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...

fishing for institutionalization

I want to be hopeful. I mean that in the most sincere way. Sometimes I wish I were one of those people; people to whom the future seems inviting, exciting, promising. I'm just not. Lately, however, I find myself faking it for my children. Not so much that I'm cheery or anything, but I'm finding things for them to get excited about in their futures, i.e. science and technology-wise.

But that's not really what I want to write about. That's just me trying to validate myself as a decent parent even though I'm completely fucked in the head.

 I canceled my appointments with my therapist and psychiatrist this week (not that I see the shrink weekly or anything). I had no choice really, but I wonder if underlying the drama that prevented me from going, I'm actually afraid of the results of my blood work. What if I look thin or unhealthy? I'm terrified that it's going to be recommended that I go inpatient or commit to a day program.

I'm just not doing well. That's all. Now that I'm taking benzos on a regular basis, as in overseen by a doctor, my OCD tendencies are a wee bit faded. I have nothing to put in place of my obsessions. I DON'T NEED ANY VACANCIES! I don't have room for vacant spaces within my psyche. It is there that the terror lies. Don't professionals get that about crazy people? I need my crazy, my insanity. It's all I know.

I don't know genuine happiness or contentedness. I don't know comfort or safety. I don't know how to simply be without feeling an undertow of panic and dread. I don't think I want to try being that way anyway. I could never trust those feelings. Never. Never. Never.

In a way, it makes retirement in an institution with endless thorazine seem rather inviting.  

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where are the pro-ana peeps?

I haven't been blogging lately and I miss chat room/forum friends. There just isn't the time for it. I tend to spaz out a little at the beginning of a new school year. I want everything to be "just right" for the kids. It's been hard this year though because of my anxiety, acting out bulimic behaviors, and running out of savings.

I can not recall a time I had this much of this kind of stress before. Of course it would help immensely if ex would pay child support, but who the fuck am I kidding. The support I honestly need has got to come from the larger pro-ana community. I just don't have a place to fit in there anymore it seems.  I'm getting too isolated in my sickness.

I just awful in my ED behaviors right now. It's as though I don't care about whether or not I live. And the anger I have is so palpable everyday. I can't take it.

Of course my weight is stable at fucking 95. I hate 95lbs. To me it represents my failures in every way (can't even control my weight).

I've been fasting by day and having a binge at night. Fucking stupid.

I absolutely hate who I am, the wuss I have become.

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