where's the beef?

I find myself craving the comfort of my eating disorder lately. Or the school routine. Or going to live abroad for yet another "gap year." Or moving to the east coast. Anything to not be *here.* Anything for a chance to recreate myself. To try again at making friends. To create a rhythm of life that doesn't leave me going to bed alone at 8pm on Saturday nights. I don't know if I just need to grow up. I don't know how to help myself. I don't know if I need to stay instead of bolting.

get physical, get a physical

I absolutely hate being this person. This woman. This anxious, can't sleep, won't be able to rest while spooning kind of woman. Who has to get up to process her thoughts in a 4 AM blog post rather than wait until a more reasonable hour. I don't know why these situations keep triggering such extreme reactions. The same thing happened with Chris in France. And I hated it. The same thing probably would have happened with Guillaume and in some ways did happen with Guillaume though physically we never went so far. Regardless, I hate it. Hate that I slipped so effortlessly into this role of the Classic Anxious Girl. Eric is telling me to just not think but I don't know how to do that.. Can/t imagine doing that. Especially not with someone who stresses the point through example. That only makes me more anxious that no one is worrying about the concerns that should be worried about.

So just what the hell am I stressed over?

Well, for starters, I think we have the basic connections between both the relationships that happened in France and this new relationship. Some may question whether this is a rebound. Maybe it is...I don't know. I think perhaps Eric and I are using each other without meaning to. I feel very similar boundaries and routines being pushed between Eric and Chris. I hate to admit it but I feel the same basis of attraction just disappearing as things move ahead physically. It's like a total disconnect, a total loss of interest. I actually really like Eric, unlike Chris. I find him attractive. But that pull--that desire to be physically surrounded by and consumed with him is simply not present. And the more he touches me, the more he advances things, the less I want it and consequently the more used I feel as it happens. I am worried.

Which brings us to the next point. Eric's comments about what he wants from this, including, "memories." Ha. I threw out there the idea that he wouldn't miss me for more than a week and he said probably not, then "maybe two/more than that." But I can tell that he is being insincere for fear of sounding like a shallow asshole. So I don't trust him. More importantly I keep feeling the knife of realization that this little thing means very little to him and as he said, he will definitely not be "miserable" in the weeks ahead. Wow. What a charmer. He did say he doesn't want me to be miserable but I just wanted to shout at him, "too fucking late, pal!" Not that I can blame him at all. I just fear that I am being too easy, too willing to give all to someone who truly does not love me back. I feel like I'm trading my soul for this. Again. I feel like the fact that I love so easily and deeply is once again being shit on. I am worried.

(I am telling myself stories that may not be true.)

The trust thing, though....that's really what the issue is. That's where the problem lies. Because I really felt really connected with Eric. I felt like he was a gentleman, I felt safe with him. I felt home. And now...bullshit. All bullshit. Eric doesn't have an ounce of deep feelings for me he just wants sex before he goes off to college. (I am telling myself stories that may or may not be true.) I guess I can't say I'm surprised. Or rather I can't say I have a right to feel upset because if I had been thinking more objectively and willing to progress things less physically it would have been okay. I could have seen that disconnect and instead of pushing it aside, paid attention to it. I thought I was different for Eric. I think I am just a play thing--an exotic older woman who happened to think the world of him.

I don't feel loved or special or valuable with Eric after tonight. I feel cheap. I feel...unattractive and non-compelling. I thought there were real things here but no...it's just another guy who knows how to "not think" when it's inconvenient or there are complicated matters to be parsed out. I am angry at myself for falling for him. I am angry at myself for succumbing. I am angry, angry, angry. Pissed, perhaps. I just want to go lie with him now and try to forget all the ways this is killing me.

I don't know what to tell Mackenzie. I feel wrong having done this in her house when no one but Eric was here. I feel it is necessary to lie to mom and dad about where I was. I feel scared that things will progress to sleeping with Eric before he leaves. I am most scared, Abba, that I am losing You once again in all of this for the sake of cheap thrills with a guy. I don't want cheap thrills. I don't want to be so grown up. But I think the thing you realize as you grow up is that the complex, hard-to-swallow truths of connection and loss are unavoidable whether you pay for them up front or after. You have to feel your way through them. Maybe that implies not being so reckless in love. Or at least not so reckless in the aftermath.

