unexpected

so among the things i didnt see coming today:

1. having a hard time sleeping last night initially and yet not waking up to severe thunderstorms this morning

2. having a meltdown/panic attack in front of Mom and D in the van because i was so overwhelmed with anxiety about seventy five different things

3. not going with Mom and D to shop/go to D's appointment but instead staying home and binging and purging for three hours


i thought today was going to be an easy day for me, food wise. i got my workout in early, was planning to be gone shopping with the safety net of my mom and sister all day, killing time and having fun. but that is not what happened. instead, i got up early and was in a great mood. i felt good. i enjoyed breakfast but had no desire to binge or overeat. i was reading all these posts on this Fuck It Diet eating site that's basically all about how to eat intuitively and not give a damn about diet rules and the diseased mindsets that accompany them. awesome, right? i was simultaneously continuing to watch these intuitive eating/eating disorder recovery videos on youtube with this wonderful lady named Nina that ive been working through for a while. ive been planning to commit to recovery/intuitive eating once i finish with training for this race, so ive been doing some research. today it was a double-whammy for twice the impact, right? who knows.

basically i did that, worked out, and showered. for some reason though, in the shower, i noticed how overwhelmed and panicky i was beginning to feel. i guess the forecast triggered that for me. i knew that it was supposed to storm strongly later today and tonight and i ALWAYS get the most dreadful, sickening feeling when i hear that and have an extremely hard time forgetting it/focusing on anything else until the predicted time/storm has passed. anyways, so there was that. there was also, oddly enough, this nagging in my mind about my body image. yeah. not really something i normally get too hung up on. i mean, i dont like how i look and i have been dissapointed somewhat this week with how much fat i still have from all that b/p-ing for four weeks of my race training. but i thought i was okay with that, in the sense that i felt like i deserved what i had, was still working hard this final week, etc. i was okay. i thought. but for whatever reason, despite my attempts at positive self-talk/affirmation, i was really, really bugged by how i looked. i hated the fat on my legs. i hated the cellulite on my butt and the muffin top on my abs. i hated it and  couldnt get over my despising it. this wasnt, again, too big of a deal, it was more of what came after it in combination with it.

after i was finally dressed/ready to leave, i headed downstairs and ended up having made D and Mom late having to wait for me to hurry my fucking ass up and get the hell out the door. i felt bad about that. then i needed to pack a lunch because i had zip-o money and didnt want to request a stop at the bank. however, i normally drink V8 for part of my lunch, but of course, couldnt pack that. i also wanted to bring some cottage cheese along for an afternoon snack but wouldnt be able to because it wouldnt keep (too hot) in the car all day. strike again. this meant, essentially, that i would be about 150 calories or so under my given amount all afternoon, and for whatever reason i mentally couldnt cope with that. i was terrified that this would mean me either being miserably hungry/irritated or going on a binge. now im like, how would i have binged without money??? i think maybe i was thinking itd be like last week where i had mom buy me a protein bar because things had run later than expected and i was hungry and also entirely unconcerned about eating healthy. yeah. that was a bad week. anyways, i knew that now that mentality was not going to fly and i was going to need my perfectly healthy little foods if i wanted any hope of checking off today as a success. then i started thinking about how if i binged, thatd be the fucking end of the world and i really didnt want to. i couldnt. i and then remembered again how entirely fat i was feeling and how i had to try on dress pants if i went. that stressed me out because i was pretty sure i would have no idea what size to buy since i could easily gain weight within the next few weeks here. i really didnt want to make mom buy a pair that i couldnt fit into again. that, however, reminded me that i would be looking into dressing room mirrors and seeing my cellulite covered thighs all lumpy and pudgy under the lights. that would likely trigger a binge urge/utter disgust.

