It’s Gonna Be MAY

April 30th is “Obligatory Listen to NSYNC” day on the internet… because ramen.


It’s been almost a month since I started taking Effexor and Gabapentin. I can’t say that it’s solved all of my emotional problems, but there’s been marked improvement.

  • I don’t go home and cry everyday anymore.
  • I can’t sleep for 24 hours straight anymore.
  • My moods still swing, but the swings are shorter.
  • My panic attacks are fewer and shorter lived.
  • I can watch TV again.
  • I have the energy to go on walks with mom.
  • I had the desire to go get a pedicure this weekend.
  • I cleaned my room… which took 9 hours.

I think it might need to go up a little more, but the changes are noticeable and I have to admit that I feel better, emotionally, than I have in a long time. I’m still getting bouts of depression, and I’m still binge eating sometimes, and I’m still having some panic attacks… but overall I can’t say it’s not better.

The medication itself isn’t too bad, either. Non-sedative, and actually I think it gives me a little boost when I take it. I had some problems with nausea, but solved that by eating breakfast before I take the pill. The most annoying side effects are the dry mouth and compulsive yawning… lol. So, it’s not terrible.

My new diagnosis, btw, is Borderline Personality Disorder and Bipolar II, with an Eating Disorder and Anxiety Disorder. It’s definitely different from Bipolar 1 with Antisocial Personality Traits… but I asked for a rediagnosis, and I got one. At this point, I don’t care what they call it… so long as they treat it… and that seems to be what we’re doing.

Yesterday I cleaned my room, which is a thing I haven’t had the energy or motivation to do in like a year. Found a lot of shoes… I own a LOT of shoes…

So… Things are turning up. Mom is still on O2 at night, but we’re working on getting her levels up when she moves around. We walk at work and I walk her when we get home from work… It’s slow, but it’s getting better. Hopefully she’ll be off soon.

I have to see the doc for hypertension next week. She’s had me checking my blood pressure, and while I managed my fat diseases really well until now… apparently this is the year they all catch up to me. 140s over 100ish all the time… BUT she assures me that I might not need to be on hypertension meds forever… if I get my energy back and exercise everyday, maybe lose SOME weight, I might be able to get off them in the future. I’m choosing not to be upset over blood pressure, because… well… it was bound to happen. But there’s hope. Hope of energy and a better lifestyle. A hope I did not have for a very long time.

I’m not cured, but for the first time in a very long time I feel like things might be okay. I don’t feel like I’m despairing. I don’t feel like I’m alone. I don’t feel like everything is falling apart… I feel… okay.

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2018… Not A Great Year So Far…

How is 2018? Well… it’s not great.

Let’s review my work life right now.

  • Biller #1 walked out right before year-end bill-out
  • Biller #2 had her baby a month early, right before year-end bill-out
  • Year-end as the only biller, plus everything else I do
  • New Biller started and quit after two days
  • Finally got two billers I think will be good, and the warranty girl puts in her notice

And that’s about where we are right now.

I’m tired of training of people. My only solace is that these two billers will be good, I think. They’re both bright and motivated to work. I think if either leave any time soon I will just curl up and die under their desk as a tribute to my absolute disappointment in them. But I think they’ll stay, and they’re doing really great, and I’m excited for this bullshit to be over….

Just in time for my warranty gal to leave. She’s going to a pot-lot (car lingo for a used car lot, with buy-here-pay-here ish going on), where she’s going to be the whole office. Now, I almost went to a Maserati store where I was gonna be the whole office, but that was like 15 deals a month, and they don’t take payments at the store… so it wouldn’t have been terrible… I’m not sure this is a wise career move for my friend here, but she has to make her own decisions, and this one gives her an extra $3/hr. On top of that, she really irritates me by watching TV on her phone while she works and blatantly ignoring people who talk to her. Love her as a person, kind of hate her as an employee.  I know she can be a hard worker, but she’s been an alright employee and we know that she hates her current position doing warranty, so I wish her the best. But fuck I don’t wanna train someone to do her job…

My moods are all over the place with the constant barrage of stress and idiocy that keeps getting thrown at me at work, plus we (mothership and I) haven’t gotten a weekend off since December… so that’s pretty shite. Still, she’s getting some good money this month and has offered to help me buy a new bed and a desk for my living room… so at least I know SHE appreciates me, if no one else. We’re hoping to get the office settled and be able to sit back and do actual office manager and controller things… like analyzing data and how procedures are getting done. It would be weird to actually have that kind of time, but ya know… it’s the dream.

Tonight Kyrie and Kira (my dogs) got into it and Kira tore Kyrie’s nose open… she’s okay, but I lost my damn shit. I was just so upset, because I’m working so hard to provide a nice life for them and they fight… it’s like a real kick in the dick.

