Lately, death doesn't sound so hot

Thank god for a break in the freaking storm. Suicide was on my mind daily, geezus. It's such a frightening place in mind in which to dwell. Here's what I did right:

• sought help from non-ED professionals
• let my closest friends know I was in trouble w/o getting specific
• reached out to the beautiful survivors of EDs on the internets
• kept my shrink appointments
• told the truth about my state of mind to said shrink
• did enough therapy to begin to get through the ED "flare up"
• DID NOT and WILL NOT GIVE UP

Image by Vincepal via Flickr

So what if my weight is dropping a little bit...

I Heart Denial

Image by Gingertail via Flickr

Sometimes, I want to sink in to my denial about having an eating disorder. Currently, that's where I am. My weight is holding at 92 which I'm terribly ambivalent about, bordering on the ridiculous. I feel muscular, but weak, except after coffee of course.

I am eating. I'd say about 900-1000 calories a day. Eating and digesting at times, but barfing my guts out once every other day or so. I just don't want to think about it. I don't want to be my fucking eating disorder.

I miss my life! I miss my friends. I miss having a lover, but I can't deal with guys if I'm not in denial about eating disorder crap. I want my secret to be, to stay my secret. I can't very well barf or go hungry with a doting dude around. Conundrum.

I have stopped taking ativan at night. So long depression! That stuff made me a spaced out, loser. I swear. Xanax has no residual effects on me like the ativan does. No mas!

I'll see my shrink in a few days.I'm going to ask for a wellbutrin, adderall or ritalin combo. I've taken ritalin before and the wellbutrin, meh, I'll try.

I've found some work! Big yay! And it should get me through the end of the year. Thank goodness because I haven't seen shit from sperm donor ex-huzz. 

I'm digging my way out and it requires a great amount of denial to do so. :)

Related articles

• Eating Disorders: To Confront or Not? (psychologytoday.com)
• When Thin Is Not In (lockergnome.com)
• Dr. Susan Albers: Eating Disorder Reality TV? (huffingtonpost.com)

Many Americans Caught In Cycle Of Stress And Unhealthy Ways To Manage It

Many Americans Caught In Cycle Of Stress And Unhealthy Ways To Manage It

is this the bottom?

I'd really like to know what the actual bottom is. I have $5, five fucking dollars. Thank god I own my home and have a decent payment record for utilities; otherwise, I'd be in a homeless shelter with my kids. I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't living it.  People don't grow up playing golf at the country club and end up like this, unless you're me.

And the middle class...they hate people who are living in poverty, like me.Not because we're lesser than, but because we remind them how close they really are to being in the same situation.

What's this have to do with an eating disorder? Who cares...

Image via Wikipedia

diagnonsense flashback, interrupted

A few hours ago, I watched Girl, Interrupted. Of course I'd seen it before, but it had been years.

(She gets speed and xanax out of her striped should-be-cosmetic-case-but-is-a-pill-vault, looks at them for a moment and swallows 'em down with a swig diet pepsi.)

I'm not sure why I wanted to watch it; to be comforted perhaps or, I really don't know. I don't think I intended to stir up my innards as much as I did, but my 'crazy' has been on my mind non-stop. My 'crazy' and medicating said crazy are in the forefront of my thoughts.

(She closes her eyes and listens to the hum in her head and pulls the blanket tighter resenting the fact that it's 74 degrees F in the house and she's freezing.)

Image by onkel_wart via FlickrAs a teenager, I got used to being locked up. I spent time being locked up when I was 14, 15, 16 and 17. Surprisingly, the first time I was hospitalized, I hadn't really done anything. I mean, I had tried to OD earlier that year, but my parents didn't know about that. No one knew about that...except my boyfriend. I was an honors student; a dancer; an invited-to-the-seniors-parties, popular ex-cheerleader; a pretty girl with brains, talent and a bright future.

