I thought some of you would appreciate this one by Maria Mena. She's got such a nice voice and she's so young. I look forward to seeing what she does with her talent as she digs up more of her heart songs.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Eating disorders lecture given by, Howard Steiger, PhD
This is a recent talk given by Howard Steiger, PhD, the director of the Eating Disorders Program at the Douglas Institute.
That's new? Might I suggest scrapping all you think you know about eating disorders and beginning again. Most researchers blather on about this and that, but all I seem to hear is: "Sorry, but we've yet to learn anything conclusive about these mental illnesses. Thank you for your continued financial support."
That's new? Might I suggest scrapping all you think you know about eating disorders and beginning again. Most researchers blather on about this and that, but all I seem to hear is: "Sorry, but we've yet to learn anything conclusive about these mental illnesses. Thank you for your continued financial support."
Saturday, August 28, 2010
meds- trial & error
Image via WikipediaIt's been so long since I've been on medication for anything that I've forgotten the trial and error period. The past two days have been the error part of the deal. I was prescribed a small dose of lorazepam. Turns out that I'm a alprazolam gal. The Ativan has a sedative effect that the xanax just doesn't have for me.I spent all of Friday super anxious because I felt wasted and had to blow off so many responsibilities. I don't want to be wasted. I just want to lose the anxiety. So mister nice Doctor M will give the xanax, mild is all I need. Just a little to stop this crazy cycle of anxiety.
This is a work in progress. Weight is holding at 95. It could be worse. I'll be low again in a couple weeks, then I'm staying there. I must move on with things. Alprazolam, here I come.
Image via Wikipedia
Thursday, August 26, 2010
fuck off already
Image by sammzoo via FlickrI have nothing good to say about anyone. I feel like I live in a world inhabited by fucking retards, people who constantly be told to do something because they've not got the wits to think for themselves. I'm sick of dealing with idiots, and THEY'RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!
I will never be alright in this life. I hate it. I hate people and their clumsiness, their wayward moral compasses, their lack of self respect. No wonder they get shit upon.
I really haven't a clue what I'm trying to express here other than frustration. It's the same shit over and over and over. People are a disappointment. People fail and fuck up all the time.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Not Bulimia. No Fucking Way.
I'm not going to go into that head space any further than I've already gone. Bulimia is so evil, so, so evil. I don't even get it. I figure it's related to anxiety and relieving said anxiety, but there are other ways.
I guess this is how I respond to extraordinary levels of stress and hardship. I've been barfing at least three times a week. And not just barfing. I've been eating things I normally wouldn't then barfing.
It hurts. It irritates my throat, leaves marks on my hand and it takes so long. Yet no matter how much time I spend getting everything out of me, I know there's always something left. Over time, I'll gain and gain.
Fuck no. I went down this road in my twenties. A road that left me feeling so desperate that I thought death was the only way out. I nearly succeeded. It's a wonder that I survived the overdose because I really shouldn't have. I have no recollection of the police, the ambulance or any medical procedures. I'm not sure how they found me in my apartment. Maybe a neighbor called? I'll never know.
I never want to feel that hopeless again in all my life. With determination, I'm squashing this shit now. I'm cleaning out my bod. I see the head shrinker for anxiety Wednesday. I'll have to see what he/she comes up with for treatment.
I'm so tired. Bulimic behaviors really zap your life force. Evil. Just like I said.
I guess this is how I respond to extraordinary levels of stress and hardship. I've been barfing at least three times a week. And not just barfing. I've been eating things I normally wouldn't then barfing.It hurts. It irritates my throat, leaves marks on my hand and it takes so long. Yet no matter how much time I spend getting everything out of me, I know there's always something left. Over time, I'll gain and gain.
Fuck no. I went down this road in my twenties. A road that left me feeling so desperate that I thought death was the only way out. I nearly succeeded. It's a wonder that I survived the overdose because I really shouldn't have. I have no recollection of the police, the ambulance or any medical procedures. I'm not sure how they found me in my apartment. Maybe a neighbor called? I'll never know.
I never want to feel that hopeless again in all my life. With determination, I'm squashing this shit now. I'm cleaning out my bod. I see the head shrinker for anxiety Wednesday. I'll have to see what he/she comes up with for treatment.
I'm so tired. Bulimic behaviors really zap your life force. Evil. Just like I said.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Where Is My Motivation?