I also impulse bought books again… but I think I’m good for a while. I just… needed something to look forward to, and books are always good for that.

My eating habits are terrible, in the sense I’m eating a fuck ton, but I’m eating less crap than normal… at least it’s not Taco Bell, it’s whatever I make in the Instant Pot that day. My stationary bike should be here any day and I’m hoping to do that nightly, as well as eating less… I must eat less… but this stress is just crazy. I don’t know how people function like this ALL THE TIME. I need a break… like a vacation… Ugh.

Guys, We Didn’t Talk About Resolutions

January has been crap, but my number one resolution for this year is TRYING to stay positive. I have a fun little positivity book I’m supposed to update daily and everything. I’m not updating daily… but I’m trying.

Other resolutions:

  • No internet dating
    • Read: {embrace that I’m not emotionally available to anyone}
  • Exercise more
    • Read: {be able to walk around without having an asthma attack}
  • Eat better
    • Read: {stop binge eating Chipotle when I’m sad}
  • Spend Less
    • Read: {stop buying art supplies, books, and Coca Cola on the daily}
  • Hydrate
    • Read: {drink something besides Coke and Sweet Tea}

So, I decided to cut internet dating because it doesn’t work and it makes me feel bad about myself. Also, though, I don’t make it easy for people to get to know me or even talk to me. I’m abrasive, closed off, and historically I prefer to make boys cry than let them violate me. So, I think in my year of preparation for being 30 (because 30 is death when you’re a woman, you know /s) I should just deal with that. I know who I am, and I know that I’m fine being alone, but I’ve grown so accustomed to the pursuit of a significant other that life without internet dating, even as terrible as it is, feels new and different. And I could definitely use some new and different in my life.

My ultimate goal with exercising and eating better is weight loss, and ideally I know I want to get back to high school weight (which is still fat, btw… like 60 lbs overweight still) but I don’t want to pin myself down to that number. I want to be able to walk without getting winded and I want to feel better physically more than I want to wear a certain size or see a certain number on the scale. I’m excited for my stationary bike to get here, because I’m motivated to do a thing. (It’s so rare that I’m motivated to do ANYTHING.) It’s supposed to come at the beginning of February. My mom also got me an Instant Pot for working so hard, so I’m excited to see what I can make with it and hopefully manage my caloric intake/expenditure better. I have this tendency to make everything about my weight, and while I am ENORMOUS (I’m not gonna sugar coat it, cuz then I might eat it) {as a fat person I get to make fat jokes guilt free} these resolutions aren’t inherently about my weight: they are about my health and my sense of well-being.

I finally got to really test out my Instant Pot that mothership got me, and I’m living for it. Today I made supa bomb green chili steak with rice and black beans, an amazing chicken soup, and a veggie side dish thing that’s essentially broccoli and cauliflower rice with peas and corn cooked in sofrito. It’s intended to be a side to whatever I make for dinner the next couple of days, which will probably be some chicken or fake turkey roast (Quorn brand non-meats are just tasty, y’all.)

Spending less is a resolution I often have, because I live in a comfortable debt. I have a mortgage, car payment, student loans, credit card debt, etc. I live pretty comfortably, and I don’t think too much about money most of the time, but I do buy things needlessly and I’d prefer to get out of debt instead of just repeatedly feeding it. Most notably, I have a tendency to put out a ton of money for art supplies and books. Of the things I could waste my money on, these aren’t the worst things, but I have stockpiled a supply of both. So, my goals are not to buy anymore, the exceptions being that if I use all of an art supply I can buy ONE more and if I take five books to sell or donate, I can buy one book (in theory using the money from selling the book). I also tend to overspend on groceries, so I’m hoping eating in a more health-conscious way will also help me spend less. Portion control can bleed into money, right?

Saying I want to hydrate for a resolution sounds like a very millennial thing to say, but the truth is that I have a tendency to avoid drinking actual water, and for a long time last year I was drink gallons of water a day, and it does wonders for everything from my skin to my appetite. Recently I got back into the habit of drinking Coca Cola and Monster, as well as a copious amount of iced teas. The teas don’t bother me that much, because it’s only 1 cup of sugar to a whole pitcher of tea, which I think is about a gallon and a half. The coke is out of hand, which is a startling sentence. I really gotta stop drinking so much processed crap, though. While I drink zero-calorie energy drinks, I can tell when I’m dehydrated because I get all swollen and wanna take a nap. I don’t know what I’m going to do to replace my caffeine intake… caffeine is definitely the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to kick, but I know I can do this since I’ve done it before.

