my reflection... hurts me.
i am
a lump of lard,
a spewing, volcanic thing,
erupting out of all bounds
of what it means to be normal.
please tell me this isn't me.
i want to claw at it, break the glass,
smear my blood on the image,
obscure it from view.
my punishment: a desert island,
a few bananas a day, crazy running.
fat and burned i'd be, but maybe soon
the metamorphosis, skinny, tan,
running wild and free,
hoping the malaria mosquito doesn't find me.
i cannot face my disgust,
my scars, the stretching purple
of fat-swelled skin,
pores red and leaking.
somewhere, a roof is caving in;
a baby is wailing
for a heartbeat it will never feel.
this is not really a poem.
free verse, shitty free verse at that,
trying to describe an existence
no description can truly capture.
i am lost in myself,
myriad folds of axons, transmitters,
partitions and chemicals
and a damned fucking mess.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Sunday, October 26, 2008
I have a Latin quiz tomorrow, but I have not been studying nearly enough. I still couldn't tell you what most of the nine special adjectives are, or what any of them mean, and I have to know them all for tomorrow morning at 10 AM. God, I am so fucked. And I don't even care.
I have spent this weekend trying to digest less calories, but I have also been b/ping. I did it twice today, at least once yesterday... maybe I did it on Friday also? I can't really remember. I've been b/ping a lot more in general lately, too. Sooo I guess the ED is a bit strong. I would really love to just stay home tomorrow, say fuck the Latin quiz, and my lectures and my volunteering too... although I know I won't, and I'll probably freak out and study like crazy tomorrow morning (although I guess we'll see how much it helps). But right now I am just so exhausted, physically from the b/ping and mentally from the constant thoughts about food and the ED generally, that I simply do not give a shit about any of this school shit.
The thing is, the "school shit" is actually not so bad at the moment. I'm finally learning some calculus... and I got an A on my first psych exam, which I did NOT expect. I'm not quite sure why I'm suddenly deciding to fuck everything up by starting on the ED train again. It's like -- I have this HUGE struggle to get by in school, to try and learn everything, and then once I finally get some confirmation that maybe I know one or two things, I start completely ignoring my work and diving headlong into the bulimia again? I mean, what gives? I don't understand this at all. You'd think doing well in school would motivate me to want to stay healthy, so I could continue to get good marks.
And yet... some part of me really thinks that all this is a fluke, that one false step and all my "good" grades are going to slide out from under me and become the shitty grades I know are just waiting to pounce on me the second I slack even the tiniest bit. It still feels like so much pressure -- to perform, to do well, so I can have a high GPA, so I can get into the psych degree, and later on get into university jobs, grad school, etc. It's like trying to get skinnier, b/ping, not studying, are my ways of saying "fuck you" to this world that expects me to do EVERYTHING NOW, when I feel like I just can't cope, or am going to go insane from trying to.
So basically... doing well makes me self-destruct, so I can have an excuse if I do poorly in the future? That's some fucked-up logic right there. And yet it all happened without me even being aware of what the trains of thought actually were. I just had some instincts, some impulses, some unconscious feelings, all of which I acted on before any of that intellectual stuff kicked in. The problems only seem to occur either when things fall apart, or the intellectual side kicks in. Until then, I just ride the happy oblivion train and do whatever the fuck I like.
Sometimes I really bloody hate reality, you know that.
I have spent this weekend trying to digest less calories, but I have also been b/ping. I did it twice today, at least once yesterday... maybe I did it on Friday also? I can't really remember. I've been b/ping a lot more in general lately, too. Sooo I guess the ED is a bit strong. I would really love to just stay home tomorrow, say fuck the Latin quiz, and my lectures and my volunteering too... although I know I won't, and I'll probably freak out and study like crazy tomorrow morning (although I guess we'll see how much it helps). But right now I am just so exhausted, physically from the b/ping and mentally from the constant thoughts about food and the ED generally, that I simply do not give a shit about any of this school shit.
The thing is, the "school shit" is actually not so bad at the moment. I'm finally learning some calculus... and I got an A on my first psych exam, which I did NOT expect. I'm not quite sure why I'm suddenly deciding to fuck everything up by starting on the ED train again. It's like -- I have this HUGE struggle to get by in school, to try and learn everything, and then once I finally get some confirmation that maybe I know one or two things, I start completely ignoring my work and diving headlong into the bulimia again? I mean, what gives? I don't understand this at all. You'd think doing well in school would motivate me to want to stay healthy, so I could continue to get good marks.
And yet... some part of me really thinks that all this is a fluke, that one false step and all my "good" grades are going to slide out from under me and become the shitty grades I know are just waiting to pounce on me the second I slack even the tiniest bit. It still feels like so much pressure -- to perform, to do well, so I can have a high GPA, so I can get into the psych degree, and later on get into university jobs, grad school, etc. It's like trying to get skinnier, b/ping, not studying, are my ways of saying "fuck you" to this world that expects me to do EVERYTHING NOW, when I feel like I just can't cope, or am going to go insane from trying to.