I hate Eric. I hate that he can just sleep silently through all this while I am frantically trying to parse through my mind in the upstairs dining room. I want to go sleep with him; I want to not care for a few hours. I am angry that I smell like someone else he knows. I am terrified of whom. I am disgusted at how quickly my impulse is to go buy all new hair products when I have no money for that and we are only talking of less than a couple weeks of togetherness. I want to go cry in his arms as much as I want to lay silent, a muted, non-sensing humanoid who can just warm the mattress for one night before I disappear without seeing him ever again. I am worried. I don't want to be worried. I don't want to not be worried.

(I am telling myself stories that may or may not be true.)

Abba, will You come? I don't know what to do. This is confusing. I'm afraid of truth and I'm afraid to ignore truth. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't stop thinking while I simultaneously can't think. What do I do? What would You have me do? I don't believe Eric when he says he cares that I'm not miserable or that I'm able to sleep tonight. I don't trust him. And yet...as humans, I feel we have a duty to care for each other and not cause undue harm. (Well any harm, but you catch my drift.) Here, where we could pursue things for 1.5 weeks or let it go, forever unexplored...we're both a bit jaded, a bit calloused. And it's harmful to future connections I think...maybe. Or maybe we're just growing up? Becoming more used to loss? Maybe it's perfectly okay to fall hard and then leave? The problem is that it will never be a 50/50 split. (Which, BTW, brings me to my other concern of whether or not Eric is actually attracted to me at all. He says he wasn't initially which terrifies me as much as I try to pretend having a good personality is worth something. He also said that he only really realized he liked me pretty recently. Also terrifying. Although maybe my ego can save itself from some shame by pretending that I have a knack for sensing out early on who I will work well with as a partner?? It seems to be a theme that guys don't realize until later on that we are good together. I don't know.)

your control is my destruction

But how can you not miss me? How can you not think about me at all? How can you stay strong about not reaching out to contact me?

I think about you every day. Still. 2.5 months after my departure. I stalk your Facebook pages and Linkedin profiles (not signed in, of course) and wonder what's changed. If anything has changed. If there are still lingering questions. If there are still thoughts of my time with you all.

I've cut my hair and gotten glasses and tanned my body through long days on the beach. And still it lingers, this saggy cast of who I was. Under my skin but on top of my bones so that it's there enough to never collapse but not obvious enough to be apparent to others. I can never remove the reality of that year in France. I hate the thought that it will never go away completely, just dull.

You're the only people who can truly help me grieve, who went through the experience with me. But of course you're the only people on the planet I can't process with.

I rub my eyes and dream of carving tally marks on my skin. I want to run till I puke. I want to puke till my throats raw. I want to eat carrot sticks until hunger drives me insane.

cycles

I'm back to being unable to eat again. Ugh. There are always these cycles. I hate them...

It's like...I just...can't. I know it sounds stupid and it must look weird to outsiders but. I don't know. Nothing sounds appetizing. I don't care about any of the foods we have in the house. And in fact, just the thought of eating any of them reminds me of all the times I'd purge those exact items into the toilet upstairs. I can hear the sloppy, wet sounds of half-moistened food chunks slapping into the water. I can feel the push of those uneaten balls up through my esophagus and the saliva dripping down my knuckles. And it just makes me not want to eat anything. Even junk food doesn't appeal because all I can think of then are the calories and how disgustingly fat I could get.

I don't know how to get over this. I've never really found a good way to deal with it because normally after a few weeks it passes. I think maybe it's stress-induced. This interview tomorrow and the fear of not finding a job and the unprocessed anxiety of transitioning home from France. All of it I think might be bubbling just beneath the surface. I don't feel stressed but that doesn't mean my subconscious isn't on another page. This type of hunger but lack of appetite is generally a sign that something deeper is amiss.

im scared you dont miss me

I’m too full today. Disgustingly full. I feel awful. I want to go purge in the toilet but I just drank a dark chocolate mocha so that would taste like hell. I hate today. I guess it hasn’t been all bad but it feels like it. I just miss G and the kids so fucking much. It hurts. The lack of it all hurts. Who knew not being touched would hurt. Who knew not laughing would hurt. Who knew not doing the school run and the bedtime routine and the Saturday night dinners would hurt. 

I’m so scared you don’t miss me. 

I don’t want you to be happy without me. I don’t want this new au pair to be a great experience for anyone. I want it to hurt. I want it to suck. I want you to want me and only me back. I want you to be in as much pain as I am. I’m supposed to be doing job applications and resume submissions and cover letters and I just don’t care about any of it. I just want to die. I want to be back in France. I WANT TO BE WITH YOU.