Also, I’ve quit smoking. I don’t really know how long it’s been since I smoked… which is not something most smokers will tell you, but I never really smoked on the daily. I always smoked when I went out, and I haven’t been going out, so that made it an unconscious decision to quit. I’ve decided to stick with it, though. I often find myself wanting one, but I just push it down. It’s been really hard recently, because I’ve found it’s really hard to live without a vice.

I don’t have that many vices, and it’s unfortunate that the one I have makes me feel terrible. With the obscene amounts of stress I’ve been under since the new year started, I could really use a vice, but…I don’t drink alone as a rule (cuz I have been known to develop a real bad drinking habit), I quit smoking, I can’t bring myself to become a stoner (I live in Denver, it’s legal, but I still might wanna find a new job at some point and have no idea how to detox, and in my industry we still follow federal regulations), and actual drug use (like abusing my stockpile of Xanax) has never really appealed to me. So, I’m often left with eating as a vice. Even if I make the healthiest food, I have a severe problem with portion control and as a result I’m fat and suffering physical ailments related to my size. Honestly, I have toyed with the idea of living on zero-calorie Monster and cigarettes and just giving up food… but I already had my battle with not eating, as well as the vicious binge-and-purge cycle, and I’m not sure I could win again.

My hands have suffered in place of my lack of vice, too, because I had stopped biting my nails for most of 2017, and I’ve just massacred them since the new year started. THEY ACTUALLY HURT. It’s not even just biting on them, either. I have a tendency to take clippers to try and “fix” the damage and cut them so much shorter than I even ripped them down to. I clip till they bleed, and to be honest that part is so satisfying. It’s like tiny self-harm that’s 100% socially acceptable. It really is just a self-harm substitute, cuz I end up biting and clipping when I’d prefer to squeeze tacks or jab myself with safety pins, etc. Fortunately, I don’t have to fight the cutting feelings a lot anymore, to the point I don’t even know how I used to do it, but the baseline compulsion is still there.

I guess one of my resolutions is to also try to leave my mental illness alone, as well. I’m aware I just talked about my eating disorder problems, and my self-harm problems, and that they were 100% unnecessary statements. I do that a lot. At some point I took my mental illness (bipolar I with anxiety, paranoia, delusions, and sociopathy if the doctors are to be believed) and made myself a chrysalis out of it to distance me from my life. I stopped going out, which is a thing I really enjoyed doing and often even did alone, but that’s not my fault because I have anxiety and staying home was just self-care. It’s a lie, but it sounds nice, right? I have awful paranoia surrounding other people and their perceptions of me, so I just started rejecting ANY thoughts people MIGHT have about me, to the point that I just stopped exhibiting any empathy toward other human beings at all and shut myself off from all people emotionally. Not to mention that my rejection of their perception of me is so strong I stopped wearing makeup or trying to take pride in my appearance. I’ve just been phoning it in for years under the pretense that the feminist movement allows me to not wear makeup, even though I like makeup and really kind of miss having the motivation to put it on. I could go on, but my point is that I’m using my mental illness like some kind of bubble to keep myself from being responsible for my life.

I’m not the kind of person to do that. I’m not the kind of person that gives myself permission to check out because of my crazy. I’ve never taken an actual mental health day. I’ve rarely lost control of my emotions outside my home, because normal people don’t mood swing, so I’m just not allowed to do it. You go home, have a break down, get up, and go to work the next morning, because that’s what normal people are supposed to do. The few times my emotions have gotten the better of me, I just bottle it back up as fast as I can, claim I threw up a lot and that’s why my face looks this way, all tear-streaked and spotty, and continue with my day under the guise of illness. I do not give myself permission to hide behind my mental illness like it’s a reason to be different, and I know that people with mental illness will tell you how unhealthy my approach is, but it’s how I get by in life.

Anyways, I want to stop using my crazy as an excuse for the things I’m doing to myself. I’m secluding myself from people I was good friends with. I’m using my mental illness as an excuse to look proper shite. My house has never been “clean” but it’s gotten worse and my excuse is just that I’ve been depressed…. I’m depressed every damn day for some amount of time, so that’s not a great excuse for me. I have to learn to deal with that shit. I’m… I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to ever open up emotionally ever again. I reserve that for having mental breakdowns on the phone with my mom. Still, I could get over the rest. I have before. Will I be happier? Fuck no. I’ll be miserable. But… I’m fucking miserable everyday anyways. So what’s the difference between miserable and gross or miserable and eyeliner sharp enough to cut someone? At least one of those projects a sense of wellness, even if it’s an illusion built on Smashbox.

So. That’s where I’m at, guys. It’s not a great place, but it’s not the worst I’ve been.