anyways, normally these things are struggles i can handle. yes, i get stressed sometimes, yes i dont like storms, no im not a huge fan of my body, but normally this is something i can manage. but today i just couldnt. i dont know, i just felt so fucking stressed and literally on the verge of a panic attack. i kept feeling like everything was too tight, like i couldnt get a deep breath, like i would/had forgotten how to breathe. i just felt SO FUCKING ANXIOUS about everything!!! it was overwhelming and i felt completely vulnerable to the mercy of my fucking mind. powerless. just lying there, terrified that it would consume me and make me hurt myself. it was horrible, absolutely horrible. and as soon as i started expressing my not wanting to come with/telling mom i felt like i could have a panic attack, i started crying my eyes out. like hiccups, deep gasps, shuddering, cant breathe/get control kind of crying. the more i thought about all that i had to choose between and all that id have to endure if i went with, the more anxious i got. wrapped in spiral of "if this, then end-of-the-world" thinking. for some reason that idea of trying on dress pants and feeling fat was really getting to me. my mind felt like it would need to start cutting off my skin if i did that. yeah......that happened. crazy, i know. even when Mom, very sweet Mom, tried asking me what i normally packed/offered to buy me Subway or something i was okay with, i couldnt get control, i told her i didnt want to make her spend money on me, but she said she was okay with it, even though she normally makes a big deal of it. i was actually touched, really, even though i think she was just desperately wanting to help me stop freaking out. but and then mom started praying, which was a nice gesture, but also was nearly impossible to take in because i am not a Christian, so all these promises she was claiming in Christ do not apply to me. in fact, when she said that God is powerful, more powerful than anything, all i could think about was how, for me, that meant one thing: i could be killed by a storm from Him in an instant, He could make me die and start facing the eternal hell that i deserve for these addictions and pride that i have. so that just made me depressed. in the end, i felt like it was clear that i needed to stay home. if i went with, i would likely have an even greater panic attack, and more importantly, the only way i saw to squash this anxiety was to binge and purge. oh rah rah, right? good job, you little whore, let's immerse ourselves alone in our eating disorder to solve our problems. great work. *sigh* i know, but i justified then and even now that panic attacks are really scary shit and i didnt want to risk falling into one alone at home. so i needed to drug up my mind with seratonin so that it couldnt even go there. so far so good.

i just dont know what to do anymore. things felt and probably will soon again feel very out of control. im hoping that these panic attacks dont become a regular thing, though, because i dont want to have to keep binging and purging to handle them. that would be horrible. as for now, im rather scared for Mom and D to come home because im not sure if they're going to make me talk about what happened. and im not sure what to say. i feel like that kind of gave them a peek into how utterly overwhelming this ED is for me a lot of the time. but i also dont want to admit what that was. i want to ignore it, shove it under the rug, say i dont know what happened, im good now, etc. but that would be lying and truth is probably good. when you have secrets, though, its hard to let people in a little. they get quite close to unveiling the ugly then, and the tightrope becomes even tighter for trying to keep things in control.

oh control. oh bulimia. you two fucking bitches won again.

%$@# this eating disorder

as i sit here in bed, warm tears filling my ears, my tummy full enough to force regurgitation without trying, all i can think is

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKK this eating disorder!!!!! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

i hate this thing that consumes me! i have fucking fallen into its FUCKING lies again. again again a-fucking-gain i am desperate and depressed because of its whoring control. just FUCK this thing! im so fucking sick of it.

there is an insistent track in my mind that this was and is my choice, it's always been my choice. i look temptation right in the eyes every time, and think to myself, i could say no here, i could resist. but then i still cave. i directly say yes to giving in. FUUCCCK this eating disorder! FUCK IT! i hate it. i hate all the fucking stress it brings to every fucking mealtime. i couldnt even enjoy Erin being home because from 4:30pm this afternoon onward all ive been able to think about is how hellishly hungry i am and how desperate i want pizza NOW. and i dont want two pieces--i want as many as i want to eat. and then with that desire and temptation comes the obsessing, the fucking endless obsessing of every afternoon where i dont have to workout. oh yes, my little fucking mind will relentlessly spend its time consumed with thoughts about that food and whether im going to binge or be good, binge or be good. "nothing lasts forever" "you CAN get through this" "think of the half-marathon" and then during dinner, all i can think about is food and i begin to thoroughly hate my family, hate that they're at the table, in the house. my fucked up, selfish little mind begins whispering a stream of bitter, angry thoughts. why do they have to be here? i dont care about this conversation, i dont care about church or ideas or people or newborns or weddings or gardens. i just want that damn food! why are they here?! they're preventing me from getting what i want! food food FOOD! i dont want to stay here. i keep checking the clock and checking out of the conversation. how long till dinner's done?