So basically... doing well makes me self-destruct, so I can have an excuse if I do poorly in the future? That's some fucked-up logic right there. And yet it all happened without me even being aware of what the trains of thought actually were. I just had some instincts, some impulses, some unconscious feelings, all of which I acted on before any of that intellectual stuff kicked in. The problems only seem to occur either when things fall apart, or the intellectual side kicks in. Until then, I just ride the happy oblivion train and do whatever the fuck I like.
Sometimes I really bloody hate reality, you know that.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
I'm really starting to think I'm truly, a little bit, depressed right now, even though I seem to have none of my most usual symptoms.
I tried to make a YouTube video today, and couldn't add any oomph to any of it. I played back not even 30 seconds and decided to can it. I hated looking at myself in that video, and not just because I thought I was fat. I simply could not understand why anyone would be interested in such a thing -- and why post it if nobody is going to be interested in it?
I'm not motivated to do a lot of things actually. This unfortunately includes school. It is very, very hard to try and make yourself work and study and do assignments when you simply don't care, and you'd rather laze around the house all day surfing the Internet, watching YouTube videos, talking to your friends on MSN, and listening to music.
I don't know what happened to me, really. I used to be academically motivated to succeed. I used to love learning. Now... I don't seem to care. Honestly, most of the time I wouldn't care if I ever went to university again. It's just that there's nothing else in the world that I want to do, either. I don't want to go to college -- I don't want to move out and get a job -- I don't want to spend the rest of my life in some shitty minimum wage job. Plan #2 wouldn't work, anyway, because you can't get any good jobs without either college or university (here college = trades and university = bachelors), and you'd have to make at least semi-decent money in order to be able to make it living on your own. And if there's one thing I have no desire to deal with if I can ever help it, it's roommates.
Anyway, all this is null and void, because right now I live at home and am doing university full-time, and I have to keep doing that until I get a degree of some kind. There really is no other choice, not unless I want one of the other options I wrote above, which I don't. I don't like anything I could possibly do, so I might as well pick the one that used to make me happy, or that is broader in terms of what I can do afterwards. I never did like the idea of absolutely, finitely being tied to one specific career or set of careers after graduation, which is something college would ensure.
I am just... tired of life. Really fucking tired of life. And yet I have to force myself to slog through it, because there is absolutely nothing else that I can do.
I wonder if this actually sounds like depression, or if these are just the ramblings of someone who's just really, truly realized how stupid and boring and meaningless her life is.
I tried to make a YouTube video today, and couldn't add any oomph to any of it. I played back not even 30 seconds and decided to can it. I hated looking at myself in that video, and not just because I thought I was fat. I simply could not understand why anyone would be interested in such a thing -- and why post it if nobody is going to be interested in it?
I'm not motivated to do a lot of things actually. This unfortunately includes school. It is very, very hard to try and make yourself work and study and do assignments when you simply don't care, and you'd rather laze around the house all day surfing the Internet, watching YouTube videos, talking to your friends on MSN, and listening to music.
I don't know what happened to me, really. I used to be academically motivated to succeed. I used to love learning. Now... I don't seem to care. Honestly, most of the time I wouldn't care if I ever went to university again. It's just that there's nothing else in the world that I want to do, either. I don't want to go to college -- I don't want to move out and get a job -- I don't want to spend the rest of my life in some shitty minimum wage job. Plan #2 wouldn't work, anyway, because you can't get any good jobs without either college or university (here college = trades and university = bachelors), and you'd have to make at least semi-decent money in order to be able to make it living on your own. And if there's one thing I have no desire to deal with if I can ever help it, it's roommates.
Anyway, all this is null and void, because right now I live at home and am doing university full-time, and I have to keep doing that until I get a degree of some kind. There really is no other choice, not unless I want one of the other options I wrote above, which I don't. I don't like anything I could possibly do, so I might as well pick the one that used to make me happy, or that is broader in terms of what I can do afterwards. I never did like the idea of absolutely, finitely being tied to one specific career or set of careers after graduation, which is something college would ensure.
I am just... tired of life. Really fucking tired of life. And yet I have to force myself to slog through it, because there is absolutely nothing else that I can do.
I wonder if this actually sounds like depression, or if these are just the ramblings of someone who's just really, truly realized how stupid and boring and meaningless her life is.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Eating fucked-up-ness
What do I do?
Do I attempt, yet again, to try and eat normally -- to choose mostly healthy and nutrient-dense foods -- to maybe start going to the gym on campus again? I did feel better when I was doing that. Do I try it, knowing that the moment I get stressed out again, which is absolutely certain to happen because I'm a full-time student and school is a major stressor for me, I will probably revert back to old gluttonous or disordered habits, or maybe some combination of the two?