(She puts the weight of her head in her left hand, pausing to capture the thoughts as they fly past in images and starts thinking about how hungry she is.)

Those years of my life when I was held captive, forced into powerlessness and driven mad are something I like to avoid thinking about; yet, the lasting impression made by that first, long term, unjustified hospitalization is like an ever-present undertow pulling at both my conscious and subconscious thoughts.

(She hides her head in her hands, presses on her eyes and wishes herself to vanish.)

I can't make it make sense. I can't explain how I got from there to here. And I don't understand why my psyche doc doesn't think I'm insane. I'm fucking crazy. Sane people don't hurt themselves. Sane people don't think about suicide day after day. Sane people leave their homes when they want to. Sane people don't have food and weight phobias making the rules that make up the moments of the day.

(She lets out a long sigh.)

The eating disorder patients had to come to our wing when theirs was getting repainted. There were three of them. To me they seemed sophisticated, mature and in control; they were bored, old moneyed girls. With fascination I'd listen to them talk at night about weight, about calories, about throwing up, about exercise. Then, after a couple of days, they returned to their wing.

Inspired, I decided that I wanted what they had. I wanted a problem; anything would have been better than having a psychotic mother who hated me and just wanted me gone. How could I explain that to anyone? No way. The kids there, they had stuff like scizhophrenia, rage disorders, criminal histories, major depression. They took meds, smoked cigarettes, swore and talked about sex. I was out of my element, but I was a quick study.

(She gets up to stretch her legs, sweeps over her surroundings with a judgmental eye and crouches back down tucking her legs beneath her.)

I don't want to think about this anymore. Enough already. Fucking stupid movie stuck me in the past. It's a trigger. Girl, Interrupted is nothing but a god damn trigger.

U.S. Marshals Seize FDA-Regulated Food Stored At Rodent-Infested Warehouse In Georgia

U.S. Marshals Seize FDA-Regulated Food Stored At Rodent-Infested Warehouse In Georgia: "U.S. Marshals, acting under a court order sought by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, today seized an estimated $700,000 worth of rice and other packaged food products from a rodent-infested warehouse in East Point, Ga. The FDA-regulated food products were stored in a warehouse operated by Sun Hong Kai Holding Inc., which does business as United Food Service. The U.S. District Court for the Northern District of Georgia issued a warrant for the seizure of all FDA-regulated food stored in the warehouse in permeable containers..."

Things like this are why my dysphagia gets so bad. Often, I can't get the thought of rat turds ground into flour and rice products out of my head. Processed food is so nasty. Even raw foods can be so nasty when you think about the manure and whatever fertilizers are used to grow them. My food issues seem never ending. No wonder I have to be zonked on benzos and half asleep in the middle of the night in order to get any food down my gullet.

Emotion Processing In The Brain Is Influenced By The Color Of Ambient Light

Emotion Processing In The Brain Is Influenced By The Color Of Ambient Light: "Researchers at the Cyclotron Research Centre (University of Liege), Geneva Center for Neuroscience and Swiss Center for Affective Sciences (University of Geneva), and Surrey Sleep Research Centre (University of Surrey) investigated the immediate effect of light, and of its color composition, on emotion brain processing using functional magnetic resonance imaging. The results of their study show that the colour of light influences the way the brain processes emotional stimuli. We are all aware that a bright day may lift our mood...

"

self made prisoner...in solitary

Image by Werner Kunz (werkunz1) via Flickr
About a week ago, I had this glimpse of positivity. Let me get to the point because I'm depressed today and don't feel like moving; however, I have moved to do the exercises that I'm compelled to do. Though earlier I cheated myself of forty minutes of cardio by only doing eighty minutes.

Right. The point. I can't make a phone call. Right now, in this moment I really want to return a call I missed this afternoon and say yes to a date this weekend with my favorite crush. (I always have fun with him. He's safe.)

I can't call though. I can't have a normal conversation presently. From denying myself nutrition and fluids today, I'm so spaced out. My stomach knots and twists. Even thinking of putting something in my bod nauseates me. I can't.

