Skiing!

I just went skiing for two days with my family, and it was amazing.  We went to Pennsylvania, which is no Vail, but skiing in Colorado is expensive so I'll take what I can get.  I have to say, though, I was really bummed that there weren't any glades (tree skiing for those of you who don't know) that were worthwhile because there just wasn't enough snow on the ground between the trees.  Glades and moguls are my favorite ski runs, but unless you're out West, you can't really get them.  So we only skied one glade, where I found myself seemingly skiing on dirt and twigs more than anything else, which isn't good for your skis nor is it that thrilling when you're watching out for abrupt rocks or logs than anything else.  And the other downside of skiing in Pennsylvania is that none of the runs are actually challenging.  I'm not an expert, but I've been skiing since I was little so I can pretty much ski anything in Colorado, making the blacks and double blacks at the place we went to way too easy.

Despite that, though, my skis rammed into a mogul because they were rentals, had very dull edges, and have not been waxed in way too long, so I couldn't turn fast enough, and I ended up slamming onto my arm in heap of snow/ice.  It's sad because I never fall, but then again, I usually use my own equipment, which surprisingly makes a huge difference when you're skiing.  So now I have to get dressed with one arm because my left one is feeling very unpleasant.  It's not broken or dislocated because I think I would know if it were, but skiing the rest of the day was a little rough because every time I used my left arm to pole or turn (so very often), it felt like it was about to be ripped off.  Oh well...skiing was still a blast even if I just complained for two paragraphs.

Tomorrow I'm planning on posting to question you all about New Years plans.  I have a few friends who want me to go out with them, but the problem is that 1) we don't have actual plans and 2) I really really really don't like huge crowds.  And the possibility (or rather, guarantee) that I will be packed like a sardine in a busy bar and left to be groped by creepy men does not really appeal to me...I've never been partial to New Years because it feels like I could go out and do the same things on a different weekend where there won't be so many people, I won't be rolling my eyes when people countdown to midnight, and I won't see a million dresses that I know girls bought only for one night from Forever21.  No offense if you do all that, but it's just not my kind of thing...just a matter of personal preferences, you know?  Anyway, what are your plans?  I need ideas or excuses to get out of it.

wow.

my parents really know how to piss me off.  i was just downstairs measuring out two tablespoons of chocolate chips, and my mom says, "wow, you really are addicted to sweets."  excuse me?!

this is coming from the woman who had two of the cookies i baked earlier at lunch and then three cookies later (at one time).  now, i'm not one to judge because i could totally eat an entire batch of cookies, so you won't hear me say anything about someone's food choices most of the time.  but when she said that as though i'm addicted to something truly evil and after my dad just grabbed a handful...i don't know.  why can't my parents just be nurturing for once and stop being so damn critical?

and then she wonders why i don't understand when anyone calls me beautiful?  how dare she get mad when i feel ugly when it seems like they only put on more pressure?  fucking hypocrites.

(sorry i'm being bitchy again...i'm just really irritated by the people who are supposed to love me)

merry christmas i guess

my day was okay (other than me being a pig, of course), and i got a lot of cool gifts.  my favorite was the tote that my mom picked out for me; it's from fossil and has birds on it.

but all of the christmas joy was just sapped out of me about five minutes ago when my dad essentially called me fat.  i asked if there were chocolate chips left, as he reached for a handful, and he said that there were but that they're fattening.  so i commented that he was eating them, and he informed me that that was because he was skinny.

so i left and am in my room now.  if nothing else gives me motivation then surely one of my parents indirectly hinting that i'm a cow should.

merry fucking christmas.

Magic Pounds

You know that feeling when you've been the same size or same weight for a while and the fantastic high you had from losing weight turns into a sudden depression from not losing more weight?  Yeah, I have that.  My mind just can't wrap around the possibility that I'm the same size.  To me, it's like if I haven't lost weight then I must have gained it.  Because it's just not physically possible to not move either way.  Despite the fact that all of my clothes still fit, I swear I've turned into a whale.

I even went shopping with my mom today, who insisted that I try on some dresses since I don't have many.  I'm a sucker for Calvin Klein, and the clothes usually work for me (especially the sweater dresses) so I tried on piles of dresses...none really fit.  There was a sweater dress that was adorable with these long sleeves and cozy feel, but I didn't buy it.  And there was an adorable red dress that flared out a little bit at the hips and had some cool pleating, but it had one major problem:  it was sleeveless.  And while my mom just thinks I'm self conscious of my arms (which I am), I know that I can't buy a dress like that unless I always wear a blazer or sweater because of some sketchy, um, marks that litter my arms.  All of the other dresses were a bust because of the major problem with my body...aka my ass.  Sure, a bubble butt can be nice and an hourglass figure is great and everything, but I swear that no clothes are actually made for it.  Clothes that fit my butt are huge everywhere else.  I tried on a size 4 dress, and it was actually too big except for (can you guess?)..my ass.  It's just so frustrating because no matter what I put on could be dubbed too sexy because of how it curves around my rear end, and it severely cuts down on my selection of apparel.  Hence why I don't own many dresses or any skirts, for that matter.