Do I ignore the fact that I've gained even more weight -- this heavy feeling of my thighs, the 95% absence of all bones or hints of bones -- or do I try to minimize some? Will getting fit be enough without losing weight? And, again, can I even possibly sustain any of it? It doesn't seem so likely, given my history, and the way my mood swings around at the least little change in my circumstances. Even if I try to lose a little weight, I am pretty sure, I will just gain it all back again the moment I get stressed, and things snap in my brain, and I start trying to inhale the whole house, the whole grocery store, the whole world. I have some major fucking willpower and control issues, I am convinced, which I lately take out on food in the most negative way possible: eating too much of it AND keeping most of it in.
Disgusting. Horrifying. And yet so much of the time I am just apathetic about how disgusting and horrifying it is. I don't have any concept that I am gaining weight until I suddenly notice that some body part feels heavier, that these clothes are a little tighter, that I have to retire this or that pair of my older jeans because they don't fit properly anymore. The thing that used to terrify me beyond belief a couple of years ago -- gaining weight, becoming overweight -- is happening to me right now, and I don't even care. I don't even fucking care.
Why don't I care? Is it because I am just so tired of the starve-binge cycles? So tired of the bulimia? So tired of restriction in and of itself? Is it because I am tired of the constant anxiety of restricting intake, the fear that slight deviation will make me gain a thousand pounds? Tired of the realization that all my starving and bulimic behaviors and overeating have altogether combined just to make me gain even MORE weight?
Well, maybe that's why I gave restriction, in the eating disordered sense, up. But why is it that I can't see a reduction in food intake and restriction in the disordered sense as separate entities? Why can't I see a healthy, lower-calorie meal plan, in which I actually track what I eat, as something healthy and good for my body, instead of as a ravaging, soul-sucking tormentor that will immediately and with great force bring me right back to the terror, the consuming obsession, of restrictive EDNOS?
Why can't I just eat healthier and in smaller portions? Why does that always, sooner or later, start to feel like restriction, like deprivation, like it's somehow "not the real me"? (The voice in the back of the head whispers: What, is the "real you" a gluttonous fat girl? Is the "real you" the one who eats until her stomach is ready to burst, until she feels incredibly nauseous and indulgent, and then leans over a toilet to relieve the pressure, to avoid the sticky heat and stomach upset of the incredible spike in blood sugar the binge will bring if it stays in? Is that what the "real you" is?)
I feel, somehow, that if I knew the answers to these questions -- if I could figure out the reasons for my fucked-up-ness -- that I could finally conquer the bulimia and COE and binge-eating once and for all. That I could finally figure out how to make the overeating child inside me happy, and she would finally stop trying to fill her emptiness and sorrow and pain with all the food she is able to get her hands on. And maybe then she would leave me alone and let me get on with the rest of my life.
Do I attempt, yet again, to try and eat normally -- to choose mostly healthy and nutrient-dense foods -- to maybe start going to the gym on campus again? I did feel better when I was doing that. Do I try it, knowing that the moment I get stressed out again, which is absolutely certain to happen because I'm a full-time student and school is a major stressor for me, I will probably revert back to old gluttonous or disordered habits, or maybe some combination of the two?
Do I ignore the fact that I've gained even more weight -- this heavy feeling of my thighs, the 95% absence of all bones or hints of bones -- or do I try to minimize some? Will getting fit be enough without losing weight? And, again, can I even possibly sustain any of it? It doesn't seem so likely, given my history, and the way my mood swings around at the least little change in my circumstances. Even if I try to lose a little weight, I am pretty sure, I will just gain it all back again the moment I get stressed, and things snap in my brain, and I start trying to inhale the whole house, the whole grocery store, the whole world. I have some major fucking willpower and control issues, I am convinced, which I lately take out on food in the most negative way possible: eating too much of it AND keeping most of it in.
Disgusting. Horrifying. And yet so much of the time I am just apathetic about how disgusting and horrifying it is. I don't have any concept that I am gaining weight until I suddenly notice that some body part feels heavier, that these clothes are a little tighter, that I have to retire this or that pair of my older jeans because they don't fit properly anymore. The thing that used to terrify me beyond belief a couple of years ago -- gaining weight, becoming overweight -- is happening to me right now, and I don't even care. I don't even fucking care.
Why don't I care? Is it because I am just so tired of the starve-binge cycles? So tired of the bulimia? So tired of restriction in and of itself? Is it because I am tired of the constant anxiety of restricting intake, the fear that slight deviation will make me gain a thousand pounds? Tired of the realization that all my starving and bulimic behaviors and overeating have altogether combined just to make me gain even MORE weight?