If I could, I'd tell him that of course I want to go out with him; I'd tell him how much I miss seeing him; and that I really need support and care while I keep trying to get back to level ground. I'd thank him for not giving up on me, but that it's an impossible situation.

For me to allow someone to care about me, as in boyfriend, lover, whatever, would be so selfish and irresponsible. I mean, come on. How huge of an asshole would I be if I invited someone into this mess? It would be different if I were well-ish, but I'm self destructing here. 

And I'm keeping myself locked up tight.

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Behavioral Economics And School Nutrition

Behavioral Economics And School Nutrition: "Don't ban it, move it. This is one conclusion of a new Cornell University study. In one set of schools, sales of fruit increased by 100% when it was moved to a colorful bowl. Salad bar sales tripled when the cart was placed in front of cash registers. These findings presented at the School Nutrition Association's New York conference, underscore the easiest way to lunchroom choices is to make an apple more convenient, cool, and visible than a cookie..."

lyric love: tool - flood

These are some of my favorite lyrics right now, but I've always loved this song. Singing it helps me get out of the tree when I need to climb back down to my roots.


TOOL - Flood
water...
All I knew. all I believe.
Crumbling images no longer comfort me.
Scramble to reach higher ground.
Order and sanity something to comfort me.

Take what is mine. horde what is mine.
Suffocate what is mine. bury what’s mine.
Soon the water will come and claim what is mine.
I must leave it behind and climb to a new place now.

This ground is not the rock I thought it would be.

Thought I was high. thought I was free.
That I was there. divine destiny.
I was wrong. this changes everything.

Running away, got me running away.
Now I’m running away.
I will take what is mine. horde what is mine.
Suffocate what is mine. bury what’s mine.
Soon the water will come and claim what is mine.
I must leave it behind and climb to a new place.

Water rising up on me.
Said that water rising up on me.
Thought the sun would come deliver me.
But the truth has come to punish me instead.

Die..
Ground break down right under me.
Cleanse and purge me in the water.

The Mathematical Way To Fuel Up For 26.2 Miles

The Mathematical Way To Fuel Up For 26.2 Miles: "After 'hitting the wall' in the New York Marathon, Benjamin Rapoport, an MD/PhD student in the Harvard-MIT Division of Health Sciences and Technology, decided to take a rigorous approach to calculating how fast any runner can reasonably hope to run a marathon, and just how much carbohydrate individual runners need to fuel their 26.2-mile races. The result is a new model, published October 21 in the open-access journal PLoS Computational Biology, which allows any runner to calculate those targets using an estimate of his or her aerobic capacity...

"

Research Links Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder To Common Childhood Illness

Research Links Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder To Common Childhood Illness

crazy fo life

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Yesterday, I saw my shrink. He is so cute by the way. Usually, I won't see a male doc, but this dude is alright. And cute. Man cute, not boyish. Sigh. Anyway, we're talking about whatever and I ask him if I'm a bonafide nutcase, not necessarily in those terms. 

Image by Zero1o1 via Flickr He knows my history, knows about my eating disorder, knows about the anxiety, attention problems, lack of focus, paranoia, confusion, insomnia; I've been honest with him. So I put it out there, my biggest fear, that of being certifiably insane for life. I asked about a diagnosis and whether or not he thought I should apply for SSI.

He smiled. He fucking smiled and he said, 'Dude, (He didn't really call me dude, but...) dude, you're not insane. The symptoms you're having are a result of tremendous and continuous stress. So, no. You're not whacked in the head and not stuck like this for the rest of your life.' (Uh, he didn't really say it like that, but you get it.)

Talk about a shift in self perception. I'd been so afraid to ask, as though I were about to open one of those PETA friendly rat traps and let loose a nasty little beast.  Secretly, I wish I could be bonafide nutso. Then, I'd be let off the hook! I wouldn't be held accountable for nearly as much as I am now. So, in a way, I'm like, 'SHIT! Now what?'