Tell me you love me without saying a word. Text me something hilarious. Sit outside with me on a hot summer night and sip beer and let the fireflies flicker around us. Come with me to the farmer’s market on Sunday morning. Cook something amazing. Tease me about America being a developing nation. Brush my collarbone. Hold me. Know me. Let me breathe in your cologne again. I don’t want to keep crying over this. I don’t want to keep lying awake at night. I just want to be back with you. I could have it a million times worse, I know. But I just miss you so much. It’s so cliché. But I do. God, just let me go back. Let me go back, please. I want to go back. I want to cleave to G; I want to wrap myself around him, skin on skin, and never leave. I want to lay on top of him and know he’s there. I want to feel him breathe while he sleeps. I want to play with the kids and laugh and run and make jokes and celebrate birthdays and take your son to climbing lessons and get groceries. I want to do all of it again with them. I can’t accept that this year is over. Or I can but it just feels heavy and painful. I don’t want it to be true. 

home, sick.

I'm not doing too well with being home. Because I'm mad at you, you see. Furious. Hurt. Longing. I miss you and those kids more than I know how to say. The missing is weird. It's not like every other time I've missed someone or some place. This time everything is off. The corners don't line up and the experience of the feelings themselves mimics those that would come if you were sitting alone in a bland, finished cellar somewhere. You're there because maybe you were starting laundry or looking for a pair of old work boots. And you've just been running, running, running all day so when you eye a dusty folding chair, you decide to slouch for a minute, massage your face. (Who will know that you rested?) And that's when your mind finally acknowledges the brush of damning, dark thoughts you've been letting float between the hallow of your skull's marrow and brain's squish for days. And you just lounge there, feeling the brush and elbowing its source back and altogether sure that life has never been so hallow.

That's how it feels when I think of you, of France, of everything I gave up.

give the dog a bone

I've spent a year being married men's emotional play things. Being the girl who laughs at their jokes and wonders at their accomplishments and compliments their style and touches their arms. The one who makes them feel like motherfucking desirable men. Working out and turning my wrists and tugging the corners of black-laced lingerie so that they can feel the femininity of my presence. Feel it and the accompanying, distantly familiar lust of their younger years. It's a great set up for them; they get all the flattery and energy of having some fresh-faced girl gaze longingly at them and give them ceaseless attention. And then they can go home and fuck their wives and play out whatever romantic fantasy could have been between us without me. And after months of investment, where do I end up? Alone. Empty. Disappointed. Pissed off. Exhausted. Two days of chemistry. Three days of silence. Five months of love. Six months of isolation. I can't trust myself. I fall in love too easily; I get on my knees too readily. (Not physically, of course; just emotionally. Trust me, it doesn't hurt any less.) It's humiliating and frustrating and primarily a waste of time. I have too many hours in a day to daydream and pen drama-ridden blog posts, I know. I should be falling in love with men my own age, right? Single ones who I can actually build a future with. But you see I don't know many guys like that and the ones I do are not attracted to me. I am second-rate; a broken little screw up whose only hope lies in these emotional affairs I seem able to conjure. But a real relationship? A real, requited connection? I don't know anything about that. I just know manipulation and how it feels to ride the edge of something forbidden. I'll bite the apple for a minute and taste bile for hours and do it again tomorrow.

It never begins intentionally No, see, circumstance just put us in each other's corners. A lot. And we just happen to have the same sense of humor. Like, really. And you're smart and I can talk economics and while you fix computers, I'm drawing flowers and somehow this oil-and-water thing is turning our "friendship" pretty fucking hot. Too hot to stay away from. God, you're irresistible. That is until suddenly you start talking about your wife and kids. And despite what others are whispering and the way your wife is suddenly pulling our her claws, you insist you don't want anything more. And you touch my lower back and hug me while I'm crying and follow me into my bedroom but no...we're just friends. Do you have any idea how fucking confusing and painful this is for me?! You're 40 and I'm 22! Don't let me do this! Don't respond. Cut me off. Give me the cold shoulder for fuck's sake.

Help me because I can't help myself.

From the quiet corner

Embers remain where flames once hallowed me empty. I can't cope with the fact that we've lost it. We're done. That whatever we had or I thought we had was actually just a phantom. That you verbally dance in the second degree with everyone. You walk into the room and my body slips into feathers. Oh your face, those eyes, that French-accented "Hiii." No matter how many soirs I prepare myself for your entrance, you always end up as a banana peel to my mind. You're here and I'm here and suddenly I can't remember a thing I had planned to say. So I assume an exaggerated attitude of distraction to keep from being discovered. 

OhheyhowsitgoingmydaywasgoodthanksandyoursokayKidsletsgoplay. 