and this whole time im nearly in tears. i need to stop doing this, i tell myself. stop hating. stop being jealous over how and what others are eating. stop racing to shovel food in. stop being so nonchalant. stop looking at the time. stop licking up food with your fingers. stop obsessing. no one made you do this. its your choice, its your choice, its your choice. oh yeah? well than WHY THE FUCKING HELL DOES IT NEVER EVER FEEL LIKE MY FUCKING CHOICE?!?!?!! IF ITS MY CHOICE WHY CAN I NEVER FUCKING WIN?!?!?!?!?!!!!!?????????????????

fuck this eating disorder.

it never stops

i am stuck here again. stuck in this fucking eating disorder. stuck. stuck. stuck. choosing to be stuck, yes, yet still stuck.

i cant fucking escape this thing. bulimia you whore, you have overwhelmed my life. i cant move past you, i cant let you go. like a fucking parasite you have latched on and i cannot get rid of you. the harder i try to recover, the harder i fall back into your safety blanket of indulgence. my binges are bigger than ever before, my purging right behind it. gorge, retch, gorge, retch, gorge. it is disgusting and i hate that i am doing this to myself. every time im gagging over the toilet bowl all i can think is how did i get here? why did i ever choose bulimia? why did i ever start purging? i thought i would be able to stop that part of it when i wanted to. but the truth is that purging is essential to any binge, once you have learned it. its the key, the secret to unlocking a blank slate, so to speak, upon which you can shove all your favorite foods onto again. over and over and over. it never has to stop because you never get full.

these binges are so expensive and i feel entirely selfish about how much money i am wasting on food for them. ive spent over $20 in the last two days...and mom and dad have no idea. that hell will need to be paid soon enough, but as of now im just hoping i can bullshit/cover up/deceive my way through having to give account to them for where the cash went.

i hate that i keep choosing to lie to mom (and dad too, in a roundabout way). i want to be honest with them and tell them when i mess up, but i just cant bring myself to be honest. i cant bring myself to look into mom's eyes and say, nope, the entire time you both were gone last night, i was here shoving endless amounts of food into my throat and then i threw it all up in our backyard. im so ashamed of what i do; and even though i desperately want and need mom and dad's help, it also ultimately comes down to my choice. they cannot force me into making the right decision by simply trying to elimiate every possible time for me to binge. if i am determined to do it, i will do anything possible to get my hands on the food. that also ultimately does nothing for my recovery--it doesnt change how i think or approach food, it just changes my outward behavior. i so desperately wish that they could bring me into recovery, that they could somehow structure things enough so that i could never fail. but they cant. its my choice.


oh i just hate this thing so much. my throat is bone dry, even with all the water ive been drinking. im worn out. i feel unable to win. fighting these impluses to binge and purge are beyond stressful and depressing; giving into them is equally so. i dont know what to do any longer. i can feel myself slipping towards depression the more i focus on this. i just dont want to have to deal with it all anymore. i want to be done. i want to be done...

let me hurt myself

today i am really in the mood to hurt myself. yes, i know, that's weird as hell; but it's true. i just want to punish myself. i hate my body, i hate who i am, i hate my hair and my face and my bloated stomach that gurgles from the clotted blood of uterus. i hate all this fucking weight on my body and how im not working on stuff and how im tired and obsessed with fucking, fucking food. part of this motivation is coming from my roommate too. she is not responsible for any of this--it's just my stupid reaction to her behavior. you see, she doesnt like to eat. like AT ALL. and she doesnt have (or at least doesnt claim to have) and eating disorder. i suspected that for a very long time, but apparently she's been this way for forever, according to her friends from highschool. she also will eat junk food when the urge hits and speaks about ED's with the ridicule of stupidity that most non-ED followers have. however, she has been trying to lose weight in a general sense for a while now, so the fact that she eats about 500 calories, give or take a 100-200, a day is pretty fucking disconcerting to me.