I should probably...wait for it...lose a couple pounds. It's a brilliant idea. o_O Rather than come up with a plan to get my shit together, I will become strategist numero uno in weight loss. Here's the thing:  the results of my blood tests are beautiful. Taking vitamins and supplements regularly has totally paid off. For the first time, I'm neither anemic nor am I B12 deficient. I'm not deficient in anything.

News like this only encourages me. I don't have to put any weight on, even though I'm considered to be at an anorexic weight; I'm perfectly healthy. If I can be this healthy with a 16.2? .4? .6?, whatever it is right now, then I can be healthy at a lower BMI. My body likes it. My body can take it. So, I'm not afraid to go below 90 pounds now. I have a goal.

And he said I'm not insane. ... How can that be?  

______________________________

Related articles

• THE SCALE: Friend or Foe? (psychologytoday.com)
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a moment of respite

I'm going to run with this little vibe o'positivity I have going on. Loathe as I am to admit it, I think part of the contentedness comes from having 36 straight hours of no children. Cleaning my house makes me feel good, too.

And singing.
And dancing.
And accepting who I am for a few minutes.
I feel like a minor fat ass at 92.5 pounds this a.m. but that's ok. After the week I had, I was quietly hoping to have made the drop below 90. (I want it/I don't want it) It's ok though, my distraction. I know my crazy by now.

Oh my gosh, I just realized that I don't feel physically weak. YES!

it's been a 3500 calorie...week

I'm feeling quite out of it actually; as in I'm conflicted constantly. While I enjoy the ride, the emptiness, the disconnect from my physical needs, I know it's not good for body or mind. Like duh, you know? I freaking know how much I'm hurting my self. 

I keep forgetting what I'm doing from moment to moment. ADHD? A little, sure, but my brain can't function. This is like a drug. Hunger brings the same oblivion, the same peacefulness or satiation as a beautiful high. I'm sorry. I have to say it because it's true; however, pot, lsd, shrooms and such are so much safer than an eating disorder.

At the moment, I'm trying to decide what or if to eat. It's in this indecision that I linger, like being in a hot bath on a cold day. And this is a pretty fucking cold day, metaphorically speaking.

Gisele Bundchen - doing what women do

In this article below about the lovely Gisele Bundchen, the focus is on her weight. HER WEIGHT! Never mind the fact that she gave birth to a healthy baby, never mind that she chose to have a natural, water birth at home, never mind the fact that she's choosing to breastfeed her child.
Are these not the issues that should be the focus of the article, the headline events? I guess not; not when she's looking slimmer. What the fuck?

I sincerely hope that women and girls who read the article are able to see the bigger picture, for here is a healthy woman making the best choices possible for herself and her child. In so doing she's expanded her self worth and her ability to love deeply. Empowerment, positive body image and confidence are some of the side effects of such competent decision making. Congratulations, Ms. Bundchen, and may other women be inspired by your example.

How does she do it? Gisele Bundchen looks slimmer than ever just ten months after giving birth

By Daily Mail Reporter
Last updated at 4:58 PM on 11th October 2010

• Comments (76)
• Add to My Stories

Most women are happy if they lose even half their baby weight ten months after giving birth.
But Gisele Bundchen looked as if she didn't even gain a pound during her pregnancy, let alone lose it quickly.
The 30-year-old looked impossibly slender and toned as she hit the beach yesterday in Miami, holding little baby Benjamin in her arms.

The yummiest of mummies: Gisele Bundchen looks thin and toned in Miami yesterday, just ten months after giving birth

And in a tiny bikini that showed off her enviable figure, it was clear there wasn't an inch of baby weight on the new mother.

More...