I feel like a cliché when she asks if women at work commented on your new clothes. Ah. I see. I am not the first femme to blush under your gaze. You are A Catch to people besides me. And of course I can see how that would be a self-evident truth. But I also know that I didn't love you when I initially came here. I thought you were nice and had a good family but that's it. There was no spark; I would not have approached you in a bar. I would not have stared at pictures of you. But now, oh holy shit, I am a goner. Months of bonding, bonding, bonding has led to this. I can't tell if I would be okay with us just being friends. 

...

Last night we looked at pictures of your family. You and her and your adventures in Jakarta and when you first bought your house and when your littles were born. It changed something for me. Just a smidge. But it peeled a layer of the steeliness inside me. It made more willing to give, to accept that I may be in love with you but we are not meant to be together. That you have a history and a future without me and it will always be that way and, most importantly, I should not try and force it to be something else just so I can feel powerful enough to control my own story. You can still mean something precious to me without things turning physical. I can still feel deeply attached to you without needing to have an affair. I want to learn what I can from you, from our time together. I want to just grow however I can grow. I want us to be friends. Like when you texted me the f-bomb and when I confided in you that I miss the routine of French class. That sort of thing. Just friends. Someone I can trust and who trusts me. Someone who I can throw a couple beers back with on Friday night and who I can teach to bake and who can, respectively, teach me how to cook. 

engaged

My desire for you is difficult to describe. I crave and loathe you at the same time. I'm trying to get other shit done but each day I find myself wasting hours thinking, thinking, thinking about you.

I don't know what I'm doing. What you're doing. What we're doing.

Is everything I think to be happening imagined? Am I reading into things too much? Everything could be explained away. Unless you've been here awhile. Unless you've seen the transition. Unless, unless, unless. But even then, maybe not. Maybe nothing is going on. Maybe there's no energy or chemistry here. Maybe we're just becoming better friends. Maybe you're just being nice. Maybe I'm being too obvious, too eager. I don't know. Things feel out of control, though. Undefined and therefore possibly going to go too far but not until hindsight. Not until we can't take it back. I feel like there is something here. It feels like things did with Ryan. There just is that thing, you know? But...maybe not. Maybe I don't know.

I've gained boatloads of weight. Or should I say bloat-loads of weight. (Har har puns.) It could be all the bread and cookies and cookies and cookies and sometimes a few cookies I've been eating. I don't know. Maybe the cheese at every meal? The peanut butter and Nutella? I cannot wait to be out of the house, distracted by French classes and in my routine of not eating much but exercising lots. I just want to be skinny again. The fat is bubbling upon around my thighs. Jeans look ridiculous on me. Skirts are my safe-haven but even those make me look pudgy. Can anyone really ever hide weight gain? I don't think so.


I just want to pretend my ankle is not in pain. That it will magically heal on its own. That I don't need to do anything in particular to rescue it. That I can workout on it and it won't hurt. I can't lose my workouts. I can't lose my salvation. I want to be so busy I can hardly stand up. I want to be exhausted from working out. Not really...but kind of. I don't want to think. Faith is such a burden. I mean that believing there is another way forces you to be honest that you're not seeking that way. That you've screwed up. That you're not all you should be. It is somewhat hopeful but also exhausting. I'm not saying I wish we were all doomed but...I don't know. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to live with.

business or pleasure

Im in a peculiar mood today. Not really upset about anything; not really satisfied. The day's moving a bit too slowly for me. I'm tempted to see a movie after work but that's always meant binging and I'm trying to make it a week without any behaviors. Maybe I'll just go home. Maybe I'll see Kingsmen and just get a diet, caffeine free coke. Starve my body a little. Slim down a bit. Feel powerful and sexy and hot.


I think my favorite thing about work at present is simply that I feel confident. That's really the thing. I definitely make mistakes sometimes but I know how to work fast and well for the most part. I like being able to help people; I like the challenge of lifting heavy boxes. I like joking around and having such a great braid of personalities to volley back and forth with. I really love working with so many guys; they have good energy. Wayyyy better than working in a room full of women all day. I like feeling strong. Just strong. I know I have cellulite but it doesn't haunt me here because I know I can lift things and squat and walk fast. And those traits count for more than the smoothness of the skin under my jeans. I've given up on the idea that Mark or Justin could like me and have settled in to just taking the little bit of flirting I get from a few of the guys I would never date. They're pretty adorable and funny and I just like being with them in the freeing, no-commitment sense. Also no sex haha. I feel attractive but not sexual and that's a good, rare thing I think. That's not always a given. I feel so sleepy at the end of the day but I love it. I think that's maybe why I'm so satisfied with this work: because it's so emotionally up and down yet I also have such steady routine. So I don't stress about not doing what I want but I also use up a lot of my crazy emotional energy so that by the end of the day I typically feel like I've had a great adventure and am ready to settle in for bed.