At least we finally hired a biller…
Well… technically she’s the second biller we hired, but the first one didn’t pass the drug test and wasn’t comfortable stopping her THC meds long enough to get a clean test. For what reason, I don’t know, but I sympathize. People are using THC and other weed products for a lot of things these days. It’s unfortunate, cuz I liked that biller, but she has to do what’s best for her. This other biller seems good if she stays. Typical car industry gal, but I think she’s teachable.

Aight, I gotta go to bed. It snowed a fuck ton and I will prolly have to drive in it tomorrow since Mothership has the norovirus I had over New Year.

Peace.

EDIT: I almost forgot! How could I forget?! Rick Died.

My mom’s best friend has been living with, but not married to, her significant other for 20+ years, and one day last week she went home and found him dead in the front yard. We went over immediately, obviously.

He was still lying in the yard when we got there, surrounded by a fire truck and cop cars. You’d be amazed how long it takes to get a body removed. He was out there in the cold for hours… almost three hours from when we got there. Probably three and a half hours total from being found and called in. They have to call people and take pictures and you have to see the grief counselors and stuff… it’s a lot.

We went to the viewing Friday after work. He had to be autopsied. Because she wasn’t married to him, our friend doesn’t know how he really died, though. It’s weird you can live with someone for 20+ years and not be entitled to be their next of kin at all. It didn’t seem to be the fall, so he probably had a heart attack or another stroke. He gets cremated tomorrow, and I hope that gives her some real closure, especially since his friends and family seem to be such fucks. Weddings, funerals, and holidays always bring out the absolute worst in human beings.

I haven’t seen a dead body since my grandfather died. I was really emotional about it at 14, but this time it was nothing. It’s not like I didn’t know the guy, or that I was in shock. I just… didn’t really care about the body. It was there. It was Rick. He was dead. People were crying. I just felt nothing about it, other than it was really unfair to not let the spouse sit with him. I get the investigation portion of body removal, but it was three hours of being told you can’t touch the body in your yard that used to be someone you love, and that feels so wrong. At the viewing I staid away from him, cuz, tbh, the mortuary made him look like a bad Tussaud figure. I just knew that if I got too close I’d wanna poke him or something else completely inappropriate for when you’re viewing a dead body.

So… not sure what to do about my total lack of feelings about a dead body. Makes me a little more serial killer than I’m entirely comfortable with, but maybe it just means I’d make a good mortician. I’ve considered it.

My Old Friends: Ana, Mia, and Ed

I know what I did. I know why it happened. I am not sorry for my actions.

If you’re a new reader… actually even if you’re not… you might not know that I had/have an eating disorder. It’s hard to pick a tense for that kind of thing. I used to have an eating disorder that people find disturbing. In recent years I’ve stopped practicing it, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone away. It’s kind of like the fact I’m a lapsed Catholic: I don’t go to church, but I can still spout off all the Catholic doctrine I ever learned if inclined. Likewise, you never forget the things you learn when you have an eating disorder. You don’t forget that even vitamins and lip balm contain calories. You don’t forget the look of pity and horror on people’s faces if they ever figure you out. You don’t forget what it feels like to be empty. You don’t forget how good food can taste. You don’t forget what it’s like to realize that whatever you just ate didn’t taste that great, but you were so hungry that you ate it anyway and you have to punish yourself for that doubly. You don’t forget the highs, or the lows, or the shame, or the pride… You don’t forget any of it. You just learn to compartmentalize it as a part of your life that happened, and try to fight the want to go back to it.

A lot of people struggle with eating disorders, which is why I think it’s so fascinating that the image of eating disorders is always the skeletal white girl with thinning hair and dull teeth, dead behind the eyes but still standing in a power pose that shows off those hip bones. Those girls exist, obviously, and oh how I have spent a lifetime romanticizing and idolizing them, but more often the face of an eating disorder is a lot less… blatant. It’s a rare kind of person that can be a dedicated anorexic. I don’t have the willpower myself.

For the record, while I give anorexic credit for the self discipline they develop, and I obviously hold a certain amount of adoration for them, I don’t advocate getting yourself an eating disorder.

The face of the common eating disorder can be almost anyone. That surprises a lot of people. It can be men or women, of any race, with any kind of appearance. Someone with an eating disorder might be thin, fit, stacked, fat, or something akin to what an “average” person looks like. It depends on which version of an ED they adopt and how dedicated they are to it.

I was never a wisp of a girl. I’ve never been confused with a fragile person. No, I’m a fat girl. I’ve always been a fat girl, though I’ve been different kinds of fat girl over the years. As a result, when I got into bulimia, no one was concerned that I was losing weight, or how fast I was losing weight, or how I was even doing it. To be honest, for months no one even really noticed. I remember when I bought some new clothes and my boyfriend grabbed me around the waist for some reason, and just went, “Holy shit.” It was a good feeling.

