death don't have no mercy

I'm a flipping whale today. Every part of me feels blown up like balloons, even my fingers. I drink my coffee and my stomach just inflates. I. Hate. This. Feeling. I know I'm sick, crazy even, but whoop di freaking do. I can think of a whole lot of mental problems I'd rather not have. Seriously.

When I woke today, at 1:?? PM, I felt total despair. The memory of my latest dream of the night/morning/afternoon was fresh. In the dream, I was with my children and at least three of their friends. We were hiking. Of course we came to a point where we had to decide which way to go; the easy, long way or the hard, short way.

Without much deliberation, the kids started toward the shortcut. Excited by their enthusiasm to climb and get off the trail, I followed. With a quickness the route became steep. In reality, I love climbing, so at first this was totally rocking my dream. I mean rocking, no pun intended, until I realized that this was far outside the realm of ability for these kids. We'd hit a head wall. I had no rope, no gear at all for them; however, each of them had reached the top and were waiting for me.

I was hyper-vigilant about each handhold and foothold. If I fell, who would guide the children to safety? When I finally got to the top, I was crushed. There was no where to go. We were on the ridge crest, surrounded by a vast ocean of mountains. Despair defined.

So I woke and I cried. From downstairs came the soft cries of my dying dog and I heard the footfalls of my son upstairs. I'd slept way too long, even though I was up for most of the night with my dog. My guilt and my feelings of laziness still linger. I hate this day and how I feel about it. I hate hating it!

There's something about death lingering so close that has me in a bit of a state of unease. Death has a smell, you know. I don't mean the rotting flesh smell. The smell of impending death is different; it's brings a stale sourness to the air. I wouldn't recognize it if I hadn't been around it before.

What's surprising to me right now are the similarities in the stages of dying between human and animal. From fighting the arrival of the end of his life, to resigning to it. That's where he is right now. I think he has accepted that he's going to die. He's between worlds, with two big paws stuck in this life and the other two running toward death. His breathing has slowed; it stops and starts. Hopefully, he'll let go soon because I can't bring myself to kill him, even though I'm totally pro-choice in matters of life AND death.

What I've mentioned here today doesn't even begin to describe the things on my plate right now. So, of course I feel huge. I'd be shocked if I felt any other way. My emotions are so strong that I've got to escape them somehow. Sure, I'll utilize other coping skills, but the eating disorder crap is always there.

I have eaten, over the course of the night and this day, a bunch of fat filled peanut butter with an apple and pretzels. In reality I had less than 1000 calories, but I still want to get rid of them. I'll probably spend a couple hours working out, freaking out, escaping. I weigh 93 pounds. Reality states that I'm not fat. At the moment; however, reality is just a bit too much for me to handle. I'm a whale today.