Well, maybe that's why I gave restriction, in the eating disordered sense, up. But why is it that I can't see a reduction in food intake and restriction in the disordered sense as separate entities? Why can't I see a healthy, lower-calorie meal plan, in which I actually track what I eat, as something healthy and good for my body, instead of as a ravaging, soul-sucking tormentor that will immediately and with great force bring me right back to the terror, the consuming obsession, of restrictive EDNOS?
Why can't I just eat healthier and in smaller portions? Why does that always, sooner or later, start to feel like restriction, like deprivation, like it's somehow "not the real me"? (The voice in the back of the head whispers: What, is the "real you" a gluttonous fat girl? Is the "real you" the one who eats until her stomach is ready to burst, until she feels incredibly nauseous and indulgent, and then leans over a toilet to relieve the pressure, to avoid the sticky heat and stomach upset of the incredible spike in blood sugar the binge will bring if it stays in? Is that what the "real you" is?)
I feel, somehow, that if I knew the answers to these questions -- if I could figure out the reasons for my fucked-up-ness -- that I could finally conquer the bulimia and COE and binge-eating once and for all. That I could finally figure out how to make the overeating child inside me happy, and she would finally stop trying to fill her emptiness and sorrow and pain with all the food she is able to get her hands on. And maybe then she would leave me alone and let me get on with the rest of my life.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
I don't really know what to do anymore.
I am so stressed out lately. Often I want to cry at the littlest, stupid things, or over nothing at all. Everything feels completely overwhelming. And, what's more, I feel like the world's biggest dunce when it comes to school -- like I don't understand anything the way I'm supposed to, and unless I drive myself to work and work and work I will fail everything. I feel like I'm always on the brink of losing my grip on my courses and completely fucking up everything. Trying to get everything done, study as much as I need to, learn as well as humanly possible the material I have trouble with, trying to get the best grades I can possibly get -- it's too strenuous. I feel like I am going to explode soon... hemorrhage all over everything. Somehow the bleakness and blackness is going to come spurting out of me, and I won't be able to rein any of it in anymore, and I'll collapse in a heap on the floor and everybody will stop and stare at my twitching, slumping mess. Or, worse, simply step over it and move on with their lives... forget that it's even there, or ever was there.
I have actually started considering going to the counselling center at the university yet again. Coming from me, this is kind of a big deal, because I've been swearing since I went back to school that I was never setting foot in that fucking place again. I wanted to be done with therapy. I thought I was done with therapy. I never wanted to have anything more to do with that bullshit again (almost none of the therapists around here do anything that's not CBT, and to me CBT = bullshit). And yet... here I am, contemplating it. I have at least one particular issue on top of the anxiety that I can think of that needs tackling, an issue that I don't want to discuss here; but the point is that I don't know how long I can go on functioning the way I am. If you can call it functioning. I don't think that this way of living is the way people are generally supposed to live. Most people aren't constantly anxious and tormented by some strange unnameable soul-searing pain. Are they?
So, basically, all my fucked-up-ness is coming back stronger and stronger, and I have no idea how much longer I can control it... or if can even be controlled anymore.
Fuck.
I am so stressed out lately. Often I want to cry at the littlest, stupid things, or over nothing at all. Everything feels completely overwhelming. And, what's more, I feel like the world's biggest dunce when it comes to school -- like I don't understand anything the way I'm supposed to, and unless I drive myself to work and work and work I will fail everything. I feel like I'm always on the brink of losing my grip on my courses and completely fucking up everything. Trying to get everything done, study as much as I need to, learn as well as humanly possible the material I have trouble with, trying to get the best grades I can possibly get -- it's too strenuous. I feel like I am going to explode soon... hemorrhage all over everything. Somehow the bleakness and blackness is going to come spurting out of me, and I won't be able to rein any of it in anymore, and I'll collapse in a heap on the floor and everybody will stop and stare at my twitching, slumping mess. Or, worse, simply step over it and move on with their lives... forget that it's even there, or ever was there.
I have actually started considering going to the counselling center at the university yet again. Coming from me, this is kind of a big deal, because I've been swearing since I went back to school that I was never setting foot in that fucking place again. I wanted to be done with therapy. I thought I was done with therapy. I never wanted to have anything more to do with that bullshit again (almost none of the therapists around here do anything that's not CBT, and to me CBT = bullshit). And yet... here I am, contemplating it. I have at least one particular issue on top of the anxiety that I can think of that needs tackling, an issue that I don't want to discuss here; but the point is that I don't know how long I can go on functioning the way I am. If you can call it functioning. I don't think that this way of living is the way people are generally supposed to live. Most people aren't constantly anxious and tormented by some strange unnameable soul-searing pain. Are they?
So, basically, all my fucked-up-ness is coming back stronger and stronger, and I have no idea how much longer I can control it... or if can even be controlled anymore.
Fuck.
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