which one becomes upset when one finds out one’s S.O. is, well, living a lie.
I wish I knew what to say to him.
I don’t, though, other than that policing me and sending me e-mails about the four food groups, is, well, not going to work.
If it did, my father would have drilled bulimia out of me a long, long time ago.
I ate today. I also kept some food down, despite every bone in my body screaming to GET RID OF IT. I didn’t pass out, I didn’t have too bad of a headache.
Firestorm: Last Stand at Yellowstone dvdrip
I just feel sort of lost, really. Sort of lost and confused and curious as to whether my meds have failed to work or whether I’ve failed my meds.
I know there is no medication that can stop this, but damn, doesn’t it seem like there should be? If they can medicate the hyperactive and the depressed and the bipolar, can’t they medicate the eating disordered?
I don’t know.
I’m on the fence about talking to my mother about what’s been going on. Part of me wants to just get it out of the way and ‘fess up, but a bigger part of me knows that she will be vehemently pissed off.
I don’t feel like hearing it, frankly. Especially from the perennial size four.
It irritates me when people say things like, “You just need to eat three sensible meals per day,” because, well, DUH. I know this. I know the best way to eat. I have books upon books upon books about nutrition and proper diet and whatwhenwherewhyhow I should eat.
My brain just doesn’t work that way. My body just doesn’t work that way. I eat this type of solid, substantial food and immediately freak the hell out, and no amount of screaming “BUT IT’S THE RIGHT THING TO DO!” can quash this.
I can survive well by eating a limited number of “safe” foods – I think that every eating disordered person has these – and mine are cereal, granola bars, and fruit.
It’s really not an entirely bad way to go. I take vitamin supplements up the yin-yang anyway. I get a little anemic, but that’s par for the course.
I suppose I’m going to have to just play it safe for now, because anything outside of my realm of safe foods is a big NO.
It’s probably not the healthiest, but then neither is what I’ve been doing.
I just wish I didn’t feel so damned tired of trying. I feel exhausted, partially from the lack of nutrition and partially from this endless vicious cycle.
I’m going to start looking for some sort of online work, because I think it would be supremely helpful in terms of getting my head out of the toilet and my mind off of the size of my ass.
Plus, it’s all about control. I suppose that if I had some sort of control over my own life, then I would feel less of a need to control everything that goes into and comes out of my body.
I’m sick of feeling out of control.
I don’t know. I’m babbling, really.
I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin, and really, that doesn’t seem like a lot to ask. It feels like this should be a given, but it never has been.
I just want to be able to look in the mirror and feel proud of what I see and who I am, and that hasn’t been the case in so fucking long.
The body issues are just a small offshoot of a serious lack of self-esteem.
So, I’m trying to get happy. I’m trying to get healthy.
I have no other news.
Happy Wednesday.
May 12th, 2009 | Author: trancejen
I’m spending a lot of time lately trying to pretend I’m not obsessing, that my days have not been filled with what am I going to eat and am I going to eat it and am I going to puke and when, and how, and why am I going to puke and what did I just eat and how many calories did it have and did I take an Alli or three and can I really survive on just Diet Coke and how do I work out with this hunger headache and why am I getting starvation migraine after starvation migraine after starvation migraine when surely I’m not starving because I’m fat, and surely this is OK, living like this, because I’m FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT.
It’s exhausting, I won’t tell you any differently. It’s exhausting, my sleep patterns are all fucked up, and it’s wearing on my sanity.
I’ve been dealing with this for twenty-five years, and it seems to get harder every year. It was hard at ten, it became impossible at skinny sixteen, it was unendurable at fat, post-pregnant twenty-five; and now, at thirty-five, it just makes me fucking tired.
Really, you have no idea how tired I am. I want an ocean of sleep. I want to sleep until my child is OLD, old enough to no longer be outside of the bathroom door, saying, “Did you just throw up?”
I joke about having the swine flu, about no longer being able to handle eating meat, about migraines making my food come back up, about all sorts of macabre things, because I am in there throwing up at least five times per day. I puke and joke, joke and puke. My family laughs and worries, worries and laughs.