• Supermodel Gisele Bundchen claims son Benjamin's birth 'didn't hurt in the slightest'
• Gisele Bundchen takes a walk on the wild side in leopard print jacket and hotpants
• The airport is a catwalk: Gisele Bundchen arrives in Miami with baby Benjamin

But then Gisele's version of being pregnant and giving birth is slightly different from everyone else's.
Four months after she had Benjamin, the model opened up about the eight-hour birth, saying it 'didn't hurt in the slightest'.

Supermodel mother: Gisele says giving birth to Benjamin was painless and easy

Opting out of going to a hospital, she gave birth in her bath at home in Boston with her mother, husband Tom Brady and a midwife by her side.
And she insisted on no pain medication for the experience.
She said: 'My delivery was in a bath tub, in water. I wanted to have a home birth.
'I wanted to be very aware and present during the birth... I didn't want to be drugged up.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1319589/Gisele-Bundchen-looks-slimmer-just-months-giving-birth.html#ixzz12LhQXXZL

picking up a piece or two

The very least I can do today is get my children where they need to go. No more "sick" mama for me. My pseudo-vacation of illness has come to an end. On the menu for today:

• proctoring my son's exams 
• orthodontist appointments for both children 
• library, library, library 
• bill paying online ($15 here, $15 there) 
• responsible people correspondence re:  responsible people stuff 
• kung fu lessons for male child 
• grocery store for pad thai ingredients (what my female spawn has wanted to make for days) 
• of course, my little family unit will walk for all of the errands 
• then, home to work out

By the way, single mother's are the most shat upon members of our society. People assume the worst about single moms. How nice to be one and be somewhat oblivious to the condemnation and criticism.

not doing so well, The Bridge

Image by doug88888 via Flickr
I finally stopped pissing out my ass. Thanks to some bit of common sense smacking me upside the head, I put the stupid laxatives away. I have no clue how many years those had been in my cupboard. Now I'm trying to get fluids in, but I'm miserable.

I hate my life. I want to vanish. I find myself thinking about just what would happen to my children if I jumped ship. There is a big possibility that they'd be better off without me. My influence at this point can't be good. I just want to be nutz and alone. I'd be content with a Layne Staley-esque death. Just forget I'm here, let me wither and check out my house when it starts to smell like rotting flesh.

Is that so much to ask? For anyone who wonders about suicide, I suggest watching a film called, The Bridge. It'll put suicide into perspective for you. People shouldn't be forced to stay alive just because you want them to. We should have a choice, alternatives. For some people, life is that painful and agonizing.

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it's my birthday

It's my 39th. And so far all I've done is punish myself for existing in the first place, as though it's my fault. I haven't answered the phone all day. My daughter missed her bus. My son is missing his class tonight. I've foregone all responsibilities today.

Last night at midnight, in a symbolic fuck you to myself, I took a small handful of laxies. I never take them. As a teenager I abused them so badly that when I do take them it is an excruciating experience. It feels like my stomach is going to burn a hole through my skin.

I'm fucking sick...in the head and otherwise. For the first time today, I'm sitting up in bed and I'm going to take a few benzos to make sure I don't stay up too long.

 

I'm not suicidal, I just wish I were dead.

counting & wishing on 10.10.10

Image by Christi Nielsen via Flickr

It's 9:20 in the morning and I already hate this day. The evidence shows that I had another zombie binge. Dang and blast cereal and soy milk. Surely it could have been worse though. I could have had something high fat or ... WHO CARES!

The assumption that I'm a flipping retard should be freely made by all. What I weigh doesn't matter. I'm already a skinny bitch. Why must I carry this need to be the skinniest bitch.Even though I am, in most social situations. (Let's pretend for a moment that I have an active social life.) I'm always afraid that there will be someone smaller or in better shape than me. Why is that part of this illness? It's annoying.

So is counting. Counting. Counting. Counting. And having to exercise >12 hours a week. And being afraid to eat anything. And getting so hungry that my benzo'd out sleeping self gets out of bed to eat. And having to take time to fucking puke when I feel full/fat. GAH!