respite

this is my favorite little part of the day: being hidden away in a nearly abandoned hallway to eat my lunch in peace. 90% of the time im invisible to the eyes and bodies of coworkers and can finally catch my breath. its like being backstage after a long performance. when you manage people, your time is there time all the time. you are there to serve and be selfless and present and alert. breaks are the only time you can stop smiling and be left in peace. don't get me wrong, I love what I do! I enjoy helping people and showing them what to do and how to do it. I like interacting with them and I even tolerate/like the messy, stressful situations in which im forced to stretch my patience. those moments come with the good ones and so I endure them. but ahhh its so relaxing to be alone.


these days at Lawrence really go fast. at least for me. I like them. before you know it the mornings over, then lunch speeds by, and then you're pacing yourself through the few remaining afternoon hours. I hope o get to stay here for a while. I wonder if LMS will hire me. a part of me cant imagine leaving.

now's not a good time for me

One of my favorite au pair families thus far just sent me a rejection letter today. Right before we were about to Skype. I feel sad.


And I wonder if this is what I should be doing.


What if I'm not meant to go au pair? What if I'm just not enough for any family? What if this is a huge mistake and I'm wasting my life and I should just give up? It's hard to settle down when your mind is constantly describing you as being in a transition phase. I just finished college and yet here I am, once again, just making do and getting by before "real life" begins. The months are ticking on quickly. What if Paris doesn't happen? Despite me telling 7,000 people that its the plan for me? I want to start living, really start. I tell myself that then, then I'd finally get control of my eating disorder. Then I'd make friends and start saving money. As soon as real life starts and I feel like an adult, I'll get my act together. There's always a future time to plan for, isn't there?

But I need to change now. I need to get serious now. I keep bolting instead. I keep eating and going mindless and numb and in the meantime I end up being unable to think about anything I need to do. Or I get serious for a few days and go really strict. And then the pressure comes and I get so tired of being good that I break down and splurge on food, movies, and pleasure. Or torture, really. Let's not pretend these things actually satisfy.


*sigh*

who can plan success

im sick of recovery. that's why ive been binging and purging and spending, spending, spending money for the last week plus. im just so done. done with recording my food every night. done with sacrificing sleep for exercise. done with getting up early to rush through devotions and fain commitments I know i'll only break after 5pm. im really sick of positive-thinking my way through my blatantly rebellious behavior. im just sick of it. I just want to eat like I used to. three-ish meals a day, with a little heavier snacking on the weekends. control. calm. stability. and just enough carelessness to make it fun.


and yet.


and yet. was it ever really that simple? because I can recall even in 7th grade, hating my body and weighing myself and trying to starve to a few pounds lighter. and the exercise was an obsession. I wasn't cleansed, I had no mental peace until id worked out for the day. and sure I was healthier but I was also more miserable. and less miserable. I could at least attempt to stop. but it was all through self-hate.


I hate the thought that maybe, maybe, I like binging and purging and overeating better than I like recovery. and yet it is there. when im here, staring at the reality of my life and wondering what it is I really want. trying to choose and spending my days absorbed in work and my nights numbing myself up with food and pain. im destroying myself. and I should stop. why am I doing this? do I really like this better? some days I do. and I am terrified. I don't know how to rest outside this eating disorder and I don't know how to rest within it. im stuffed and teary-eyed and lethargic. I cant achieve my goals and I shut friends out just to try to handle any fleck of pain I feel. what am I supposed to do now? I know what I should do. I want to want it. but im so sick of the endless, endless struggle. it is worth it, I know. it is valorous and honorable to pursue it, I know. but Im weak. goddammit im weak! does no one else struggle this way? Abba I cant do it in my own strength! don't You see this? I cant do it! how the fuck am I going to get through a lifetime of this struggle?! I just cant imagine doing it. how could I possibly get through more than 10 years past today?


the paradox is that in rebellion against structure your life falls apart and in its embrace you can only hate its cage of security. the lawless and lawful. the prodigal sons. the drug addict and the pastor's kid. which one, which one? bulimia and anorexia. indulgence and restriction. the only consistent theme is misery. abject, total, all-con-fucking-summing misery. I hate it, God. I hate this sin and I hate obedience. that is it, I think. I hate being obedient.


