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.

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 think my depression is starting to take a huge spiral downward. I know I've been saying over and over again that it's not that bad, and for awhile it wasn't; but tonight it is that bad, and it seems to just be getting worse. And I don't know what the fuck to do about it.

All I can think is this: If I'm just going to feel exhausted and cranky and be unable to concentrate whether or not I eat, I might as well just not fucking eat, so at least I can lose some weight and look better, if I have to be this goddamned miserable anyway.

Fuck this shit.

I try so hard to help other people, and then find it so hard to help myself sometimes. I try to be there for others -- give them a listening ear, maybe some gentle nudging or poking if I think it might be useful -- and then am extremely stubborn when anyone else tries to give me advice. I try not to hide from the truth about myself and my intentions and desires and fears, and yet I find myself continually, unconsciously, trying to go back to one old coping mechanism or another when I get stressed or sad or lonely or bored. There are still so many normal human emotions that I can't stand to be in for extended periods of time. And I wonder if that makes me really hypocritical, in trying to help other people; and then I wonder, if this is the definition for hypocritical -- trying to help others when one oneself isn't perfect -- whether every person on this planet isn't at least a little hypocritical.

Lately I've been compulsively overeating way too much. Started one day at school when I bought fast food for lunch -- and that just started a downward spiral, wherein I wanted all the tasty foods I could get my hands on all the time. The fact that we have barely anything in this house to eat that I actually want to eat doesn't help, as it has made me feel more justified in buying a lot of bad foods with my pocket money. Of course, on the other hand, it probably short-circuited a bout of COE last night that likely would have ended up in b/ping had we had anything else tasty in the house. Cause and effect circle each other, dance with hands on each other's waists and sparks flying between them, the danger and heat of the exchange flashing darkly in their eyes.

I wish all of it was as easy as telling myself to just stop. (Don't we all?) People see compulsive overeating as somehow different from a "full-blown" eating disorder, as more of a willpower thing and less of a full-blown disease that totally consumes a person. And, admittedly, it doesn't have quite the same physical effects as many of the other disorders. It takes a long time to die of compulsive overeating, if in fact you do die. For me, it has a little less to do with self-destruction and much more to do with comfort. Eating many sweet things at once, eating a lot of salt, it does, as studies have found, trigger that large output of serotonin. Like a chemical trigger for beating the blues. So is it any wonder that when I get tired, I want to overeat? After all, I always feel much more energized and able to carry on after eating too much. And is it any wonder that my largest desires to compulsively overeat happen when I get very sad or depressed? Biologically, my brain is actually being quite intelligent. It knows that the rush of sugar or salt (my personal tastes usually lead me more toward sugar) will make the mood rise, which will better restore equilibrium. And so it drives me to try and consume more and more and more.

Part of my problem is that I can't figure out what is the basis for the depletion of the neurotransmitters in the first place. Why do they get so low that my body tries to force me to restore them by eating a lot? Is it certain things that I do that make them worse and unbalance them -- for example, not sleeping enough? Or is it more related to faulty brain chemistry? Sometimes I really think I am still dysthymic, or maybe even cyclothymic. Because I do still have many times when I feel pretty good, or even quite happy, and then there are times when I am lethargic and down and completely unenthused for no really good reasons that I can figure out. So I often wonder if it's some cycle down into dysthymia that affects the sleep patterns, eating, etc, and these other dysfunctions in turn make me feel worse and worse and worse. But then I think that maybe I'm really stressed by school, which causes me to sleep unsoundly, which causes my body to try and eat more to compensate for its fatigue and allow me to keep going. Cause and effect, cause and effect. Which is which? How the heck can I ever know?

My problems are all so mild now, compared to what they used to be, that I simply do not feel validated in seeking any assistance whatsoever. If the lethargic moods are so mild that I can function around them, why would I bother going for help about them? If I cycle between being able to eat normally and then into a little bit of disordered behavior and then back again, where is the justification for seeing a dietician? If I feel that I've uncovered so many of my psychodynamic/unconscious issues already, and no therapist around here is likely to even do the right kind of therapy, let alone be completely psychologically sound themselves, or be as understanding and patient as I would need them to be, why would I even bother trying to go back to therapy? I honestly just can't see how any of these routes would help me at this point. I would basically go in being a whiner and an attention seeker. And I am NOT going to do that. I absolutely refuse to be the mental health equivalent of someone who goes to the doctor about a few sniffles. I am not going to be one of those spoiled, pampered brats who takes advantages of services just because she can. That's not my style, and I hope it never will be.