  

I WANT ONE DAY OF NORMALCY. ONE DAY THAT MY THOUGHTS AREN'T POLLUTED WITH THIS INSANE, IRRELEVANT CRAP. I DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT MY BMI, so why does it mean everything to me?

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zero focus

Why do I feel like such a loser every time I put food in this body? And what is really going on with me? My ability to deny myself access to my actual reality is astounding. Seriously, I should be working in Hollywood. Those people are equally delusional...more delusional.

I feel bad for the aging stars, ie Jen Aniston & co, Madonna, Brad Pitt (face lift anyone?), Horse-face Lady...what's her name...sex in the city chick...Matthew Broderick's wife...oh well, and the list goes on forever. The over 35ers in Hollywood have become pretty pathetic. If I see an ad for one more rom/com starring any of these haggard, used to be-s I'm going to scream.

Because as you can see, these are the things I really need to be thinking about today. I have a problem though; I can't freaking focus. I'm all over the place. ADHD. It's got to be. Then, I have visions of bottles of Adderall. Yum...and the food I ate earlier. Yuk...and I think about working out...my son's birthday get together...my upcoming birthday...

Image by (davide) via Flickr

I didn't want to be anything anyway. You know; birthday; assess your life; make goals; imbibe. I used to think I'd be a dancer first, but that I'd go to college - of course. What girl growing up in the 70s-80s didn't think she'd go to college? I planned on being an attorney and an obstetrician.

Dammit though. I'm a reader. Yes, I read. Lots. So, in high school I started digging into history, the US justice system, the AMA, insurance companies, women's history. I began to explore the world, through books. It didn't take more than a year to shatter every illusion I'd had about life in the US. So yeah, I didn't want "to be" anything anyway.

SEE? I'm. All. Over. The place.

feels like dirty poison

Image by Garry - www.visionandimagination.com via Flickr
I really want to shrivel up and vanish today. Yesterday was a successful failure. I managed to eat 450 calories though my goal was to eat more than that. Today, I awoke before the dawn because I didn't exactly sleep. I was determined to eat and groggy enough to do it.

I ate a pear, some crunchy peanut butter and mini pretzels. Ever since I did that, I've felt like total crap. Over and over I panic thinking that there were so many more calories in what I ate. I wish I could turn my guts inside out and hose everything down. The sense of doom I feel may be something like a person would feel knowing that they'd been poisoned.

How I long for sleep, for an escape, a break. Insanity is exhausting.

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turn and walk away

With a body full of adrenaline and panic, I face this day. Quite honestly, I'd rather not exist. I'm suppose to go to therapy this afternoon. Usually, I go...usually, except last week. I ditched.

The last time I went to therapy I told my talk-to-dude that we'd reached a rubicon.  At least I had. I'm at the part with him where he knows enough about my shit to make a judgement about me, so I assume that he will come to the same conclusion that I've come to:  I'm evil and bad. Rotten. Damaged. Disposable. So, I told him all of this and I haven't been back.

I do this with all of my relationships. For a time, I'll let a person get to know me a little bit. When I'm pretty sure that to tell them any more about myself will lead to rejection, I back away. I make a shitty friend, but I'm a great acquaintance.

To others, it's not really fair. Because I'm trustworthy, I know so many people's secrets. Not one person knows all of mine, not even most of mine. I spread them out, the few I tell. Even with my I'm-a-basket-case team. The shrink gets some information that my talk-to-guy isn't privy to just yet. The exchange of confidences in friendship is kind of important, so I choose to avoid intimate friendships as much as I can.

I don't need the stress, the inconvenience, the gossip or the rejection. This I can trace back to ninth grade. Dancer, cheerleader, advanced placement student, popular girl...victim of rape, psychological abuse, molestation, incest...I walked away from everyone before they could walk away from me. Surely, if anyone would have found out, I'd have been toast. About this, I have not changed my mind. So, I'm still walking away and my loyal demons follow me everywhere.

