Finally

I FINALLY laid out at the pool for the first time all summer.  I confess that I'm one of those naturally tan people, so my form of paleness is really just an olive complexion.  Normally, that would be fine, but I don't like looking like I am a lemon when it's summer.  My tanline is basically nonexistent, but hopefully after a few days I will be much darker.

I am getting a new swimsuit tomorrow because somehow my upper region has expanded despite my weight loss...I blame my mother for my late development because she has a rather large chest.  I shouldn't complain, but I don't like this excess fat.  Oh well, at least the rest of me is shrinking (albeit slowly).

And if you are curious, today's intake:  lots of coffee, sugar free redbull, 1 pickle spear, 1 french fry, part of a lean cuisine, and some blueberries.  No idea how many calories, but I calculated it to be less than 400.

Lightening the Mood

Okay, okay, after going through my increasingly disturbing posts of late, I decided that I should probably try to lighten the mood despite the raging thoughts in my mind at present.  My mom called me this morning to tell me how I needed to be social because it's necessary to life, and I tried to make noises of affirmation even though I fail to see why friends are essential to living.  Because they aren't.

BUT I'm going to write something more uplifting...like how I've lost some weight!  I refuse to weigh myself for a while longer because then I won't be prone to bingeing.  Also, I'm debating getting a new swimsuit form Target today.  I only have two swimsuits (which I get is more than I need), but one of them is too small on top since my chest has gotten bigger over the past five years...plus the color is fading.  I figure it's time for a new suit then, even if I might never wear it.

I still don't know what I'm doing for the holiday weekend, but I'e been watching a lot of Wimbledon.  Can I just say that Rafael Nadal is soooo adorable?  If you've never heard of him, google him.  His little personality quirks though are just so friggin cute.

Anyway, I'm going to figure out how to occupy myself for the next few days until I can go back to work on Wednesday.  I'm bummed they don't need my help until then because of the holiday since it was such a great way for me to distract myself.  And since I'm no longer sleeping...well, that just adds even more hours to my already boring days...Geez, I'm supposed to be uplifting...

Hope

How long will it take me to die?

The question plagues my mind every second of every day, with every shaky breath I take, with every weak beat from my slowing heart, with every pain I feel come unbidden and unexplained.  I can feel my body deteriorating despite the youthfulness of my features and the few years that have passed since the beginning of my meager existence.  I can’t help but wonder how long I am mean to live.  What plan could I possibly have laid out for myself and what could I possibly be meant to fulfill other than causing further misery to those around me.

Sometimes I seem hell bent on taking everyone down with me.  I don’t mean to, and I do my best to make sure that the circle around myself is as small and far away as possible.  I cannot fathom any reason for others to desire my presence of body or mind.  Perhaps the reason for this lack of understanding the is the simple fact that I, if I were in their shoes, would not seek my company.  I try to separate myself from my own being with such force that I do not recognize the face I see in the mirror.  There is a strange barrier between my mind and body, and as I stare at my reflection I find that I cannot come to terms with the idea nor the comprehension that the person before me is truly me.  It’s an odd feeling, I suppose, but one so familiar and so ingrained in my soul that I can think in no other way. 

The face, as it stares back at me, is not unpleasant.  If I looked with an unbiased perspective, perhaps I would even term it beautiful.  But alas, I cannot do such a thing.  I shun those who deem my poor being worthy of a compliment, desperately trying and failing to understand what it is they see.  Am I so delusional that I picture someone else in the glass?  Is my mind so distorted?  Or is it theirs that requires help because they are the ones who warp their idea of beauty so much that I could possible fit in it?