In the meantime, though, I get the not even remotely fun work of trying to do this myself. Which is the part that annoys me. But at the same time... this is what I have chosen to do. So I guess I'm just going to have to make it bloody work, aren't I?

Clipped from an entry on another journal site.


My life seems to have taken a slight upswing lately. I finished at my shitty fast food job on August 30th, and then I started school again on September 4th. I am taking a full course load -- 15 credits, the maximum I can have before needing a letter of permission to take more classes. This equates to five courses which require a fair amount of reading, study, and some written assignments (although thankfully not many, and NO heavy-duty essays). Most of my evals are being done through tests, in fact, which is pretty common in first-year courses.

For, yes, I am still taking all first-year courses. Technically I have the credits of a third year, but as most of those courses were for a specialized degree, most of them don't even count towards my new degree. So, basically, I get to prance around campus with the credits of a third year, and the student number of a FIFTH year, while really, for all intents and purposes, being a first year. You can see how this might create some awkwardness on my part. Luckily, people don't ask many questions -- I just tell them I was doing a music degree first, and then I took some time off / worked before going back to school again to do a new degree, in which most of my previous courses don't count for anything. This generally seems to cover all the bases in such a way that nobody asks me about the specifics of my "time off"... I guess they just assume I was working for most of it.

It's a little sad, though, just how easy it is to cover up the fact that I was previously crazy. I mean, there are a bunch of people who know -- my family, many aunts and uncles and probably cousins, my close friends from high school, the friends I met online and in various treatments when I was still very trapped in my disorders -- but I think most of them, aside from some of the online friends, basically assume that it's all in the past now. And I will admit that I do a decent job of putting on a sane, normal front. I try to be generally cheerful; I held down a job, and now have converted into a full-time student, which lord knows is no easy task to begin with; I socialize and play games and chat with people and seem, from all fronts, to have a normal life. But we all know that appearances can be deceiving (clichéd but true). And even though I think I have, in a general sort of sense, been improving more than declining since leaving Homewood, there have still been a ton of struggles along the way.

I sound a lot more grounded now, though, and I know that too. Which is partially because a lot of the time I am more grounded. Since I started school I have been trying to adopt a healthy/normal eating routine (healthy when I am able, or normal when healthy isn't fully possible), as well as adding some exercise, because I am required to pay for a gym membership at school and moderate exercise can only benefit me health-wise. I have realized, very practically, that if I ever want to get out of the shitty minimum-wage work I have to do school, and therefore I have to do whatever it takes to make school work, and to get the best grades that I can possibly get. And I know myself well enough to know that this includes following a sensible and mostly healthy meal plan, and being active enough that I don't feel like shit because I am so sluggish and depressed. So, basically, I have to at least try not to torture myself constantly with the ED, whether it be bulimia or restriction. Both of them make me tired and irritable and cold, and make my focus less on school and more on food and weight and self-destruction. Obviously, that isn't going to work if I need school to be the priority.

So, basically, I have once again decided that I am just really fucking sick of all this ED bullshit... but I know the only reason I have been able to decide that is because I am back in school. If I'd been at my job much longer, on the other hand, I think a relapse would have been pretty much inevitable, or at least I would have had a serious downward slide. I was on the point of developing one before school started -- having fasting days a lot, only eating at work on the days that I did eat, or at least limiting the cals, etc. It's just a damned good thing I got out of there, and saved my body as well as my soul. You know?

For anyone who has actually read to this point... I applaud you. You must have a lot of stamina and patience to wade through such boring crap >P. In any event, I guess I had better go. I have to see about retrieving my fifth Harry Potter book from the clutches of my sister's friend (hopefully it's not beaten up and dirty like the last book my sister loaned her was when I got it back -.-), and then I am going to finish Goblet of Fire, and then maybe I will start some of my reading for school. Toodles! :)

I hate everything that I am.

Tonight... I am tired. And also wondering if I will ever really, truly get out of this eating disorder for good.

Basically everybody I know, or used to know, with an ED still struggles with it at least some of the time. Probably the majority of them still have anywhere from mild to moderate to severe life interference, even today, from their eating disorders. What would make me so special, so lucky, that I would somehow magically be able to get rid of it where most of my other friends have not been able to? The answer, of course, is nothing.

I'm not quite sure I was ever able to truly shake off this disorder. Sometimes I sort of forget it exists -- but then I have a tendency to veer back towards COE, that disordered eating pattern I began to develop in the ninth grade, a pattern which, in times of so-called normalcy, never seems to quite leave me. I am a lot better at intuitive eating these days... I can usually stop before I become so chock-full that I am ridiculously uncomfortable or sick... but I still end up getting just a little too full too much of the time. It bothers me a lot, honestly. I wonder, too, how much of it really is a disordered eating pattern, and how much of carelessly overfilling yourself a little is just a normal eating behavior which happens to normal people sometimes.