I dream about taking ipecac until I throw up all this weight, until I throw up my soul. I certainly feel like I’m throwing up my soul.
It’s sick.
I am passing out several times per day, and I tell myself that this is all because of my low blood pressure, that I am eating carpet and falling down stairs because of a blood pressure Thing, but I know why. I know why I am losing consciousness and it’s because I am not eating, because I am puking, because I am so fucking desperately sick.
I don’t know what to do.
Truthfully I have no desire to go back to therapy and listen to a thin woman tell my fat self that I need to eat, because the overwhelming desire to throw something heavy at said woman’s head will override whatever small scrap of sanity resides in my head.
I feel like I’m imploding, and my head aches.
Today was a good day, relatively speaking. I ate a bagel and some fruit and worked out for an hour and did not throw up, and every moment that I don’t throw up is fast becoming a start to a GREAT fucking day. Still, I am sitting here sucking down Diet Coke after Diet Coke and holding my aching head and wondering what, if anything, I will eat next. And it’s slowly occuring to me that my entire life is governed by my stomach, by that fat fucking traitor of a stomach who would like nothing more than to eat everything in this house, in this city, in this WORLD; and vomit it all up in a long stream of viscous food and pills and people and trees and misbegotten hopes and dreams.
I have no idea where I’m going with this. I don’t even feel like my brain is working correctly at this point.
I am so sick of this house, of looking at this house and even at the people in it. I am sick of lying to my son. I am sick of lying to my mother. I am sick of being stagnant and sick and twisted.
I wish, as I have wished many times, that this place was a food-less oasis that was pure and white and clean, and that a pill would miraculously appear that would serve all of my dietary needs, and that I could take said pill and never have to worry about food or anything even remotely resembling food ever again.
I wish, as I have wished every day for many years, that I could unzip this body and step gently out of it, leaving the fat suit on the floor as I ran my hands lovingly down and around my bones.
I wish I could stop thinking about my body.
I wish I could sit in a chair and not constantly and consistently stare down at my thighs.
I wish I could look in a mirror and not want to physically rip the flesh from my face.
I wish I had something to do that made all of this go away, but there is nothing but this empty, haunted house.
In this house I sit, a fleshy crone, and smoke and smoke and drink caffeine and twitch, and sometimes I cry.
It’s pathetic.
I don’t see the solution, here. I don’t see myself suddenly becoming happy crappy healthy, but I don’t see how I can hide from it all any longer, either.
I don’t see how it ever will go away.
I don’t know.
For now I’m just trying to keep my head out of the toilet.
And for now I’m wishing I could just un-say everything I’ve just said. I won’t, though.
It needed to be said.
May 12th, 2009 | Author: trancejen
I’m coming off of a three-day puking migraine.
I didn’t even believe it was possible to have a headache for that long, but once again Fuckbrain has proved that I can do ANYTHING! Yay, me.
As you might have guessed, I smoked. A lot. I’m planning to quit again this week, once I feel human.
And I know, I suck.
The Chicago Autism awareness walk is this weekend, and so far this page has raised a hundred and five dollars? Have I told you all how much you rock? Because you do.
It’s not too late to donate, so if you’re feeling generous the link is right here.
dark reprieve movie download And I thank you. Much.
Happy Tuesday.
May 1st, 2009 | Author: trancejen
Aaand I’m not smoking. Aaaand, it’s been thirty-eight hours now. Aaaand, I am definitely counting the hours. Aaaand, I’m hyper.
Aaaand, I don’t know why I’m spelling “and” with all the As. No fucking clue.
I’m not doing too badly, actually. I’ve discovered that without cigarettes, I don’t enjoy black coffee quite so much, which has been an interesting revelation.
I’ve also discovered that I’m hyper. I’m really hyperactive. I can’t sit still. I can’t read. I can’t watch TV. I can hardly use the computer. It’s odd.
So far, so good. I need to find little busy activities to keep me sane, but other than that I feel I am trucking in the right direction.
More updates soon, to be sure.
Happy Friday.