I know that I’m a troubled soul.  I’m caught between reality and illusion, and I can’t seem to find a firm grasp on the world.  I can’t face the concept that I’m truly alive, always seeking death as assurance because then I might feel something.  I feel as though I want to be separate from my body so that I can watch how it interacts with people around it, in a futile attempt to discover the meaning of my life.  As I am now, I fail to see how I have any purpose at all in this world, and I can’t recognize that my death would have any significant impact on any one being.  A few individuals may weep slightly at my passing, but I am convinced that is because they feel that is what is required of them.  It is an ingrained response to a death, an instinct, what is expected, but not a genuine emotional response.

I still live in the hope that one day I will finally realize what is worth living for or what I am seeking that my life is currently without.  I am devoid of whatever motivates others to continue on with their existing; I am just a black hole sucking in whatever life form chooses to come to close.  Flinching at the touch of others, running from any emotional response, hiding from feelings or needs of the body—anything to confirm that I am a living, breathing, human being.  I shun that fact with the hopes that I can overcome this barrier of being contained in a body.  I just want to float up in the sky with my disturbed thoughts and twisted ideals.

I can’t tell if this is who I am or who I’m trying to be.  I can no longer distinguish between the façade and what is real.  When I laugh, I wonder if I am truly laughing or merely pretending.  It often sounds like a hollow, chilling, eerie sound to me because I know that I am not actually happy.  The sound that escapes my throat does so out of necessity in order to prevent odd looks I would receive if I chose to remain stoic.  I smile to act as though a person has amused me or said something that requires such an upturn of the lips, but inside my mind is merely turning its wheels trying to think of the correct way to respond.  It requires a great amount of energy from my body, and when I am too exhausted or mentally weary…that is when people ask if something is wrong.  Sometimes I find more strength within my caffeine laden being to shake my head and grin, assuring them not to worry.  ‘I just need more coffee,’ I say.  But really, I need someone to shake me.  I need someone to tell me everything will be alright.  I need someone to love me for being me. 

For as insane as my mind has grown and as shattered as I have become, there is still a small part of me…a tiny part still hoping.

Perhaps I have not lost it all.

Tension

I ignored my mom's phone call today.  I've only spoken with her twice over the past week and a half, which is uncharacteristic for me given that I used to call her once or twice per day.  But after my birthday weekend and the mess that it created, my relationship with my mom has felt somewhat strained.  I still love her, obviously, but I just don't want to talk to her.  I called on Monday, but it was rather awkward.  We just haven't been up to our usual banter, and I'm worried it will never be the same.  I understand that she seems to think that if I just apologize and lose 10 pounds that I will be my usual, cheerful self.  The problem with that notion, however, is that 1) I'm not a naturally cheerful person anymore but just pretend to be because I know that will make other people happy, 2) losing 10 pounds will make me happy for a day before I feel the need to lose another 10, and 3) I'm depressed and an apology will not suddenly change anything.  The fact of the matter is that I have been doing a damn good job of keeping things from my family (and friends), and I always smile and laugh when I'm around them.  But my smile isn't real and the laugh is strained...only I know that, though.  I just plaster on the smile and use the little energy I have left to pretend like everything is okay.  It's rather exhausting sometimes.

Anyway, I've lost a few pounds over the past few days and have been refusing to step on the scale for a while.  I'm kind of hoping that ignoring the scale might help me prevent some binges.  Also, I'm falling back into my "muffin a day" philosophy.  I have such an extraordinary sweet tooth and depriving myself of sweet things only wreaks havoc on my life.  I actually did a great job losing 15 pounds in December (and kept that off) by getting a muffin or slice of pumpkin bread or something from a coffee shop (often Starbucks) and nibbling on that over the day.  My caloric intake would vary, but it was generally under 500 depending on the sweet.  It kept me from craving other sweets since I wasn't being deprived.  So!  Here I am in Caribou, drinking black iced coffee, and picking at a blueberry muffin like a mouse.  I can stretch this little guy out for several hours...I probably won't finish it for another 5 hours or so.  Next time I might settle for a pumpkin muffie from Panera...that was what I wanted in the first place but since I arrived around lunch time, it was too crowded.  I like the solitude.