You know, feeling like you're going to die is a big motivation killer for me. Now I feel like I'm fucked. I must be 95 pounds now and I'm terrified to weigh myself. I'm going by what I can pinch.
I'm so screwed. Something about getting in that realm of 90 pounds and under really messes with me. But is it in my head or does my body really start freaking out? Man, I wish I wasn't such a psycho.
Eating, as well as getting some of my needs met, causes me to feel so enormous, so huge, so out of control. Of course this anxiety just builds and builds upon itself. There is no escape. If I eat "normally" I feel disgusting and obese. If I get too thin, I feel ill and weak.
I really wish I wasn't caught in this eating disorder whirlpool. Or if I have to be here, I wish I'd just choose exactly how I want to be so I could do it and be done with it. I already know I can't be a strong athlete and be anorexic. So why do I keep trying to pull it off?
The problem is this: I am thin and I'm in incredible shape (for my age). ;) Actually for any age, but still... I already "have it," that thing that is suppose to make everything alright. So what happens when I stop playing this game with myself? What then?
I'll tell you what then. I sabotage myself.
I'm so screwed. Something about getting in that realm of 90 pounds and under really messes with me. But is it in my head or does my body really start freaking out? Man, I wish I wasn't such a psycho.
Eating, as well as getting some of my needs met, causes me to feel so enormous, so huge, so out of control. Of course this anxiety just builds and builds upon itself. There is no escape. If I eat "normally" I feel disgusting and obese. If I get too thin, I feel ill and weak.
I really wish I wasn't caught in this eating disorder whirlpool. Or if I have to be here, I wish I'd just choose exactly how I want to be so I could do it and be done with it. I already know I can't be a strong athlete and be anorexic. So why do I keep trying to pull it off?
The problem is this: I am thin and I'm in incredible shape (for my age). ;) Actually for any age, but still... I already "have it," that thing that is suppose to make everything alright. So what happens when I stop playing this game with myself? What then?
I'll tell you what then. I sabotage myself.
- I get my weight to 95. (check)
- I freak out about it. (check)
- I decide that I might as well enjoy a little more misbehavior and eat carelessly. (up to 1500-1800 calories a day) (check)
- I get sick of it. (check)
- I restrict to 800 calories again. (?)
Saturday, August 14, 2010
My Migraine, My Oopsie/Sorry
Here's one for the people who research migraine headaches. The day my headache was beginning is the day I lost it on my children. My anger was out of control, my patience absent, and a clear head was way outside of my grasp.
What I'm beginning to realize is that this happens nearly every time I get a migraine. It's preceded by anger, by a feeling of being out of control. I used to think it was linked to my menstrual cycle, but I'm realizing that I was wrong.
This time the headache lasted for about three days. Day one was spent flipping out. Day two I found myself unable to open my eyes for very long, nauseated, hungry beyond reason, and full of regret. I spent that day mostly in bed. Day three I was able to be a bit more active. The migraine lingered but was moving to the background. By day four, it had gone.
I'm too tired to pursue my ideas any further today.I hope to find a few answers soon though.
What I'm beginning to realize is that this happens nearly every time I get a migraine. It's preceded by anger, by a feeling of being out of control. I used to think it was linked to my menstrual cycle, but I'm realizing that I was wrong.This time the headache lasted for about three days. Day one was spent flipping out. Day two I found myself unable to open my eyes for very long, nauseated, hungry beyond reason, and full of regret. I spent that day mostly in bed. Day three I was able to be a bit more active. The migraine lingered but was moving to the background. By day four, it had gone.
I'm too tired to pursue my ideas any further today.I hope to find a few answers soon though.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
going rogue
Holy shit. I am off the charts with my anger. My world feels like it's crumbling. I hate to sound dramatic. Seriously, I do. This prison I'm in is falling apart though.
I thought I had a grip on my little family unit, but I'm so wrong. I called my daughter satan today; told both children they were like devils screwing up my world on a daily basis. When my daughter asked me why I had children, I replied that I had made a mistake.
Here's the sad part. I mean every bit of it. I'm so fucking sick of their nasty ass messes, their inability to follow through with responsibilities, their manipulation, their arguments, their physical fights, their neediness, their laziness. And I refuse to lower myself to "nag" status. I don't nag. Either they do what they need to do or they don't. The expectations are clear and reasonable, as are the consequences, but I lost it today.