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oh my freaking night - ZOMBIE BINGE!

I awake to the horror of horrors this morning. It took a whole lot of benzos to get my ass to sleep last night. In my stupor, I ate. Evidence I found this morning includes an empty can of tuna - 120cals (I hate canned tuna by the way. I give this to my cat!), an empty cracker wrapper - 150cals, empty container that had the chicken for my childrens' dinner tonight - 480cals. Oh and cereal -220cals. At least I don't have to fuss about eating today. I've had more than enough as it is.

The bank keeps calling about my mortgage. It's only a month behind for christ's sake, but they feel that it's within their realm of duty to be pushy fucks. My ex husband/sperm donor is months behind on child support. (Thanks a lot, fucking wanker!) I can't find work. And now, I'm going to be a fat ass. My car can not be driven safely or legally. I haven't a cent to my name, now that my savings has been squandered, due to my two year injury caused by a fucking automobile (the BANE of our society)! Because of that I'm too frightened to ride my bicycle outside. 

OH MY GOD! I AM SO FUCKED BEYOND POSSIBLE FUCKERY!

Every day I wake to this same nightmare.  Fucking shoot me. Please.

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make believe there's no ED

I'm pretending that I don't have an eating disorder today. In fact, I've been pretending for a few days. Frankly, I'm more cuckoo when I don't act on it because my thoughts about weight, food and exercise quadruple. If I'm just not eating or I restrict and I'm exercising the way I like to, I'm so much calmer.

I've been taking in at least 1000 calories a day. Honestly, it feels crappy...in my head, I guess. Perhaps I haven't gotten larger, though I feel, or at least I think I feel, like I have. It's a bit terrifying really.

Somehow, I have to keep doing this though. There are clothes I refuse to wear currently, but I'm not going to get into detail. I should be worrying about my bills, not my size. I should be worried about winterizing my house, not my size. Dig what I'm saying?

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Eating disorders in the young - Telegraph

Eating disorders, the most lethal mental illness to strike young people. Cassandra Jardine reports.

Bearing flickering candles in memory of lost daughters and sons, two hundred parents yesterday processed into Southwark Cathedral for the first memorial service of its kind. The children they have lost were not victims of war in Afghanistan, but of a battle against a different, but deadly, enemy. Theirs are the victims of eating disorders, the most lethal mental illness to strike young people.

Among those carrying candles were the parents of Anna Wood, a 16-year-old who died on May 26th from a heart attack. Seventeen months previously she had joined her mother, Christine Gibson, on a post-Christmas diet. “After five or six weeks, I stopped dieting but she just carried on reducing her food intake,” says Mrs Gibson. “She made it look like she was eating but really she was eating far less than she should have been. She became deceptive and sneaky.”

Only one in a hundred young people - 90 per cent of them girls - develops a serious eating disorder, according to the charity Beat, organisers of the memorial service. Many more toy with either eating too little, bingeing and vomiting, or over-eating. Becoming obsessed with food is almost a rite of passage for teenage girls as they enter the age of uncertainty about their looks and place in the world.

Find the rest of the article here Telegraph.co.uk

Now That's Desperate: Paypal

I've added a paypal button to gweni's ghost. I guess I'm getting all Goodwill like; I'm taking donations. Apparently, it's pretty easy to donate. You don't need to create a paypal account.

Desperation is pushing me in the oddest directions, but a woman's got to survive, no?
xo

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90 - 95 lbs - It's OK!

I ate 1300 calories today. This is my attempt at maintaining my weight.
My mantra of the day is:  90 to 95 pounds is ok. (Repeat. Obviously.) Oh! And: I don't want to end up in the hospital where they'll make me gain 15 pounds. (Repeat. Yeah, right.)

Look. It's the game I play with myself. This is how I cope. Over and over I'll do this. I get to 95 pounds - panic. I get to 90 pounds - panic.