her control around food makes me want to destroy myself. i want to cut my arms and throw myself against furniture and get punched in the back. i just HATE the utter perfection and normalcy she displays when food is involved. i hate even more how entirely far from that i am! i hate myself, i hate myself, i hate myself. FUCK this self control she has. i cannot get away from the guilt that haunts me when i see her eating like that. she doesnt get hungry, apparently, or simply doesn't let it move her will to not eat. i always feel like she's judging me when i make a meal. she probably thinks, "gosh--what a gross, fat cow...she's such a food whore, licking up every last drop with her finger and counting out every little jalopeno so she can exploit her calorie count." i feel disgusting around her. i feel like this out-of-control, stupid, ugly bitch.

i hate myself. i want to hurt me. i want to stop this and clear my head through pain.

earlier this week i freaked out when i learned that this fucking squash i'd bought was not the variety i thought it was, and i was therefore abour 400 calories above what i thought i had eaten. i consequenlty ran to the bathroom and purged about 70% of it up. the best/worst part of it was that i hadnt drank any water during the meal, so my throat was STRUGGLING like crazy to heave up these rough, undigested balls of squash. it was disgusting and i had never felt more like i wanted it OUT of me. i didnt want a single calorie of its fattening substance inside my guts. gross. i just kept shoving my fingers down and heaving my stomach muscles to get it fucking hell out of me. it hurt and my throat was in so much pain. and afterwards my eyes were so bloodshot from how much id been straining to purge and my roommate had brought our friend in while i was in the bathroom. so when i came out i felt so exposed, like they knew what i was doing or would assume i had been crying or something. but there was nothing i could do except just endure the potential ridicule. thank goodness no one feels comfortable enough to ask me about it.

anyways, at least that time i felt like i had gotten what i deserved. even if i had over-purged calories i needed, i didnt care. i wanted to be feel pain and be hungry that night. and i think i was slighlty, and totally felt like i deserved it. i just want to feel that punishment again. not the overeating part. gosh no. i dont want to gain weight. but the hurt? yes. yes please. i hate myself.

loneliness

loneliness overwhelmed me this past weekend. i went with Charity to her hometown and we stayed with her friend. we also visited Ethan and his new eternally present gf and helped them and some other friends who id met before paint a house. and then i met Ethan's parents and Charity and I ate midnight 7-Eleven snacks and went back to her friend's house to sleep. the next morning i snuck breakfast and we had to coerce a dog out of a bedroom with meat and silence so as to not wake her friends' dad who was back from the hospital. and then we went to church and ate Chipotle and shopped at Ross and read at a library. finally we went and watched a movie and played a few games with, essentially, a lot of the same people as the night before. only now there was this guy, Mike, who i had met last fall, and also 3 or 4 new girls who i hadnt met before but one of who ended up knowing the backpacking group from school here. so that was a nice coincidence. i observed and sat in silence and watched and enjoyed people. and i saw Ethan's brother flirt with every girl there and felt amused and humored. and i refused to read his script with him. you know how you can just tell when someone keeps looking at you? yeah, well, during a board game i could feel his eyes on me, but i just continuously avoided eye contact, very purposfully. i kept looking instead at other players (particularly Mike), only occassionally throwing a bemused smirk his way. i will admit it--as its proabably already obvious--i was quite secretly smug and satisfied at having mastered his little game. he is one of the most beautiful men around and every girl seems charmed by his ways. um, hell no. i hate that. seriously, ladies, we are stronger than the cute guy who throws a smile our way. the longer i was with him, the more set i became that i was over this man, perhaps even disliked him a little. pride & prejudice in the making, i suppose.