and I know I probably just damned myself to hell again admitting that but its true and I have nothing else. goals I cant achieve; the weight of the law destroys me. the freedom of forgiveness looses me never stop. what is the point of my existence? of my salvation? I cant do it. and I know im pathetic but I cant. I don't even know how to do it through you, God. I know that salvation was never an act of my own strength and so sanctification shouldn't be either. but I don't even know how to be strong in Your or what in the world walking in the Spirit means. I don't know who else to confess this weakness to. You're not deceived God. Abba, this is everything! this is the terrible, ugly, horrible, pathetic place I am in. what do I do? I am at wit's end. please, make Your strength perfect in my weakness. never let my ego think (assuming things change) that I got myself out. I cant do it, God! I don't love You and I know I should. im not motivated by love for You. I see no reason why You should love me. I cant connect with this love You offer. not when I sin. its empty to me. im dead. dead in myself. and what about when the romance dies again?  then what will I do? how can I possibly trust myself when I feel good or when I feel bad?

i am just overwhelmed by how much i weigh, how much weight ive gained over the last few months, and how i am still controlled by this monster of a fucking eating disorder. why the FUCK cant i get control? why the FUCK cant i even try to eat intuitively? why the FUCKING hell isnt God helping me with this? how the fuck do i control my will and choose, in those fucking moments, to act differently??? i just never can. and im so done.

fuck you bulimia.
fuck you eating disorder.
fuck your burning my throat with acid.
fuck your gnawing at my knuckles.
fuck you bloating my stomach.
fuck your cellulite creation.
fuck your bank account draining.
fuck your acne spurring.
fuck your enamel stripping.
fuck your ruining fucking Easter for me.

poor Danae. poor everyone who has to encounter and deal with this shit that arises from me not being able to get fucking control and choose what i know i should choose. just FUCK THIS SHIT. why the hell cant this ever, ever, ever change? im so tired.

i realized this weekend that its interesting how we binge so hard when we have sisters weekends. i came to realize that if we're going so HAM trying to get numb and overindulge as much as we can, there must be a hell of a lot of emotions were trying to avoid. theres so much we dont want to feel, so much that it propelling us to eat and eat and eat past any point of satiety. why is that?

changing a culture

ive been thinking a lot lately, Abba, about how id really like to begin challenging this weight-obsessed culture that I find myself surrounded by. it is endless and prevalent for people to express a clear measurement of self-worth in relation to their weight. frustration, anger, despondency, desperation, idolization, value, control, Godliness. oh my gosh just EVERYTHING and ANYTHING good in life is determined in so, so many peoples' minds by how they're doing with food. they'll never say it directly, but its implied in their tsk-tsking after a brownie, their self-conscious be-ratings after indulging in that brownie or carb they had said they were trying to refrain from eating, their proclamations about getting back into shape and toning up--again. finally."if I can just get my fucking self together," I hear them whisper wordlessly. perhaps the worst part is that they do this until they're 60. it. does. not. end. they don't outgrow it because they assume it is what they must grow into. they assume it is what people do once they're finally mature. and it just breaks my heart that everyone thinks its merely an issue of willpower. no, lovelies, no it is not. you sweet, sweet darlings--there is so much more for you, so much more for you. I want to tell people about the freedom of intuitive eating; I want to tell them how much hope there is. but I become fearful, Lord--terrified that they'll laugh at me and say, "well you're a porky little piggy so I don't think you have any sound nutritional advice to offer me about eating. at least I try!" I would have thought someone was crazy telling me about IE when I was in the midst of that hell. it took me years to come to a place of understanding and peace and acceptance with it.


I guess all I can really do is begin challenging subtly. When opportunities present themselves for small comments or discussions, I can question what someone is saying. I can offer a warm hug, acceptance and understanding, and a different perspective. and perhaps most importantly I can try my best to lead by example, letting people see the way I interact with food without lying or hiding and being honest if people ask how or what I eat. I worry that when I struggle to walk my talk, people will judge and say, see it doesn't work! but part of intuitive eating is the journey to get there.


this makes me want to lead a small group on intuitive eating, honestly. before im done with college, perhaps next fall, I really want to host a collaborative group about it. which is great because that motivates me to move forward in my own recovery so I can help others. I remember Dad saying something when I initially told him and Mom about my struggles that that is something I will be able to do in the future: help others out of this. (at least, I think he said that! lol) it would bring me such great joy to do that.

thanksgiving pain

today, I don't want to be here. but im sitting with myself, feeling and thinking and awareness-ing my way through this not wanting to be here.