A lot of things were happening at that point in my life. It was turbulent on a good day, but on a bad day a million things could happen. I feel like most people could describe age 18-25 that way, but for as many different reasons as there are people. For me, that time was a whirlwind of medication, bad life choices, and just trying find something I felt like I could control…. something… anything…

I think I’ve touched on the fact that I never thought I’d live this long. That’s not a thing older people like to hear, but it’s true. I never saw the future coming. I dunno what I THOUGHT would happen, whether I’d die or just hit some age and never get older or what, but I didn’t think I’d have to deal with life after elementary school, much less when life persisted and I ended up a high school graduate trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life. Adolescence had been hard enough, but learning to be a really real adult was like some kind of psychological torture devised by a wrathful god. So the first thing I decided to do was see a shrink.

This is not the story of how my shrink somehow tricked me into an eating disorder, or how they ruined my life. I loved my shrink. She listened to me, and I have spent a lot of time wishing that someone would listen to me. What she did do, was after a few sessions she prescribed me Effexor, which I quickly had to stop because my mom said it made me a terrible human being. After a few other sessions, she changed her diagnosis and so began the pursuit to find drugs that could control my bipolar mood disorder. The diagnosis evolved, and I got a few other shrinks, and I was on and off all kinds of medications from anti-depressants to tranquilizers and anti-psychotics. It was a running theme in my life to try and remember how I was supposed to take this one, and whether I took anything that morning, or if I was supposed to take them at night.

Aside from that, I’d started college. I never did well with moves to a new institution. I was nervous, I didn’t know where to belong in a world where no one seemed to flock together. My first day of college I tore all ten fake nails off my hands. They ached for days afterward. I just didn’t know how to deal.

My boyfriend was oblivious. He was a nice guy, but not the kind of guy someone like me was going to keep. He did what he was told, but didn’t have ambition for life. He didn’t do things like ask me about myself… he was just a good constant, in retrospect. Nice guy, but laden with his own problems, like his bipolar mother and brother. He escaped into video games, and I guess he just thought he could add me to his collection of bipolars that mostly took care of themselves. He was just around to pick up the pieces if one of us fell apart or got in trouble (which his mother did often).

This was also when I started binge drinking.

I’d never been a bad kid. I didn’t go to class and I picked up smoking, but I was never a stoner or a drinker or anything else in high school. It wasn’t that shit wasn’t around to do, I just didn’t care to do any of it. I was having enough problems just trying to be a human being, much less a human being with a real habit. I knew kids that got into marijuana, and kids that got into meth; I even know a handful of kids that got into heroin. It just wasn’t my bag, personally.

When I first started going to karaoke with my boyfriend’s roommate, it was just fun to go out with someone older than me. I didn’t have a fake ID or anything, so I’d just hang out and not drink. I was still underage and shouldn’t have been there, but it turns out that if you show up enough, people will just assume you belong there. So, at some point, bartenders just started giving me drinks. Sometimes I paid for them, sometimes they were free, but often I would shoot them more than drink them, and end up black out drunk. I’d tell you stories about that, but I don’t really remember much aside from flashes of driving home drunk or having to call my boyfriend to come get me and my car. That theme went on for a long time.

Anyways, I didn’t feel like I had control of mental health, my college work, my drinking habit, or any part of my life, and my boyfriend was so detached from me that he didn’t really even notice that I was struggling. I was drowning in what it meant to be an adult and trying to figure out how to work and college and party all at once. I was just lost in a sea of things I was not prepared to deal with.

It was around this time that an old friend came back into my life. Somewhere in high school I’d lost track of her, but she popped up on the internet, as pretty much everyone you ever meet is bound to at some point. It honestly could have been anyone, but it was her, and in high school she’d become a pretty devoted member of the Church of Thinspo. I’m still not clear what all lead to it. Her mother had always been preoccupied with her daughter’s weight for some reason, but then I guess her home life got bad when the ‘rents split up. Somewhere in all that, she stopped eating, and for a while that made everything better. Since all that, she’d been to rehab a few times to learn to eat again, and then played with bulimic habits, and eventually had concocted a completely demented relationship with food. It’s all she thought about… but it was everything she hated.

Our re-connection was brief, but the ideas took root, and grew into a weed that strangled the life out of any rational outlook I had on food.

I think that I was technically ED-NOS (eating disorder not otherwise specified). I was definitely bulimic, both in the sense I’d throw up after binging and that I used to track my calories and then go to the gym and try to exercise enough to burn twice as many calories as I ate. Exercise bulimia takes so much time. I used to be at the gym for 4 hours or more, in the dead of night. Also, though, I tried not to eat for days. At one point I existed JUST on Coca Cola. Other days I’d eat normally, and then go home and try to laxative the calories out. My versatility in how I manifested my eating disorder really helped me keep that shit under wraps.
In fact, no one ever found out.