but while this is all important, it is not the main point. no, the main point lies in how lonely i felt this weekend. it was insane, this utterly overwhelming deep sadness despite lots of people. and, ironically, right after church, when i had just run into Mike again, it was him i desperately wanted to connect with. insane, yes; out of nowhere, absolutely. but i could not help but crave him the entire get together and drive home. it started, i believe, with meeting Ethan's parents. they really threw me on Saturday night. they felt like home and reminded me of my mom and dad and i just wanted to hug Mrs. S and cry into her shoulder and gasp and shake with the loneliness that my sin and deception and guardedness has created. i cannot get close to anyone. and even worse, i hate the thought of it. i realized that this weekend too. i hate the thought of dependency, the thought of need. i love people and relationships and yet i cannot revel in the beauty of them because i cannot fathom making myself vulnerable and humbly admiting an inability to function without another person or persons. family is okay, i guess, a tolerable Achilles heel. but a boy-girl relationship, no. liking someone and becoming obsessed with them and needing them just to breathe--it is insane and i hate it and thoroughly believe that possessing it would destroy me. and so i avoid it, to my detriment; not even just the consequential never having a boyfriend/husband part--rather, the part about my not being able to admit i need God, that i actualy cannot do it all. in my efforts to sculpt my identity into an independent, strong, successful (and single) young lady, i have isolated myself to an island of loneliness and longing and pain. all of this appeared in little sentences of gray thought in mind while sitting at the library on Sunday. and then later that evening it came to me, why i was craving sex with Mike so bad. i am desperate for an intimacy binge. i know, you might think that that sounds ridiculous, but its true. i feel and am so entirely cut off from anyone who knows me that i feel this intensely frightening need to just connect. im not alone simply in the sense of being 30+ hours from home, but also in how literally no one absolutely no soul on earth has a complete view of all the addictions i have and hypocrisy i put up. this facade of strength i have built is the fucking loneliest place i have been and i am desperately, desperately wanting to just get as close as i possibly can to someone i dont know and who i wont have to deal with again. yes, my purpose in wanting to fuck  Mike was entirely selfish and entirely out of pain and evil. there would have been consequences, i know....but im not sure im glad i didnt pursue it (though, of course, seduction is something i am clueless about). but i wanted to. i kept thinking about it, kept lusting after him, wanting to get close and breathe his scent and when the party ended, innocently stay behind to clean up. and then we could kiss and stumble into the bedroom and fuck and i would finally be able to cry the silent, gaping wounds i feel so deeply inside. hopefully he would have a good time. and then we could just lie there and sleep and i could finally, finally feel numb again. and gutted. and whole. at least until the next day.

Mike, i still long for you. not Jacob, you. with your opinions and humor and style and silence. you. i want to get as close i possibly can to all that you are and feel the rush of pain and ecstacy as i discover you. oh how i wish you lived here, how i wish we could become friends. im sure your morals are in actuality what mine only claim to be in church, and, consequently, sex would probably never happen between us. but i want it to. please. please! i dont want to be desperate, i dont want to need others but i do....i need to get close with someone. please help me. gosh. Mike....i am in so much pain.

as we were leaving the party, Mike said bye to me. we had played this mystery case game on the couch, and at one point he got sick of being the only one who knew the answers, so he filled me in so i could help field others' questions. well then later, when Charity and I had to head back, he said, "bye partner in crime!" and i just laughed and said bye too. but my heart was touched and i just wanted to be with him. not necessarily for more flirting or name calling....just to heal. Mike, you looked like healing to me. i wish you would come back. but thank goodness you will be staying far away. i am a viscious, disgusting, revolting monster who would ruin you and suck out any good. i hate that i am that, but its true.

im sorry. im so sorry i cant offer you more.