But then I wonder how many people in this world really ARE normal eaters. I look around me and see just as many overweight, obese, or morbidly obese people as I do normal or underweight people. And, in fact, I would wager that there are more overweight and obese people around here than normal or underweight. So maybe most people I know will habitually, when they go to restaurants, eat until they are stuffed. But a lot of the people I know are also not normal weights. I'm not even judging at this point... it's just a FACT. So how can I possibly rely on their behaviors to be a cue for my own, when what I desire is to maintain my weight? I mean, they gained the extra weight somehow, so it seems to me that it is not wise to put my trust in their methods.

On the other hand, though, it is very very difficult to starve myself these days. Too difficult. I get lightheaded, cranky, tired; I have no energy to do anything; I cannot think or concentrate properly. None of these things are conductive to doing well in school, going to the gym, or having a social life. The last two, especially, are very troublesome to me. The lack of vitality, enthusiasm, passion -- the cloudiness of thought -- they are unacceptable to me when I have other important things in my life that need to get done. I probably would have pursued the eating disorder more while I was just working; now, though, I have my grades to think about, and I MUST do at least decently well or I feel that my whole life will go to shambles. I don't want to gain a shitload of weight, but if I want to be functional at all I probably can't lose a shitload of weight in a short time, either.

So then... what the fuck do I do? I don't even know. I'm still trying to figure that one out. Eat normally enough that I can eat socially, but rely on my hunger and fullness cues instead of overeating, but try to get some exercise in so maybe I can be less flabby, and then try to rein in my caloric intake just enough for me to slowly lose weight. Is that actually all POSSIBLE to do at once??? I have severe doubts. I really don't think it IS possible. At best, I think I can try to eat intuitively and healthily most of the time, and intuitively while socializing, and then I can exercise several times a week at the gym and hope that this somehow decreases the flab. Which it may or may not. Which bothers me... but it's such a complicated issue to work out that I may only be able to work on a couple things at once. In this case, perfection may just not be attainable, as I must pursue balance among all areas as opposed to zoning in on one area and letting the rest fall to the wayside.

Somehow, I have to teach myself the way to eat normally and mostly healthily and generally happily. Somehow. Without gaining a ton of weight -- without losing a ton of weight -- without giving into the ED behaviors in any way.

But can I even do this?????

I love Googlism.

sylvia plath is now recognized as a major
sylvia plath is essential reading for all those who have been moved and fascinated by plath's life and work [yes... yes, i suppose it is...]
sylvia plath is opgenomen
sylvia plath is a contribution to the very thin stack of books in turkish on american literary figures [she should be flattered]
sylvia plath is their oj simpson
sylvia plath is a shoo
sylvia plath is published in johnny panic and the bible of dreams
sylvia plath is one of the poets who has written multiple poems that give me those feelings [i actually agree with this one]


Why I looked up Plath? I really don't know. She was the first writer that came into my head. Which may or may not be a good thing.

Maybe I'll do a proper update sometime later.


PS: Googlism, for the unindoctrinated. (Is that even a proper word?)

I am a whale. A horrible, awful, massive, gargantuan whale.

On another two-day fast. At first I didn't really want to, but at the moment I just can't imagine putting any food in my mouth for some reason. Just a second ago I thought about some salad... just the greens, not even any dressing... but then I thought, "Nah." I'd just rather not lift the fork or the hand to the lips, move the muscles of the jaw, chew, swallow. I would rather not take in any nourishment at all.

Also, I think I'm getting a little too pro-ana for my liking. Lol. Nobody has to jump down my throat or anything here... I know how stupid it is. It's just that right now, it really feels like the only thing that can save me from my fat and ugly self, and I am ALL for it. I don't even care about my strength, or exercise, or anything. I just... don't want to eat. Love to look at all that stupid thinspo. Whatever. I'm not making any apologies for it. It is what it is, and I'm cool with it for now, so it's completely fine with me.

Work tonight at 7 for five hours. The good thing about a late five-hour shift is that I can say I already had supper, and then on break I can just have some diet soda. Easy schmeasy.

Guess I'm out for now.

How could I be so full of hope, happy and determined and so sure I was going to do well and be beautiful and lovable and have everything that I wanted -- and then crash down so hard?

Yesterday: I was fasting. I was sure I could lose weight. Willpower. Determination. I felt like maybe I could be beautiful, inside, out.