So why did I stop? I’m sure you want to know.

One day I felt good about myself, and I ate 6 hot wings from my favorite pizza place. That was all. No pizza. No binging. Just a normal dinner for a normal girl that was celebrating being alive. As soon as I’d thrown away the box I became violently ill in my kitchen sink. It was completely involuntary, but I’d been doing it so much after eating my body had just done what I’d trained it to do.

I remember sitting on my kitchen floor, bits of spicy chicken still clinging to my mouth as I sobbed. I didn’t know why I was so upset at the time. It felt like a waste of food, but that was what I’d been doing for over a year, so that wasn’t it. It hurt coming up, because it was hot wings, but I’d vomited lots of heavily spiced food. Spicy food coming up was like cutting yourself from the inside. It felt good to hurt. No, I couldn’t have told you why I was so upset just then, but I know now. I’d lost control of the one thing I’d had absolute control over, and it was terrifying.

I never went to a rehab facility. I never told a doctor. I never did anything to get help. I didn’t breakdown about pizza or confide in someone about how much I loved the feeling of being so hungry that it hurt, or talk in group about how relieving it is to vomit everything out after you eat enough food to feed a family of four. I didn’t tell anyone. I probably could have gone to my grave with no one knowing how I lost so much weight that year, except that things have a way of coming out when you least expect them to.

I was in the car with my mom, recently, and I don’t remember what we were talking about, but I ended up saying, “when I was bulimic…” I died a little inside, but Mom was as unreadable as ever. I know it probably hurt her to find out that all that weight I lost was due to an eating disorder, especially since she gave me so much praise for losing that weight, and so much shit for gaining all of it back and then some.

Anyways, to take the long way around, I binged and purged for the first time in 8 years last night… and it felt as good as I remember it feeling.

It was absolutely revolting… Chipotle tacos, a burrito bowl, two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and a big cup of chocolate milk. It came out stick and oddly colored.

I didn’t throw up everything. I’d wager I managed about half of what I ate, maybe a little more, but the burn from the inside from the hot salsa was like hugging an old friend and the feeling of my insides going from bursting at the seams to suddenly having space to move again was nothing but familiar relief.

You never forget what you learn when you have an eating disorder….

And the thing about your inner demons is that they are always there for you when no one else is.

I have an eating disorder.

I watched a YouTube video over a week ago, and I’m still thinking about it. I don’t usually watch a lot of The Gabby Show, but it popped up and I was interested. It’s interesting to me how many people are struggling, especially the number of people willing to voice their struggles. I like Gabby; she’s full of stories. I didn’t expect her to be the kind of person that would have an eating disorder, much less talk about it openly on YouTube. I knew Shane Dawson struggled with food and weight and liking himself. I know that Hannah Hart speaks a lot of about how she deals with negative feelings and trying to just feel better. I know Markiplier goes out of this way to let his fans know that he’s got problems and he has to deal with them, but that he hopes his fans have to deal with less. I like these YouTubers for these reasons. I like people that are amazing in spite of being fragile. It’s important to me.

It was hard for me to think about Gabby having an eating disorder, but I wasn’t sure why it was so difficult to think about. It wasn’t until later when I was in the grocery store that I realized it’s because she doesn’t LOOK like she has an eating disorder. She’s not crazy thin. She doesn’t look gaunt and drawn. Her teeth aren’t rotting out of her head. She doesn’t look like she’s in trouble. I fell victim to the most basic denial reasoning, and I should know better. I should know better than anyone that you can look totally fine and be dying inside. Your outside appearance doesn’t have to dictate anything except that you want to seem normal.

Let me take you through a trip to the grocery store with me.
A, I’m a fat girl. Let’s start with that, so you can picture me appropriately. I’m not just fat in the middle, or just have a large bottom half… I’m fat in an all over kind of way. On top of that, I’m self-conscious as shit, so I spend an inordinate amount of time looking around to see if anyone is looking at me an judging my food choices.
B, I always get a small cart, because there is less room to put things in. Plus, I always start in the produce section, because if I fill my space with vegetables I have less room for danger foods. I pick up fruit and stare at it. If it’s a banana, all I can think of are the calories. If it’s citrus or apples, I think about the sugar content. If it’s berries or grapes, I think about how well I can portion eating (which is NOT WELL). In the end, I usually put the fruit back. From the produce section we go to the bakery.
C, I only shop the clearance section. If nothing looks good, I move on in disappointment. If something smells like garlic, I pick it up. In the meat department I only shop clearance, trying to find things that freeze well. I can spend twenty minutes at both clearance spots pondering if I really want or need anything, usually just to pick something up and come back to drop it off later.
D, The rest of the store is me picking things up at random, agonizing about everything I even think of touching, and then trying to be sure I have what I actually came for. At the end of the trip, I circle back through the store again and put back as much of my cart as I can.

