Insecurities

There's a girl I work with who is always telling me about how insecure she is, how hard it is to come to terms with no longer being skinny, and wanting to watch what she eats.  She's very open.  And yet, she tends to drink regular pop, eats french fries and candy, and all in all ordinary meals.   I can't speak for what she does outside of work, but I get the impression that she is merely insecure like many girls are without taking that next step down a path of self destruction.  I think a lot of girls are self conscious, but when push comes to shove, they continue on with their lives regardless.  And then there are those of us who let it rule our lives and take extreme actions to fix our problems.  We're the people who lack that filter, the one that tells you what you're doing is wrong.  Eventually, you make it so far down the road that nothing is too dangerous or too unhealthy because you just don't care anymore.  I hit that point a long time ago, and sometimes I forget that most people aren't like me.  Most people place some sort of value on their lives, don't joke about dying early, and worry if they sense their body is sending signals that it needs some medical attention.

I go to work, drink excessive amounts of caffeine, have a granola bar for lunch, and continue on with my duties.  I understand being insecure, and I sympathize (inwardly) with my coworker, though I would never tell her that I am insecure as well.  I'm a very closed off person, and if I can prevent anyone from thinking that I could potentially be moderately abnormal and have a minor problem, then I will do so.  However, it's still odd listening to her tell me things because I can't help but think, "Well, at least you don't have a full blown eating disorder, cut yourself, and are suicidal."  Naturally, I hold my tongue.  Not that I have/do all of those things...or I'm merely in denial.

I just have to wonder why some of us behave differently with regards to the same issues.  Why do I feel the need to starve myself or purge or work out endlessly when someone else can accept themselves and move on?  Why do I pull out a razor because I'm lonely, depressed, angry with myself, or because it's been too long when someone else would merely call a friend for comfort?  And why do I fantasize about crashing my car into a guardrail when someone else takes precautions to make sure such a thing doesn't happen?  We're all different, but does that make any of us wrong?  I don't know.  I think one of my biggest concerns at the moment is the person I'm interested is going to see my arms sooner or later, and I'm terrified of his reaction.  I'm assuming our casual relationship will end abruptly as a result because I'm realistic; people don't want to deal with someone else's problems like that when could just as easily cut the person off and move on to someone less complicated and less effort.  Hence, why I would never tell anyone.

It's a lonely world we live in.

binge (n.): failure

I binged today (and purged since those go hand in hand), and I'm trying to convince myself that one day won't turn me into an elephant.  Key works there:  trying.  I'm hoping that if I work out tomorrow and don't eat so much, then things will fall into place a little better.  I did well all week, but arriving home from work hours earlier than normal really cramped my style.  One good thing about working is that I'm so busy and forget to eat for extended periods of time.  My diet consists of a protein bar while at work and consuming mass amounts of coffee.  It's been working well, but today I had a shit ton of cookie cake, peanut butter, toast...need I continue?

Moving on, I'm hoping that I can get my act together here.  Also, my parentals are out of town for the next week, which means that if my self control improves that I can basically not eat dinner all next week without questions.  Personally, that sounds fucking phenomenal. How great would it be if I was actually skinny when they got back?

Another good thing is that my birthday should pass by without event.  My mini celebration with family was a few days ago, and of course, the day was an absolute disaster.  It was significantly better than last year when my mom threatened to throw me in a mental institution, yelled at me, and then proceeded to take away my presents.  But that's in the past...and it won't happen this year since she's all the way across the country.  Therefore, I'm crossing my fingers that things go well, and I don't have to dread the day like I normally do.

P.S. one of these days I need to weigh myself, but I'm too afraid...maybe I'll do it while wearing a lot of clothing and holding a large textbook and go from there?...I just don't want to be disappointed even though that's guaranteed....fml.

A Shitty Day

Before I go to bed (and yes, it's only 9pm), I just felt like briefly venting about my terrible day.  Since my family decided to have a mini birthday dinner for me today, I honestly should have known my day was going to be tragic.  My birthday, and anything that is related to it, usually causes problems and is cursed, I swear.  (So I'm dreading the actual day and keeping it a secret just in case).  Basically, I got chewed out at work for something that wasn't my fault.  I was so upset that I cried, which is embarrassing all in itself.  My coworkers felt bad for me, and my boss did a little bit even though he was the one gnawing on my emotions.  I'm just hoping tomorrow will be better.  It's unfortunate that I have to deal with the aftereffects and put in a lot of extra labor, hoping that my efforts will end up proving that the mistake that occurred ends up being negligible...but I'm cursed sooo...

Paranoia

I received the greatest of all compliments a few days ago (Saturday, to be exact).  My mom told me that I was "getting really skinny".  Wow.  I almost can't believe it, even typing it now.  Unfortunately, as amazing as that felt, I am still waiting for the day that I'm actually really skinny.  Because if you think about it, she could simply, and probably is, be comparing me to the whale that I was before.  So instead of being a whale, I'm more like a dolphin or maybe a small porpoise...Either way, I'm still large.