Today... well, I ate. A good amount at first. Then got displeased with my fat self just before going out to a birthday gathering for a friend, because my jeans are too fucking TIGHT and they made my love handles just pop out way more than they needed to, and it was awful, and I was overstimulated anyway because my sister wouldn't stop blasting her fucking music above my head, and I was tired because I'd only gotten four hours of sleep the night before, and everything was just horrible. And then I get to the gathering and of course there's nachos with this great dip and little two-bite triple chocolate muffins, and... FUCK!!! I really did not want to eat anything else, but I felt like I had to eat socially, and then of course I just dived right in because it was a comforting social thing, and I felt horribly awkward for awhile for various reasons, and... FUUUUUUUCK! Why am I so goddamned COE anyway??

I am the most gargantuan blimp on the face of this planet -- I am convinced. Even girls who have far higher body mass indexes than I -- girls who are really overweight, girls who are obese -- even they cannot possibly match myself in blimplike qualities. I might as well be swimming in the fucking ocean. Rename me the blue whale, and you will have some idea of the TRUE fatness inside of me.

I don't know how to describe the feelings in a way that doesn't sound completely stupid. I know that comparing myself to blimps and whales is pretty cliché. The truth is, that's not even the half of it. I feel like anybody looking at me must immediately KNOW how much of a fat, ugly, disgusting failure I am. They must look at me and laugh behind their eyes and whisper about me to their peers, giggling too loudly to ignore because they also think I am a deaf idiot and can't hear them at all. Only I do. I do. I can feel their criticisms, their judging looks, their stares, see the hands cupping mouths to ears, almost touch the hostility and negative feelings that flow towards me as they look at me. And all this they can tell just by LOOKING at me, I am positive, because my fatness MUST exude in waves and bursts and slap everyone in the face as they pass by. I am so huge that I am impossible to ignore -- impossible not to laugh at -- impossible not to hate and make fun of.

And don't tell me this isn't logical. I don't care if you don't think it's logical. I don't care if the whole fucking WORLD can't see what I see in myself. I see it, and so to me that means it MUST be logical, and it MUST be true. There is no way it CANNOT be true.

What I want to know, logically, is this: How can I possibly keep going on in a body like this, which causes me so much pain every time I look at it -- when I dress it in the too-tight clothing that fit me a few months ago -- when I go into dressing rooms and try on two sizes bigger and the pants are STILL too fucking small?? How can I even keep making myself eat, when I am alone and not accountable to anyone? It's a pure decision of LOGIC. I like food -- I really do. I WANT to eat. But everytime I eat I always end up feeling like this!!!

How can I keep doing this? Or can I even keep doing it??

Going on a two-day fast to mark my return home, and (hopefully) the start of something new. [Cue High School Musical soundtrack.] I may let myself have one or two cups of coffee, which would be about 10-20 cals' worth of milk, but other than that it's just tea, water, and maybe diet soda. I imagine that both coffee and diet soda will end up being present.

I mean, come on... it's only two days, and it will sorta give me a bit of a kick-start, as well as making me feel like I actually can accomplish something, and that maybe I can stop being this gargantuan FATASS and become at least a semi-normal weight, even if I can't manage being really truly thin. I feel that I have a huge excess of body fat and inches, and this must change. Two days will start the process; and hopefully showing myself that I really can do this will be all the motivation I'll need. Not that I don't already have some motivation -- but I really want this to be more fuel for the fire, so to speak.

Can I be frank? I don't give a shit about "recovery", and I don't want to be told not to do this. I AM doing it, and I don't even think it will hurt my health at all, given that I have not truly restricted in a very long time. This body has got fuel to burn, and things in the digestive tract to be cleansed... trust me.

Time for bed. And tomorrow will be the first day of a whole new beginning. ^__^

So I'm just starting a binge, and I go to my iTunes and turn on the shuffle... and what's the first song that comes up?

"Addicted" by Kelly Clarkson.

It's sad when even your mp3 player knows you have problems. >P


I'm hooked on you
I need a fix
I can't take it
Just one more hit
I promise I can deal with it

Holistic wellness? Recovery? AHAHAHAA. Ha. HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA. It's never going to fucking happen for me. I'm really starting to get convinced of that now. So many things try to derail me, and not all of them succeed, but enough do that I think I am really starting to fall off the wagon, in more ways than one.

Will the wave break? Will there be some kind of tsunami later on? Or will I just be stuck knee-deep in ocean water forever, never knowing when a huge, breath-sucking wave might overtake me?

Anorexia: a portrait

I thought this piece of writing was so fantastic that I just had to link it here. I emphasize so much with this... I remember very vividly, still, exactly what it was like.

Anorexia: a portrait.