In theory, it probably doesn’t sound like a bad idea. You pickup what you think you want, look at your cart at the end, and empty what you don’t need. My cart usually ends up with celery, some kind of fried or sweet item I don’t need but convinced myself I deserve, and Gold Peak Diet Tea.

When I’m out with friends, if they’re going to get food before something, I make up an excuse for being late. If we’re out late and they wanna grab a bite to eat, I make up a reason to go home immediately. On dates, I dodge any dinner invitation. This has lead to a few people being insulted that I want to go out instead of going to their place for dinner… but to those people I say, “Bitch, even if I ate in front of people, I wouldn’t go to your house! I don’t know you! This is how horror movies start, you stupid oaf!” But I digress… I don’t eat in public, unless it’s with my mom, and even then I try to eat the smallest bites possible so as not to look like “that fat girl wolfing down a burger without chewing.”

Don’t get me wrong. I’m under no delusion that I’m eating healthy. After buying my celery, I almost always pop over to Chipotle, ordering a bowl and some tacos under the guise of taking food to my mom, and then go home and binge eat everything, including the celery. I then spend as long as I can afterwards trying NOT TO EAT ANYTHING AT ALL. The point is that if you observe me… you’d have no idea how I got this big or maintain it. No one ever sees me eat.

I dunno where I’m going with this…

Don’t let someone’s outside appearance make you think they’re not hurting.
Everyone has problems… and they manifest in different ways.
Just let people be.

Also, if you are suffering, seek help.
I’ve sought a lot of help, and I’m very self-aware… I’m not cured, but I’m better than I’ve previously been. Don’t be scared of help… It’ll be okay.

Can I Just Sleep Until I Die?

I’m trying really hard not to let this whole thing get to me… but it does. You see, the problem with hope and happiness, is that both can be crushed beneath any stray boot. It’s better not to have them at all, than to have them just long enough to make losing them painful.

Until this past weekend, it had been a year since I was intimate with someone. More than that, it’s been three or four years since I was even interested in someone. I’d reached a point where I was okay with that. I’d pushed friends away, and avoided romantic situations, and aside from bad drunken sex I avoided human intimacy. Everything was fine; that’s just who I was now, and it was totally fine. Yeah, there’s always a hint of crippling loneliness. I get tired of going out alone all the time. I get sick of seeing couples in the street. Even romance in movies and TV made me feel uncomfortable and gross. It’s all so unrealistic, and yet it always looks so nice.

Of course you don’t know in three days if someone is worth your time, but apparently that’s all you need to want more human contact in your life. Sunday was such a lovely day, and it seemed so wonderful to have someone that I wasn’t trying to push away. I was just being me, and letting him see that. It was freeing and lovely and I wanted more, so much more. I’d rather I’d never felt that. Now, that feeling is gone and has been replaced by regret and loneliness. There’s a hole in the center of my body that I had learned to ignore for so long, and now it throbs.

Feeling badly, as I do, I thought I’d treat myself to a cheat day. I’ve been dieting, and the night before last I clock a total of 460 calories for the day, so I didn’t think it would be a big thing to hit 1700 yesterday. Today I’m back to dieting… and food no longer fills me with joy. I ate exactly what I wanted last night and it didn’t do anything. So, not only am I wallowing in my own misery, but the one thing that used to bring me joy no longer does anything. I just felt sick after cramming that much Chipotle into my face. Whatever is missing from my life apparently can no longer be placated with a burrito.

And maybe that’s good. I have a friend I text perpetually and always, and I realized how depressed I sound when I talk about this whole three day business, so I doubled back with the affirmation: “Well, if it doesn’t make shit better, then I don’t need to binge eat ever again! Silver lining!” Maybe that’s true. It doesn’t feel important though. Life just feels so meaningless that I don’t even want to be awake for it anymore.

My best friend lives 1091 miles away…. my secondary best friend just moved 1281 miles away…. my back up best friend wants to join the Navy and leave, not that I ever see her anyway. My mother is miserable. My job is currently being turned on its head and shaken. It’s going to be winter soon, and I’ll have to contend with snow. The only bright spots in my life are my pets, and unfortunately you can’t take them to dinner and a movie, or to a concert, or discuss movies with them. I feel lonely, and I hate everything right now… but mostly me… I hate me so much right now, for getting all tangled up in false hopes and fragile happiness, and for being genuinely surprised when it all fell apart. What am I? New? No. I know better.