today im in pain. my teeth hurt and throb like someone has been touching them with ice cream for too long. its the zinging pain of gums eaten away with acid, leaving their underlying nerves encased in too thin of membranes. they hurt from too much sugar, they hurt from so little water, they hurt from purging.

my stomach and intestines hurt from too much food and, again, too little water. the eating hasn't stopped all weekend and im quite sick of it. I want to be done, I want to be back in the safety and routine of my dorm. I am severely overweight and can tell I have gained fat all over my butt and thighs and hips. it is the most ive ever had and I hate it. all I can think about is D's being a size 2 and saying she didn't think fat looked good on people. all I can think of is the memories of D and E trying on the clothes from our aunt and actually having options to choose from because they could fit into them. I, on the other hand, was too big. I couldn't join them in the fun silliness of trying on hand-me-downs. I just observed from my bed, feeling the rolls of fat spill over my jeans.

and speaking of jeans, it hurts to wear the only pair I brought. It hurts to sit on the floor and cross my legs. hence why I gave up before even starting to pack. it hurts to have this much excess weight on my body. its exhausting and pinches and squishes under my knees. it shakes when I walk and prevents me from being able to wear dress pants. I cant give myself good things in life because of this weight. my clothes don't fit. its expensive to buy all this food, its expensive to leave my family for it, and its expensive to invest in bigger sized clothing that wont fit in two months.

all in all, this just makes me want to cry and be angry and depressed and just leave myself until im back at school--where im expecting everything to magically heal itself. which is not a realistic view; the same issues can arise there. but it would help not having all this food around to check myself on.

what I need right now is kindness. I need space to breathe, I need to sit with myself and listen to my heart or my silence. I need to massage my neck and drink water and feel what needs to be felt. im here for you, my dear; trust that this will work and your weight will not always be an issue. it starts with beliefs, darling. it starts with beliefs and staying present and identifying your needs before trying to heal them. so we'll keep showing up. we'll keep doing that.

therapy shit. again.

im not sure if just continuing to show up and be with myself is enough. i just want to bail and bolt and leave and be done with therapy, done with healing. i keep failing. i keep not doing what we talked about. i keep choosing binges and purges. i hate therapy. i want to quit. i don't want to stay with myself. i want to try healing on my own again, though even then i generally left at some point. im just not sure that my therapist really understands my idea of healing. i think she has a different idea in mind. and i don't feel like i can accomplish this because im so unwilling to come back to myself every day. i cant apply these concepts of eating what i want when i am hungry and stopping when im full consistently enough for them to make any sort of a difference. they're so sporadic i just end up gaining weight and getting sick. i don't want to just talk about my week every time we get together. i want to get at deeper issues.

if i leave therapy, what could possibly be left? this is why im convinced i will never go anywhere in life. because im just so fucking unwilling to change anything and deal with my feelings. AND I NEED SOMEONE TO STAY IN THAT WITH ME AND INSIST THAT I TRY AND KEEP QUESTIONING AND COMFORTING AND HELPING ME. that is what i need and that is what no one can give me. i cant do this alone, guys; you cant just help me with therapy once a week and then expect me to perfectly perform all we discussed over the next seven days. i cant do that.

this all feels disgustingly similar to Robbie. i hate that. it makes me wonder/think/fear that the problem is me. ha. what an idea. its probably the truth.

i don't know what to do in therapy. i feel terrified of being honest. i feel like my therapist has a way she wants things to go and i don't know how to perform that way. id like to die. id like to be DONE with it all. i cant keep coming back to this. i need HELP i need someone to tell me how to change. i need someone to cheer me on and not keep throwing all my shit back in my lap, just sorted out. i want actual ideas i can digest and run with. i know, this sucks because im supposed to be taking personal responsibility and working hard and making choices etc etc etc. but this is exactly what grace has done to me--its turned me completely into this lazy fat whore of a slob who reassures herself with every binge that it doesn't matter how much weight you gain because you always end up accepting yourself anyways.  FUCK THIS.


ugh. i need to tell my therapist this. i need to be honest with her and say hey, here i am--i don't understand grace again. i came into this from the other side and now have slipped right through to the opposite extreme. can you help me find the middle ground back from there? i don't know where it is.

i DO want to change. i just don't want the consequences of feeling pain that change brings. fuck this paradigm.