What the fuck nightmare did I choose for myself? I told them to make a choice today. Either go rogue or be part of the family. I need to know where I stand; friend or foe. If they're going to keep working against me I need to know it. They need to know it. They chose family. In a way, there was no choice. They have to survive this. I feel so bad for them; so, so bad.
I thought I had a grip on my little family unit, but I'm so wrong. I called my daughter satan today; told both children they were like devils screwing up my world on a daily basis. When my daughter asked me why I had children, I replied that I had made a mistake.
Here's the sad part. I mean every bit of it. I'm so fucking sick of their nasty ass messes, their inability to follow through with responsibilities, their manipulation, their arguments, their physical fights, their neediness, their laziness. And I refuse to lower myself to "nag" status. I don't nag. Either they do what they need to do or they don't. The expectations are clear and reasonable, as are the consequences, but I lost it today.
What the fuck nightmare did I choose for myself? I told them to make a choice today. Either go rogue or be part of the family. I need to know where I stand; friend or foe. If they're going to keep working against me I need to know it. They need to know it. They chose family. In a way, there was no choice. They have to survive this. I feel so bad for them; so, so bad.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Safety & Maslow's hierarchy of needs
It's 2:15 a.m. and I'm taking speed. This tells me a couple things about myself. One, I'm completely out of control at this point. Two, I'm terrified. I literally live in fear almost every moment of my life.
So many times I've tried to imagine or remember times in my life when I've felt safe. With great shame I have to admit to an absence of such feelings. The times that I have felt safe have been so fleeting, so brief.
Did you know that having a sense of safety is at the base level Maslow's hierarchy of needs? Although his work is debated and criticized, one can not deny that he made accurate observations.
"Some neurotic adults in our society are, in many ways, like the unsafe child in their desire for safety, although in the former it takes on a somewhat special appearance. Their reaction is often to unknown, psychological dangers in a world that is perceived to be hostile, overwhelming and threatening. Such a person behaves as if a great catastrophe were almost always impending, i.e., he is usually responding as if to an emergency...
The neurotic individual may be described in a slightly different way with some usefulness as a grown-up person who retains his childish attitudes toward the world. That is to say, a neurotic adult may be said to behave 'as if' he were actually afraid of a spanking, or of his mother's disapproval, or of being abandoned by his parents, or having his food taken away from him. It is as if his childish attitudes of fear and threat reaction to a dangerous world had gone underground, and untouched by the growing up and learning processes, were now ready to be called out by any stimulus that would make a child feel endangered and threatened.[3]
The neurosis in which the search for safety takes its dearest form is in the compulsive-obsessive neurosis. Compulsive-obsessives try frantically to order and stabilize the world so that no unmanageable, unexpected or unfamiliar dangers will ever appear (14); They hedge themselves about with all sorts of ceremonials, rules and formulas so that every possible contingency may be provided for and so that no new contingencies may appear...They try to arrange the world so that anything unexpected (dangers) cannot possibly occur. If, through no fault of their own, something unexpected does occur, they go into a panic reaction as if this unexpected occurrence constituted a grave danger."
I'm bringing this up because I have to wonder exactly what the fuck I'm suppose to achieve when I can't find a sense of safety not only in the world that surrounds me, but also within myself. I don't feel safe being me, being in my body. This body is a battle zone. Every war I've fought has been because of this body.
Is it so hard to believe that I'd want to destroy it? In actual warfare would you not destroy the theater in which your enemy had the upper hand? You'd napalm the jungle, expose the enemy and kill them. This body is that theater. Shouldn't enemies and would be enemies be deterred from entering? Regardless, I'll be awake until the light of dawn guarantees that no stalker, no rapist, no molester will enter this retired seat of war.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
I wish it would feel good again
I can't do it; can't be submerged in eating disorder behavior all the time. It's like the more I chase after that feeling, the farther away I get from it. With accuracy I can tell you when I was last happy in my ED. There are times when it's a real high; it produces the best feelings.But it goes away, just like with drugs or alcohol. Why does it have to go away? Why can't it always feel good? Even if I repeat the same behaviors that produced the awesome feelings, I never seem to be able to get it back. It's not fair.
What I hope for right now is just a glimmer, a little light of hope. Something has to feel good again. There has to be something that will make me feel good again.