In other words, nothing new happening around here. 

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what to choose...what to choose...

a break from this mental/eating disorder please

This is one of those days that I don't particularly like being friggin mental, not that I ever enjoy it, but I do have to accept myself on some level.

It's an absolutely gorgeous Fall day. What I want more than anything is to be outside hiking to a climbing spot or kayaking. I'd even settle for a nice long bike ride. However, none of these things are going to be done by me today. Weakened in body and mind, I feel little ability to move from where I sit.

For whatever reason, my anxiety is peaking. Within the threshold of a panic attack, I usually can't do much more than breathe, read light material, do sudoku, stretch or maybe, maybe exercise. There's no way I can leave the house like this.

I haven't been eating well. Obviously. My weight...sigh...my weight. If I keep this bull shit up, I'll be in the 80s probably next week sometime. I do and don't welcome the thought. I don't really want to make myself weak or sick, but I can't stop. All of the fears and anxieties I have related to the world at large are transferred into something else when I'm engaged in this behavior, but it comes at a huge price. This is my freaking life, man.

What am I doing? 

It's not like I'm a teenager anymore. My body has been put through the ringer over the years and I wonder how much more abuse it'll take. People die from this like junkies die from overdoses. I'm not ok. My life is not ok.

Always, I've landed on my feet when met with life's more difficult challenges, but this; this last trauma I've endured has me out floating, freaking out and afraid like a cat in a tree. I wish I knew what to do. I wish I knew how to save my goddamn life. At the same time, I wish I could leave it behind.

I'm so fucked.

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No Sisley?

As I put on a pair of Sisley trousers this morning, I had to ask myself, have I gotten too small? I love all of my Sisley clothes; the fabrics, the cuts, the finishing on the seams, the fit. The fit! The brand actually fits in a tailored way.

So I put the pants on and they're too loose. I can't belt them or roll them at the waist. They're not that kind of pant. In a daze, I hung them back up and chose pants with belt loops; however, I'm not pleased with the way these are fitting either.

I don't feel like I'm small. I just feel mental. Freaking fucking mental.

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keeping it small

I'm going to try to be helpful. 8) I know I bitch about my weight, but I have to be honest; I've always been small. I've always been an athlete and have eaten a healthy diet during the majority of my life. (healthy is such a relative term)

But I really think there are things I do that keep me small - starving and puking aside. So here's a little list of neurotic crap I do with my food/cooking.

• I go for raw foods first, especially fruit. 
• I don't use margarine or cook with vegetable oil.
• I use butter and cook with ghee or nothing at all, usually nothing at all.
• I use the crap out of spices and very low calorie condiments.
• I drink broth or hot tea when my stomach growls.
• I'm a diet pepsi addict.
• Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. (this is especially great for my anxiety)
• I use low fat creamer and cinnamon in coffee. YUM.
• I have a salad almost daily with vinegar and spices.
• I regularly have air popped popcorn with garlic salt, Bragg's liquid amino acids and hot sauce.
• I use bowls only for salads and popcorn.
• I use mugs for things like cereal and soup to keep portions realistic.
• I use small plates...when I use a plate.
• I do some kind of physical activity everyday (like walking to do my errands) and work out most days.
• I don't drag meals out. I get it over with, no reason to linger in the kitchen or dining room.
• I take vitamins. (I'm loath to admit that this has never really stopped my hair from falling out when my intake gets too low.)
• I measure my bod pretty much every day.  (Insane. I know.)

Of course there's more, but I figure y'all must bored with this list if I'm tired of making it. ;) 



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weighting weighting weighting

 Thank freaking god. I'm away from the 95 pound sinkhole of doom. I was surprised to see that I'm 92lbs. Funny that I feel bigger than I have for a long time.

I just have to be smaller is all. Smaller. Emptier. Blank. Vacant. Going. Going. Gone.


Aren't I a pillar of maturity and stability...