Moving on, something has been troubling me a little lately, and that's my increasing paranoia.  Everyone, I'm sure (though I don't know) has moments where they are paranoid, but I wonder sometimes how much is truly normal.  I always assume that when something bad happens, it's my fault, or if people are speaking in hushed voices, it's because they're talking about me.  But I think that's normal.  What mildly concerns me is the intense anxiety that I feel when, say, I'm boiling something or watching this vacuum filtration system (if you know what that is...science shit) at work and imaging all the ways it's about to explode, splash all over me, shatter, and kill me.  I think the same thing when I'm in a car, driving over a bridge, on an airplane, etc.  I never used to have these little visions, but now I can't stop them.

Also, my dreams are always chaotic, creepy, and violent.  Flashes of horror cross my mind, and they don't go away no matter how hard I try to think of something else.  Eventually they fade and I fall asleep or else I am plagued by terrific nightmares the entire night.  I'm not sure why these thoughts overtake me, and I have no idea how to get them to go away.  Is this just normal, too?  Then again, I am the person who envisions herself offing herself on a daily basis...not that I'm planning on doing that (so no one worry yet), but the image itself does cross my mind quite frequently.  Like I said, I can't control my thoughts, and they're rather disturbing.

At least I'm not hearing voices.

Bingeing

I think it's nearing that time of the month again because I've been bloated and bingeing.  For some reason, I always ALWAYS binge several times the week before I get my period.  Then, when I'm on my period, I have practically zero appetite.  In the end, I end up having a shitty fat week and then get back on track.  But I really wish that, for once, I wouldn't binge repeatedly.  It was my dad's birthday today so I had cake, steak, chips...need I say more?  I now have rolls.

Hopefully, I can turn this around and begin working out again tomorrow.  Also, I need to start sleeping...but I've been getting 6hours consistently every night, which isn't necessarily good for me.  Therefore, I'm going to inform you all that I had better eat less, exercise more, and finally sleep tomorrow so that in my next post I will have good news to tell you...

hopefully...

Popping pills

Yesterday, after two days of consecutive bingeing, I had the genius idea to take 6 laxatives.  The recommended dose is 1-3 in a day, but after taking 4, I decided to pop 2 more...just in case.  I admit that I was mildly concerned for the aftereffects because one can't really predict when, and to what degree, the little pink tablets will take effect.  For me, my stomach began churning when I woke up in the morning.  I fortunately made it through church without too many problems (though with great discomfort), and I managed to make it to my private bathroom in time when I got home.  They worked wonders, but my god, do they slaughter your stomach sometimes!  Painful.  Not overwhelmingly so by any means, but my legs felt numb for a while.


I'm still suffering enduring the effects now after a several hour long hiatus, and I'm crossing my fingers that I will be fine tomorrow since I have to work.  I love the feeling of not having shit in me, even though I know it doesn't help with weight loss, but it's definitely inconvenient when you have things to do.  To anyone considering the use of laxatives, I recommend you don't start because they're addicting.  Kind of like all the other destructive things I do; I don't recommend any of them.  Sure, I still do them, write about them, and sometimes congratulate myself on them, but if I were honest with myself, then I would probably go back in time and stop myself from beginning my own personal self destruction.  Unfortunately, I don't know when it began...


I don't think there was ever a set day or event that caused it.  Judging by my actions as a child, I think it was only a matter of time before I lost it.  When I first began not eating, I don't think I was really even doing it to lose weight.  It was just one meal at a time, or not wanting to eat while at work or in public, until slowly it morphed into something else entirely.


People say you never know what you've got until it's gone, but in this case, I think I never knew what I had until I had it all...and it's destroying me.

Burning it off

I just had a hot dog, and I'm trying to figure out how many calories that entailed...let's see:  hot dog, bun, onions, relish, mustard...?  I give up, so I'm guessing, it was at least 500 calories.  Sadly, I also had fruit for breakfast (100 cals), a protein bar for lunch (190 cals), and more fruit and carrots after work (250 cals?), so that brings me to *gasps*  1040 calories.  That's terrible!  Fortunately, I'm going to work out in about five minutes, and I'm planning on an hour on the elliptical and then weights for at least 30 minutes.  HOPEFULLY, that repairs some damage.  Why can't I just be less squishy?

In all honesty, I think I'm nearly as small (and I use that word loosely) as I was in high school.  I've been wearing jeans from my senior year that are baggy, but I think they were baggy then as well.  I remember distinctly that they weren't baggy when I bought them, but when I stopped eating, they turned into trousers.  It's odd that even now that I'm losing weight, I feel like a giant.  I don't think I ever won't feel huge, and I think I will always have it programmed in my mind that I am a whale.

My coworkers already noticed that I apparently "don't eat" within my first week of working.  In my defense, however, I always eat lunch while I'm there...sure, it's coffee and a protein bar, but last time I checked a protein bar was in fact food.  Therefore, I eat.  I'm not sure why I'm the one who gets hounded for this when plenty of other people sometimes skip lunch.  Perhaps, I'm just the most consistent and clearly have an intense love/addiction to caffeine, but I still eat.  When one of the guys asked me one time (joking) if I was anorexic or bulimic, I laughed, said no, and explained that if I was then I would be skinny...sad life.  I am in no one category so it's a good thing I don't like being categorized, but why can't I at least get the advantage of not being a drooping body of lard?

Life sucks.  Why do we put up with it every day?