Saturday, April 3, 2010
Weight, job interviews, food phobias
I lost 2lb's yesterday, apparently. Not that I'll complain. I did wind up eating a whole chocolate bar with peanut butter on it last night. Wound up cutting again. That's the last time. I'm not going to slice up my leg anymore. I did it with dirty scissors, then went to sleep. Woke up with the cuts stuck to the sheets, and just burning agony in my thigh after only five hours. I went to pull on a pair of pants to go intot he bathroom, weigh myself, and clean it off, and could barely stand on it. Got it cleaned, which in itself was one of the most painful things in the history of EVER. Put neosporin on it, and am now sitting here, pondering trying to sleep a little longer before I have to go to my job interview.
I have an interview as a personal trainer at a major national gym chain. One of the top rated in a recent study done by Fitness Magazine, as well as, apparently, Men's Fitness. I'm super, super excited, and worried about my mobility when I go in there. If they ask me to do anything that I can't cover up the pain with, I'm going to just say I spilled some boiling water on my thigh while watching my friend's kids. Something nice and noble. And try not to think about how ridiculous it is that I can show other people how to do things right, and HAVE, but I can't seem to do it with myself. Hoooorah.
I wound up with a serious issue with food yesterday, which is fine by me. I started to shake partway through eating a salad, and suddenly couldn't handle even dipping the tips of my fork in the dressing so it was just barely grazing the top of it. I had 300 calories in a 13 hour period, then came home, ate partway through 200, then took a sleeping pill, and ate the chocolate bar and rice cake with peanutbutter, and cut myself. Bah. I had gone shopping earlier to pick up some PB, actually, for the rice cakes (great freaking meal--35 calorie rice cake with 1tablespoon reduced fat peanut butter. 115 calories of awesome) and wound up pacing through the store, literally pressing back against the wall to get away from certain foods without realizing it. Especially the waffles, which I really had intentions of buying. They didn't have the ones I had already determined I wanted, which were the Buttermilk waffles by Ego, since their individual waffles VS their serving sizes match up (some are 90 calories per waffle, but 190 calories for 2....buttermilk is 90/waffle, and 180/2 waffles). But they didn't have the Buttermilk. They had homestyle. And a few others. And another brand of Buttermilk. But I had no idea whether or not any of those were lying to me. I started to push myself intot he glass on the other side of the row, because I was convinced I was going to get fat just looking at them. I broke a bag of food I was holding, squeezing it so tight in my fingers. And then I realized the glass I was pressing against had a huge ass long row of ice cream. I don't think I've ever felt such a jolt of terror, like it would come out of there on it's own and make me eat it and I would die.
Like a bitch.
"Omgomgomgomgomgomgtheydon't havethebrandIwasgoingtobuyomgomgomgom--AAAAAAHNONOT THE ICECREAM! *Run away crying*"
You woulda thought I had just witnessed a mob hit. Jeebus.
I also started to concentrate on what I was eating. Found myself separating the parts in my salad according to color. Lettuce was gathered on one part of my plate. The little carrot strips on the other. The four thin almond slices I allowed myself were on another. The purple cabbage in another pile. I ate it all small bite by small bite. Except the purple cabbage. And the two pieces I had cut from a chicken strip to include in it for protein. That got thrown out, too. When I sat down and started to concentrate and focus on what I was eating, it made it so much harder TO eat.
So far, my most complicated meal, and quickest for me to fuck up, is breakfast. But right now I'm not too opposed to that. If I eat a bowl of cereal, or 200 calories or so in food, pretty quick, right off, then I tend to feel full, and I can get control of myself, and also have a clear head and avoid the shakes and awkward talk that comes from low blood sugar. I can seem more normal through out the day. Only near the end do I start to hit the zoning out, blank stare stage that comes with not eating enough.
That I can blame on general tiredness since I work until 10pm.
Anyway, thank you so much for the comments on my post yesterday.
I think...I'm going there because I'm going to be a personal trainer. I don't know if I want to get better, so much as I want to go talk to someone who I don't have to lie to about it. Someone who I can tell, who's worked with it before. I'm going there because my past has gotten to be too much, finally. I've been kidnapped, part of a cult, made to feel like everything I've gone through is just one more thing to be shouldered with private strength and dignity, and the only thing to do is put your chin up and lock it away and never let it bother you. But I can't do that anymore. These demons in my head--these chains of my past--have become so heavy that I can't even fly in my dreams anymore. I just want someone who I can tell the whole story to, and who I can talk to about all my bad, habits, -all of them-, and not feel like I'm strange. People who are trained in dealing with someone like me. Maybe someone to make me feel not so alone.
Though you guys did a great job of that yesterday. I was reading through the replies at work. Some of them saying things like, I always figure it'll go away when I'm thin enough, were just right on. Or saying that I'm not alone. There are more like me. And I have found you. You're here. With me.
Saying that I, and all of you, are more than this disorder.
It's...something I always kind of have to remind myself of.
That I can have this,
and I can still be something else. Something clean.
That this doesn't make me completely dirty.
(And if Subaru commercials and porn are to be believed, dirty is not a bad thing, bowchika?)
Anyway, I've written a lot. And I'm sorry these past few posts have been down and depressed, or too serious. Some of my humor is coming back. I've just been really exhausted by how all of the past has been coming up, and I don't really feel comfortable talking about it in a public forum where it could potentially be linked to me, IRL. People in my life don't need to know the truth. They don't need to know why I claw at my throat sometimes when I'm asleep. They don't need to know why I've been single for five years. They don't need to know about the past that still tethers me.