I did start therapy yesterday. I'll see a doc soon. I'll get benzos which is what my therapist recommends. Then maybe I can start to get a little bit of my life back. Maybe I can work toward feeling safe; something I have never really known.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
A therapist? For me? thankyouthankyouthankyou!
For the past couple days I've been doing the footwork to move myself toward help for my anxiety and adhd issues. Still, it blows my mind that I can't manage it anymore. I mean, I kind of liked the coping skills I worked hard to develop, but it doesn't matter. All isn't lost.
I consider the ability to ask for help as a coping skill, too, a survival skill. I've made calls, visited the websites of local mental health centers and talked with my friends that work in the field. By casting that net, I was surprised at what came back.
A few moments ago, I checked my messages. One of the more respected private therapists in my hood is willing to help me and he's able to offer a sliding scale fee. YES! He'll direct me to a proper head shrinking doc and other resources, as well. I'm so relieved; no crisis center!
The therapist and I are acquainted with one another, enough to exchange small talk, but he doesn't know me. He doesn't know about the problems I have. I'm really looking forward to this. I feel hopeful. The connection wouldn't have been made without the help of a mutual friend. To him, I'm so grateful.
I consider the ability to ask for help as a coping skill, too, a survival skill. I've made calls, visited the websites of local mental health centers and talked with my friends that work in the field. By casting that net, I was surprised at what came back.A few moments ago, I checked my messages. One of the more respected private therapists in my hood is willing to help me and he's able to offer a sliding scale fee. YES! He'll direct me to a proper head shrinking doc and other resources, as well. I'm so relieved; no crisis center!
The therapist and I are acquainted with one another, enough to exchange small talk, but he doesn't know me. He doesn't know about the problems I have. I'm really looking forward to this. I feel hopeful. The connection wouldn't have been made without the help of a mutual friend. To him, I'm so grateful.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
So, what constitutes a crisis anyway?
That's what I asked the mental health worker I spoke to Tuesday afternoon when she informed me that I wouldn't be able to schedule an appointment until September (to be seen in October!) and asked if I wanted to make use of their crisis services. Of course, I gave her no opportunity to answer, as I was busy telling her my short list of reasons why I'm not in crisis.- I'm not suicidal.
- No self harm here.
- No risk of overdose or alcohol poisoning.
- I'm not really acting out ED behavior.
- While I have a history of EDs, I don't really fit the diagnostic criteria for an eating disorder anymore.
Obviously, I don't want to risk being hospitalized. Though I know I could always sign myself out...unless I got 302ed by the state. I need to cast those fears aside. I don't have to talk about ED crap.
Thinking about this is freaking me out. I'll call the crisis line tomorrow. I just want to ask some questions about ocd, adhd and anxiety. Seriously, I need to get real and address the issues so I can get on with my life.
Monday, July 26, 2010
obviously babbling
I love how I feel after days of insomnia. Add to that inadequate calories, compulsive exercise, plenty of caffeine, heavy cleaning, solitude, music, video games, books and internet. Stir until numb. Christ. I'm a 38 year old teenager.
So it concerns me a little to see myself as I am. I don't mean my physical appearance. Lots of fat, even average chickies would love to be as small as I am. Believe me, I am not complaining about that. I'm talking about my head space.
But fuck it. I'm numbing out my crazy. I'm just being myself; doing the things I like to do without interruption. It's this very focus on myself that will help me solve my dilemma. I gotta get down and dirty; gotta do what I can to alter my consciousness without using drugs.
I gotta organize my clothes and gather donations for goodwill. I gotta help people understand the bigger picture. I gotta paint the foundation of my house. I gotta clean out the basement. I gotta wash the ceiling. I gotta...I gotta...I gotta.
I gotta do something!
Makes me want to act out the riot within, give voice to the silent screaming I do.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
wake up call
Image by lavagirl6699 via FlickrIt's wicked hot today and humid. I feel like I'm not all together with it. Because of the heat, I'm somewhat lethargic. Also, it's my first of ten days to myself. Anyway, for months I've been craving cinnamon pancakes with cooked apples and maple syrup. So I decided to have a pancake or twelve and puke. I made a conscious choice.
Those of you with an eating disorder have probably purged at least once, so you know first hand how much it can waste you. And wasted I was...am? I felt dizzy and spent, but slightly euphoric. I know y'all know the high. Don't play like you don't.