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I was supposed to kill myself this year. When I was fourteen I made a plan. I was going to do my life better than my mom. I was going to be married at 24, and start having kids at 26. I wanted two kids, and to live somewhere with a beach. We’d both work so that we had enough money to have nice family vacations, and by the time the kids were done with college we’d have enough money to travel around a bit before we retired.
The backup plan to that was that if I wasn’t married and had no kids by 26, I was going to kill myself.

I didn’t. I’m still here, obviously. Life hadn’t been good up till then, but I thought that this year I might figure it out. I thought this would be the year I committed to weight loss, and got my house in order, and I’d make some new friends and just enjoy being me. None of that happened. I’m still fat. Down 13 lbs as of this morning and I have 127 left before I’m remotely happy. I actually have LESS friends now than this time last year. I finally got some work done on my house, but everyday I just debate getting rid of everything I own and living in my house with nothing. Still might.

Nothing got better. Nothing panned out.
I don’t think I’m going to kill myself… because I have to take care of the pets. I just… don’t wanna be awake for this part of my life anymore. Everything is meaningless, and all I want is to feel close to someone again… and I know it won’t be for a very long time.

Damn me for trying.
Damn me for not knowing better.
Damn me for getting so lost that I let myself hurt me.

I’m having a bad life.

My losses and gains

So as of Friday, I am down 10lbs from my heaviest weight. I hope to never see my scale say 280, every again.

It feels like it’s taken forever to lose 10 lbs… and if I were sticking strictly to my diet, but all things considered I’m pretty proud of myself. I’m starting a stricter diet this week… Working toward not just staying within cals, but actually packing really good foods into it. 1200 calories of cake, is still 1200 cals, but it’s not nutritious and it will make you want more food later because you’re not getting the right stuff.

So… Gonna alternate caloric intake… 1200 then 1400 then 1200 again. 1200 is really low, so you don’t want your body to think you’re starving to death… I think the extra 200 every other day, ish, will help me consistently lose more.

My goal this week is 5 lbs. That’s more than twice what you should realistically lose in a week, but I need a confidence boost. So that’s the goal… but any loss, of course, would be amazing.

So what have I gained from this?

Much more respect for ridiculous food… because all I want is to binge eat junk… all the time.

Also, I have gained the realization that I will hate exercise forever.
My brain just kicks into this horrible thing where it loops how fat and useless I am. Over music, over tv, over books on tape… it’s just “YOU ARE A GOD DAMN FAT PIECE OF SHIT AND WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCKING KILL YOURSELF INSTEAD OF WASTING EVERYONE’S TIME TRYING TO LOSE WEIGHT?! IT’S JUST GONNA COME BACK BECAUSE YOU’RE A BIG FAT ASS THAT SHOULD DIE SO STARVING PEOPLE CAN EAT THE FOOD YOU SHOVEL INTO YOUR FACE.”

So…. that’s just something I’m gonna have to deal with. I don’t like it. I absolutely hate exercising, because it’s awful and I always want to put a gun in my mouth afterwards, but I’m trying to ease into it. Right now my phone tracks my movement. I’m trying to move around at least 30 mins a day. Next week I’m bumping to 45. It’s not dedicated exercise. It’s “you walked to the mail box, then you parked at the back of the parking lot when you went to the store, and then you walked around the block at a leisurely pace with your geriatric dog.” So it’s not me on a treadmill with nothing to think about except what a piece of shit I am… it’s just trying to think of more reasons to expend a little more energy without really thinking about it.

Maybe later I will walk to Chipotle to obtain my salad instead of eating the one that I made myself…. Maybe. I dunno. We’ll see.

I’m not happy, or excited about this. I’m not reveling in my weight loss or feeling OMG SO GREAT. I hate it. I want to binge eat all the time. I don’t feel better about anything. I haven’t stopped craving shitty food. I don’t see any change in my appearance, and I don’t think my clothes fit better. It’s very disappointing. I know that I won’t start feeling any kind of change until 25 or 30 lbs down… And that sucks. It’s so much and so far and I feel really hopeless about it.

I wish I was only 30 lbs overweight. I could do that. If you told me this morning that I needed to lose 30 lbs and I would then be at my ideal weight, I guarantee I could drop that in a month.
But I am now 130 lbs overweight. Even if I could drop that in a month, I’d be left with flaps of skin and digestive problems.

I’m trying really hard not to make this a big thing. I don’t want to get carried away again and start throwing up every time I eat. I don’t want to be left with skin flaps, so I have to lose reasonably slowly. I don’t want to fail, but I don’t quite know how to succeed…

So that’s where I’m at.