sliced

what S said to me just now was hurtful, very hurtful. I am in pain from it. she came in and told me that she finally realized her problem: she's incredibly selfish. why? I questioned, shocked. she said its because she has gotten like, three professions of love from men she doesn't care about this week and she doesn't love any of them back, she just takes their affection and walks away. and then after my asking 7000 times she finally admits who one of the guys was: Sam (a mystery guy who i expected liked her). but then she tries to change the subject when i get for more details, asking me about work and my day and blah blah blah. yeah, you may think im rude and stuck up for not being honored by this interest but she was NOT doing it for my sake--she was totally and completely doing it for her own. she doesn't want to tell me these things or share with me so she just either says nothing or teases me with details. and for a long time i just put up with that and figured it was her life, not mine, and she had rights to boundaries, etc. but i don't feel that way anymore. to quote Tom, "you don't do those kinds of things with your friends!" we have fun and we've shared a lot of deep things with one another and i feel like i tell her so much and she just does not share back. at least not nearly evenly enough. and i know that a huge part of me is just too curious for her sake and needs to not be hypocritical and practice what i preach about being selfless and thereby taking less information. but things are not the same as they were last fall or even last spring. we are closer now and i feel like S needs to understand that i am hurt, deeply hurt, by her rejection of my inquiry and her refusal to share things that happen to her with me. i am hurt and pissed and sick-and-fucking tired of playing these games where i beg for half an hour while she refuses to budge. i know shed claim to just be happy if i stopped and left her alone, but she seriously undervalues how humiliating it is to be the one in that position of begging. i hate that i do it to myself. but, for me, that insistence from anyone else would be taken as a sign of affection and i would appreciate it. that's clearly not the fucking case here.

i was also insulted by the culmination of several other things that happened at this time. S also tried to change the subject by asking me if id eaten dinner yet, to which i replied maybe. and she then says, i care about your nutrition. and then--this is the part that FUCKING KILLS ME--after i tell her she's being a little hypocritical, she goes, yeah i only had about a half glass of water today. I HATE YOU SO MUCH! i wanted to kill her. i just HATE her attitude when she says that, i HATE her control, i hate it more than anything else in the world. it pisses me off like nothing else. and it feels like shes pouring gravel into an open wound and then digging it in with sharp knives. it hurts so fucking bad. it's like she's saying to me, "guys like me, way too many to count, but they never like you--so take that emotional and social rejection." and then she adds, "and i don't eat anything and get to lose all this weight, that's probably why guys like me--so that that physical and emotional rejection even further, you little screwed up fucking bulimic." and then she finishes by utterly refusing to give me any details or share anything personal with me. another emotional and social rejection. really, really painful. i hate it. it hurts so bad. i just want to binge and restrict and purge and hide. i want to rebel against her stupid statements and recoil from her presence. hence why i left the room to go be angry somewhere safe. i was so tempted, the more i stewed over this, to just verbally spew in frustration, "God, S, you never give!!! You never give, do you?!" and then just leave. i guess her original assessment was correct. she is selfish.

but so am i, of course, in demanding that now that we're closer, our friendship should be done differently than it was before. i didn't become friends with S by forcing my way in. i let boundaries lie where they were, i let her share at will and gave her space when she needed it. i still think its okay to be hurt, but i cant expect to deepen our friendship through force. i need to be tolerant and respect S's way, if i truly want to be her friend. that's what friend's do, after all. they put up with each other's quirks, whether they're hilarious and delightful or really painful and challenging. i still love S. she still has great qualities, and i am no better off than her in the whole selfish department. i have flaws, deep flaws, as well. we both need grace. so i stay here in this. i stay with her, i choose to. i will let her let me in her own time. i will stop forcing so much. i will let things go and respect her space, even if i disagree with it. i will tell her when im hurt if and when its appropriate. i will remember that she can also be very selfless with other people. i will remember that she can still be very good.

ideally, id be dead

suicide ideation.

yes.

lots and lots of suicide ideation.

i just want to be done with life. please, please, please let me be done.

i hate addiction; i am sick of struggling. and worst of all--i really don't see any hope for myself. i realized that tonight in the bathroom, that depression and hopelessness are the norm for me. they are what i expect life will always come back to once the good parts are gone. they're, ironically, my blue sky above the clouds, not the happy/healthy/recovered me.

recovery feels impossible. i cant envision it for myself.

i also, once again, have come to the realization that i don't want to recover, i don't want to have a great life outside of Christianity. i don't believe its fully possible nor do i want to silence the nagging, haunting sense that there is something deeply flawed with me and Someone missing from my life that i long for. if i cannot have Him, and i cannot fully have my ED, but instead must try to live a semblance of a normal life, all the while dying inside, id rather die on the outside too. i hate this dissonance.