So I would like to ask designers why the hourglass figure is supposedly the "ideal" shape when they don't actually make clothes for it?  Because my bubble butt, little waist, and D cups don't fit into anything.  Nothing is made with those proportions.  If anyone knows of a brand that has dresses or skirts that cater well to such a thing, please don't hesitate to let me know.

I fucked up again today :(

Binged and purged three times, only slight cutting, and am still awake even though I get up in three hours.  But I'm too afraid to go to bed again because I feel so damn guilty and am worried about waking up tomorrow and being excessively roll y poll y.  I really need to stop punishing myself by not allowing sleep because when you sleep you can't eat...and I think it boosts your metabolism.

Anyway, I just thought I'd toss in a short post of my thoughts before going to pack up to go home tomorrow (or rather, in several hours)...and I want to clean my apartment, too.  I think that will get my mind off of things, and I only work until noon tomorrow and then can take a nap or something.  Ugh, misery.

Seriously, why do I fuck myself over like this?  *Irritated*

A little yellow

I know I went on and one yesterday about how I wanted help and how much I wished I could get it...I wasn't lying but like I said, I'm too much of a coward.  Asking for help means acknowledging that there's actually a problem.  So here I am sitting at the kitchen table, refusing to go to bed, having binged and purged four separate times in the past five or six hours, and literally watching blood dripping down my arm onto the kitchen table.  Yep.  I have no problems at all...no fucking problems...

Right now my focus is kind of on the fact that I ate so much shit and the guilt is weighing heavily on me.  I'm jut hoping and praying that if I do well today and tomorrow then Friday will be like last night never happened.  I think it takes two good days to make up for one day of a bad binge, but we'll see, I suppose.  At least since I didn't sleep, when I get home from work in sixteen hours, I can go straight to bed and pass out.  No late night bingeing to make up for being alone and bored out of my fucking mind.  I apologize for my ridiculous language in this post, but I'm pissed off at myself, if that isn't obvious.  I was doing so well, and you know when you fail one day and feel as tough all your hard work has been ruined?  It doesn't matter that my clothes will probably only be slightly tighter tomorrow or that my stomach might just be bloated, I still feel as though I've gained fifty pounds and like everyone will notice.  So to make up for my binge(s), I will just continue to wreak havoc on my arm because I deserve it.  I did just get fresh blades yesterday so I might as well make use of them.  And I'm not gonna lie, the red color is rather pretty...as sick as that sounds.  Weird that it comes from my own body.  This is another ones of those moments that I just feel a little disconnected from myself.  I'm not violent and my apparent fascination with my own blood only extends to my own being, but...slightly disturbing, I guess.

Thanks for all your support by the way.  I wish it could actually spur me to do something, but I worry that maybe I'm really just normal and making things seem like a concern when they're not.  This is probably why I need an outside opinion  someone to tell me that I need to seek help because this isn't right.  Otherwise, I'm going to remain in my dark, little world until I can't take it anymore.  It's just a question of what happens first.

Disturbing

I wrote a good four pages of thoughts while in Panera today in between shifts at work.  I'm not going to type up what it was because I'm not planning on reading it...I know for a fact that what I wrote was disturbing, mainly centered on suicide and on my confusion about life in general.  All in all, I'd rather pretend that I wasn't the one who wrote it.  Honestly, I write disturbing things all the time (most of which I keep to myself and never post on here), and when I read it (if I read it), it feels as though someone else wrote it.  Re reading my random musings always freaks me out, and I'd much rather remain blissfully ignorant to my creepy thoughts.  Sure, I am aware of what I'm writing at the time, but there's something different about writing it down as it comes to mind than looking back on it.  It's hard to explain.

Similarly, watching shows like Intervention scares the hell out of me.  There was one about a girl who was cutting herself, and I couldn't even watch the preview.  Seeing it on tv like that makes me squirm and think about how wrong it really is...and yet, I keep doing it.  I tell myself, "I'm not like that," but I think that may only be because it's different when you see things through your own eyes instead of from the outside.  But I don't look like those girls either.  Most of them have really dark undereye circles, never wear make up, and all around don't take care of themselves; I do.  I wear makeup, strut around in fancy clothes, do my hair, wear perfume, and try to cover imperfections.  Maybe that's why I do such a good job of hiding my problems by hiding everything on the outside; but the problem with these girls, I suppose, isn't what they look like or their apparent lack of style but their actual mental states.  And that is what we have in common...unfortunately.

Here I am, though, pretending that I'm perfectly normal, but if someone took one look at the things I write in my personal journals and on scrap pieces of paper that I hide in my room, then I think I would quickly find myself in a psych ward.  Is it possible to have a serious problem and never be helped?  Or is that how people wind up dead?  I don't know.  I can't say I don't want to die because that's kind of a lie, but I can't help but wonder sometimes if I'm really doomed to be forever lonely and forever in misery, even if it's my own fault for being in this position.  I'm not a bitter person because it's been my problem all along and no one else forced this on me...and maybe that's why I feel like help would be nice sometimes.  It's too bad I'm too scared to ask for it.