After getting that out of the way, I carried on with my day and began to heavy duty clean the kitchen. Cleaning out my house seems so important to me right now. I thought some incense would be nice. I lit a three sticks, one for each floor. I remember lighting them. I then put some tunes on the stereo and got caught up in doing whatever; singing, cleaning, looking through my daughters scrap books, crying about the life we've lost, pulling myself back together, cleaning, etc. You get it.
I did dishes, dusted, cleaned everything in the kitchen stopping short of scrubbing the ceiling and walls. I really, really want to do the ceiling. I can't explain it. When I took a moment to get water, I smelled the incense and I panicked. I looked all over the house and could not find it. I have no idea where I put it to burn, no recollection.
My thoughts are so obsessive, so demanding of my attention that I get consumed by them. I hate it. I'm totally obsessive compulsive, totally anxious most of the time and I don't know what to do about it anymore. I want some drugs, man, alprazolam or lorazepam preferably.
I do this every time anxiety gets bad, think about calling a doctor, a head shrinker. But I don't want to get labeled as a drug seeker, even though I probably already am. I have so many days like this with crippling anxiety. The best I can do is to putz around the house and hope that it passes. Fuck. I'm too old for this.
The good thing is that with pancakes out of the way, I can do my fast without a particular food obsession. The bad thing is that I'm nutz. I wish I weren't; really, I want to have my life back - any life back. The funny thing is that I sound like this to myself when I think these oh-I-wanna-get-better thoughts: Wah wah woh wah woh wha wah wah wah wah, like Charlie Brown's teacher. (o.O)
Friday, July 23, 2010
the BIG ONE
I'm trying to mentally prepare myself for the coming ten days. Tomorrow, my children will be leaving for their big vacation with their dad and his entire family. While they'll be in cousin heaven, I'll get to regroup.
Part of my plan is to "detox" my little bod, so there will be some heavy fasting going on in my world. The goal of the fast is to achieve clarity, to embrace quiet and to move toward certainty...because I have got to get my shit together. I'm out of time; out of money.
The second part of my plan is to beg and busk for dollars. That's right. I've been looking and looking for work that is suitable for me and there is nothing out there. I'm not about to sit and be passive, waiting for something to open up. I'll lose everything if I wait. So, I'll beg at rush hour and I'll busk at night in the busiest part of my hood, a popular night spot in the city. I'm not above it. I have children and I have a mortgage. I'll do what I have to do to make it.
The other thing that needs to be done while they're away is the cleaning out of my house. I've got to search for the debris from my emotional past, toss it out and move on with my life. Time and chaos continue with or without me. Why do I have to keep acting like a fucking hurt victim, hiding myself away from everyone? I'm sick of it.
There's more to the role of fasting than just to get clear headed. Fasting, elevating my "control" levels or what I call, turning my crazy up to eleven, will quell the surges of anxiety I'm sure to experience in the coming days. I'm a little nervous, though I'm not sure exactly why. I guess I'm afraid that fear will reign supreme and that I'll never make it out of the house. It sounds so ridiculous, but it could happen. So I think about fasting instead.
I'll be online more often for support and to check in with people. Wish me luck. There's a good chance this is going to be a rough ride.
 |
| fasting Buddha |
The second part of my plan is to beg and busk for dollars. That's right. I've been looking and looking for work that is suitable for me and there is nothing out there. I'm not about to sit and be passive, waiting for something to open up. I'll lose everything if I wait. So, I'll beg at rush hour and I'll busk at night in the busiest part of my hood, a popular night spot in the city. I'm not above it. I have children and I have a mortgage. I'll do what I have to do to make it.
The other thing that needs to be done while they're away is the cleaning out of my house. I've got to search for the debris from my emotional past, toss it out and move on with my life. Time and chaos continue with or without me. Why do I have to keep acting like a fucking hurt victim, hiding myself away from everyone? I'm sick of it.
There's more to the role of fasting than just to get clear headed. Fasting, elevating my "control" levels or what I call, turning my crazy up to eleven, will quell the surges of anxiety I'm sure to experience in the coming days. I'm a little nervous, though I'm not sure exactly why. I guess I'm afraid that fear will reign supreme and that I'll never make it out of the house. It sounds so ridiculous, but it could happen. So I think about fasting instead.