throw yourself in with passionate curiosity

so tonight im watching the movie Liberal Arts, about this guy who has graduated college and now is a college admissions counselor and basically is depressed and slightly hopeless about his life; anyways, he vists his alma mater one weekend and meets this absolutely amazing sophmore who's there and they begin falling in love. my point in telling you all this is not really romance-related, rather the film has just caused me to question, "why doesn't anyone at Christian schools seem to care about learning itself?" like legitimately, i have not met anyone yet who has actually been really passionate and excited about learning, just LEARNING. gaining knowledge, studying thier passions, pursuing a deeper understanding of things they like. and i now that outwardly, everything i talk about would put me in the same category as these people. but im starting to realize how stupid that is--bceause deep down, i like learning. i like pursuing psychology and business and public speaking. it's painful sometimes, yes, and not always fun. but i like it and im glad to be here, to be in college. im grateful for this time in my life. i want to find other people who approach learning this way too. now, granted, my friends will occassionally highlight things they are enjoying and Sean has said that he enjoys school. but i would say that other than him, 90% of what my friends and i talk about it is how much we are dreading/putting off working on things, how much we wish we had free time, didn't have to apply ourselves. and i hate that attitude. i hate that my friends are okay with just cheating and bullshitting their assignments to get a decent grade. there's a reason i apply myself to my work, beyond the fact that i could never keep my scholarship without doing so. i actually want to learn these concepts and apply my own thoughts to them. i want to be here and i like being here.

i know that if i want to find these things  in others, ive got to start displaying them myself. be the change i want to see, you know? so that's what im going to start doing. no more of this endless complaining and negative talk. im going to be honest about how much i enjoy my work. now yes, i dont want to be annoying or criticize others without ever being sympathetic. but when people ask me what i have to do, from now on i want to give a positive outlook and lead my an authentic example. again, not that things will always be fun and i certainly dont need to lie about that, but what i do enjoy i want to say i enjoy. i want to be part of what i see in so many secular liberal arts schools--a passionate dive into one's education.

it's time to learn. and thank goodness because i cant wait.

ive taped the phrase, "throw yourself in with passionate curiosity" on my desk.  that's what i hope to do.

woven webs of deceit

i cant help but feel like ive entirely lost respect for myself these days. i do not think i deserve to be esteemed in the basic, good-person sense of the word. my actions absolutely suck; i am self-centered, lazy, INDULGENT as heck, a cheater, a liar, not hard working, unfaithful, not committed to goals, a quitter, fat, a binger, a bulimic, a thief...the list could go on for forever. i hate who i am, i hate how easily i give up. i dont like dwelling on the negative or being against myself but gosh dammit i suck! ugh. its disgusting. and consequently, i cant help but feel like absolute shit around other people. i cant help but feel unworthy of their friendship and also internally distressed over what they are attributing me with doing or being. no one knows what a hypocrite i am! i am the most worthless, faking piece of shit. and i hate it. i feel like the incessant acne emerging on my face is a perfect analogy for who i am...the digustingly repulsive crap that has been circulating within my heart over the years is finally bubbling out in its oozing, pussy boils, creeping slowly from beneath my skin until they are unsightly mountains.

i deserve death for who i am. i deserve death for what i do.

God help me, i feel like i cannot get out. here i am again...in the same shit hole, trying and committing and hurting and choosing and caving and binging and purging and slaving. and then repeating it all over again. another semester of expensive, windowless addiction. i dont want to go down this path! and to be fair, i did pretty well this first half of the spring session, with only 3 out of the 8 weeks being bulimic-centered. i can do it again--i need to do it again. i just dont know how. i keep attempting to start and then i get overwhelmed and upset and i cave, with a little reprimendation and reminder that this isnt the real thing yet, 1/2-marathon training is still weeks away and thus this is okay.

what in the world can i do? i dont know how to get out anymore. i dont know how to cope without therapy, without some guideline. and i dont want to recover without Christ. there's no point and even if i could do it, i wouldnt want to.

so basically i need to talk with Pastor Kidd. he's really my only option right now, seeing as how Mom and Dad don't know about the purging element of my ED or my not being a Christian. thus i cant tell them why im not in therapy--i can only lie and say that im getting better and still having sessions with Robbie. and i hate that because id like to be honest with them, but this truth would be too much. it would change too many things; it would destroy them. i cannot tell them....which just sucks. i feel really alone in this deception. har. har. right? oh the fucking webs we weave, when first we practice to deceive...

i wish i could just heal. this is why i so often try to avoid this shit and live as vibrantly as i can for as long as i can. because when i sit down and face it, its all so depressing and tangled that i fear there is no hope for restoration. besides, who wants to acknowledge their life is down the drain? how the fuck do you not kill yourself at that point?

i guess all you have to do is believe in hell...that's what's always stopped me.

gah--enough of this.