I'll be online more often for support and to check in with people. Wish me luck. There's a good chance this is going to be a rough ride.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
controlling our food
This documentary is so important, I'm embedding here and linking to it on the sidebar. It's about Monsanto, makers of products such as agent orange, round up ready corn and round up ready soybeans. If you aren't aware of what's going on with food these days, you really need to see this.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
a note about fasting
Image via WikipediaWhat you need to know:
The body uses significant amounts of water in the digestive process. You will lose pounds in fluids and waste quickly because you've eliminated the need to digest foods while fasting. For a time, this can be a real boost to someone trying to lose weight.
The bad news:
Most of that weight will return once you begin digesting foods again. It's not really bad news. It's just factual.
I don't want to imply that fasting has no place or purpose. It just isn't a fix all. You're only depriving yourself of a day's (or whatever the length of the fast) worth of calories. It still takes a 3600 calorie deficiency to lose a pound.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
measuring home again
Image via WikipediaI mention this because it's one of the first things I wanted to get out when I got home. I hadn't measured anything for five days and was getting rather anxious about it. When I got down to it, I was relieved to see that nothing had changed. I was so sure I'd gotten bigger during the suburban retreat. But no; waist 23", hips at the widest 30 1/2", thighs at the biggest 17 1/2", arms 9". Okay.
Walking into this house, I feel instant dread. So much about this place is unfinished, the debris of my messy emotions clutters up the space. Here and there are little reminders of the many ways I've failed while living here. I tuck away the oddest things.
In all rooms, I suppose the most emotionally revealing spaces are my bookshelves; books, cards, letters, pressed flowers, receipts, little mementos. While mostly hidden, I know what's there, the things I keep in between the pages.
Letting go of emotion is so hard for me sometimes. I guess the mementos of times past remind me that I've yet to fully close the issue within myself, but the emotional clutter has built up so much that I can't find my way out of my own mess. Submersing myself under a veil of eating disorder thoughts and behaviors certainly doesn't help matters.
So, I'm setting a goal here and now, to clean out (entirely) one room at a time in my house. Perhaps starting with the children's rooms where I've hidden the least of my emotional clutter. Whatever. I have to do it. I have to move on with my life.
Friday, July 9, 2010
on pharmies and in the burbs
So, I'm in the suburbs at grandma's not-so-secret hideaway. I came out here Monday. Want to know the most honest reason why I came out? Cause there are a number of reasons I could list and they'd sound valid enough.
The truth is that I needed pharmaceuticals. Alright? In a way, it can be a sick relationship between us. My grandma has always given me the pharmies I want. When I was strung out and needed some benzos just to freaking rest, it was to grammy's hideaway I went. When the ugliness of living with addicts was too much...grammy's hideaway. Anytime the pain of life gets to be too much...grammy's hideaway.
To me, the relationship is complicated. Granted, she's the only person in the world who's had my back no matter what. I have to wonder, though, if the fact that her husband, my granddad, molested me as a kid has anything to do with that. He's dead now, but even he would insist that they help me no matter what back in the day.
Developmentally, I'm frozen. The fact that I can come out here with my children, play by day and get zonked on benzos and barbituates at night doesn't help. I prolong my stagnation. What's there to move forward to anyway?
Out here, I get no mail, no phone calls (I let my cell battery go uncharged), no one knocking on my door; I have no responsibilities. At least not at the level I'm use to handling. I'm so fucking sick of my responsibilities. Aside from the work I've been doing around my grandma's property and in her house, I haven't been doing shit.
Well, I have been working out (I brought my bike and the track stand trainer with me) and watching television; sports mostly, but I'm fascinated by the myriad reality shows. Like, wow; Cut Off, Next Artist, Dog, Real Housewives, Bethanny, First 48, Dance Your Ass Off, etc. See, I don't watch TV at home. I don't have cable. I see TV viewing as being one of the most worthless pursuits of all time. Still, I've been checking it out plenty.
Nothing exists here. I don't exist here. In the burbs everything is surreal to begin with, so it seems nothing like real life. It's one big fantasy/nightmare and everyone is faking who they are. Today, I'd planned on going home. The children are with their dad and I thought I wanted some time alone. Apparently, I just want time to come to a halt and this is the realm of no time.
This is the environment in which everything stopped for me. Maybe I come back for lengthy stays every now and then hoping to reclaim what was stolen from me. Maybe I come to forget who I've become.
To me, the relationship is complicated. Granted, she's the only person in the world who's had my back no matter what. I have to wonder, though, if the fact that her husband, my granddad, molested me as a kid has anything to do with that. He's dead now, but even he would insist that they help me no matter what back in the day.
Developmentally, I'm frozen. The fact that I can come out here with my children, play by day and get zonked on benzos and barbituates at night doesn't help. I prolong my stagnation. What's there to move forward to anyway?
Out here, I get no mail, no phone calls (I let my cell battery go uncharged), no one knocking on my door; I have no responsibilities. At least not at the level I'm use to handling. I'm so fucking sick of my responsibilities. Aside from the work I've been doing around my grandma's property and in her house, I haven't been doing shit.
Well, I have been working out (I brought my bike and the track stand trainer with me) and watching television; sports mostly, but I'm fascinated by the myriad reality shows. Like, wow; Cut Off, Next Artist, Dog, Real Housewives, Bethanny, First 48, Dance Your Ass Off, etc. See, I don't watch TV at home. I don't have cable. I see TV viewing as being one of the most worthless pursuits of all time. Still, I've been checking it out plenty.
Nothing exists here. I don't exist here. In the burbs everything is surreal to begin with, so it seems nothing like real life. It's one big fantasy/nightmare and everyone is faking who they are. Today, I'd planned on going home. The children are with their dad and I thought I wanted some time alone. Apparently, I just want time to come to a halt and this is the realm of no time.
This is the environment in which everything stopped for me. Maybe I come back for lengthy stays every now and then hoping to reclaim what was stolen from me. Maybe I come to forget who I've become.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
purge this dogamnit
At the moment I'm utterly filled with disgust. I'd much rather return to drug addiction than fucking puke again. It started well enough, dinner that is. I had a salad with a nice variety of veggies and some vegetarian peperoni. I'm totally comfortable with this for a meal usually.
While I could blame my weak state of mind on Uruguay being out of the World Cup...Like this is a joking matter. I'm so light headed it feels like it should be. Laugh it off. Move on with my night. But no.
I was adding the calories from the salad to my day's intake log, realized how close to 1000 calories I was and panicked. One thousand calories should be totally acceptable though. Especially because I spent over 100 minutes on the trackstand trainer. Yeah, can you say mentally unstable? Cause that's me, man.
What killed me was a bagel I had earlier, with peanut butter. I make a point not to eat bagels as a rule because they're a waste of calories for the sparse nutrients you get. Though I got most of it out of me, I know I didn't get it all. Even after I spent an hour throwing up.
I realize I don't binge or barf enough to meet the criteria for bulimia, but to me it kind of doesn't matter. The behavior brings about such unbelievable self loathing. It fucking feels like bulimia. (I don't mean to belittle anyone suffering with bulimia. I've been there, too.)
Is this what I do to set myself up or what? Maybe I just don't want to weigh 90. I did return to 92 the last time I weighed myself, after fasting last week. I guess I'll fast again. I don't really care about my health to be honest. Fuck it. I've got to push for under 85% of healthy weight. Enough of this sitting at 87-88%.
While I could blame my weak state of mind on Uruguay being out of the World Cup...Like this is a joking matter. I'm so light headed it feels like it should be. Laugh it off. Move on with my night. But no.
I was adding the calories from the salad to my day's intake log, realized how close to 1000 calories I was and panicked. One thousand calories should be totally acceptable though. Especially because I spent over 100 minutes on the trackstand trainer. Yeah, can you say mentally unstable? Cause that's me, man.
What killed me was a bagel I had earlier, with peanut butter. I make a point not to eat bagels as a rule because they're a waste of calories for the sparse nutrients you get. Though I got most of it out of me, I know I didn't get it all. Even after I spent an hour throwing up.
I realize I don't binge or barf enough to meet the criteria for bulimia, but to me it kind of doesn't matter. The behavior brings about such unbelievable self loathing. It fucking feels like bulimia. (I don't mean to belittle anyone suffering with bulimia. I've been there, too.)
Is this what I do to set myself up or what? Maybe I just don't want to weigh 90. I did return to 92 the last time I weighed myself, after fasting last week. I guess I'll fast again. I don't really care about my health to be honest. Fuck it. I've got to push for under 85% of healthy weight. Enough of this sitting at 87-88%.
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