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Wednesday, May 19, 2010

I have lost!
Not weight, but inches. And in the midst of my period bloat, after binging on KFC yesterday.
Hoo.Rah. Working as a trainer, apparently, has the benefit of letting me get in exercise, by challenging some of my male sessions! Today, I challenged a coworker named M. Sort of challenged. I did the workouts with him, and when they were too strenuous, I pretended like I was just checking his form. Overall, in the past week and a half? I've gone from 26.5 waist to 26. My hips went from 31.25 to 30.75. That's all I know so far, because I didn't do any major measurements on the rest of my body. I'm going to ask another female trainer to take down my stats, probably sometime in the next week.

I feel like I need to explain a little bit about my therapist.
I'm not going to her to recover from my disorder. On the contrary--I'm going to her because I'm having problems functioning with it. Granted, I understand she's going to try to alter my diet, but she and I have already clearly established that me fixing my eating habits is not on the top of my agenda, and the best thing that she can do to help me is to keep my head steady enough so that I have the presence of mind to 1) Take my multivitamin, 2) Keep what I do eat balanced and heavily laden with nutrients, 3) Prevent behaviors and mood fluctuations that lead to excessive binges and therefor, depression.

I told her about my eating disorder not because I'm in there for treatment of it, but because I cannot expect to get the help I need without being honest about every aspect of my life. There are things I cannot even say on here, where anonimity is king, for fear that if I die, and someone sees this who I know, they'll...well...they'll read it. And they'll know.
There are words I can never say.
Things that happened.
Things that made me a victim.
She needs to know what the results are. What the outcome is. The heavy control I have over myself. The forced patterns and repetition. The obsessive behaviors mingled with the helpless disorganization.

"I don't think you're as badly mangled in your thoughts as you believe you are. They're jumbled and fast, yes, but that's not a bad thing. It's the sign of a creative mind."

She told me she wants me to write my life story. She wants me to start putting things into written word, and that I can share them with her. I've already started, but the fact that she pressed, after only two sessions, to see me express myself in an artistic sense, rather than the rigidly conforming linear pattern that most others would? I couldn't help but smile.

Though the meal plan she set out for me to make is difficult.
I reminded her that I could make it...but I can't promise I will follow it. She told me, "I don't want you to follow it. I want you to step outside of yourself and start to analyze yourself as if you're your own client. I'm not doing this to make you eat. I'm doing this to help you remember what your outside perspective is like. You're stuck in your head."

So yeah. I told her. Everything.
Because, well, I want her to know what I mean when I talk. And I want her to be prepared, because if she encounters another with something like me, then I can promise there won't be the same open line of communication.
Would any of you have the courage to tell a medical professional, who specializes in dissecting your emotions--your very actions and words--about everything with the community? About everything you feel? About how food makes you think?
About the monsters in your past?
The things that haunt you still?

....didn't think so.
Normally, I wouldn't. I still don't. I only did this because I have no other choice.
I have the courage because I have no other option.
It's talk.
Or it's die.

To be honest, I'm not ready to die yet.

Uuuhm, I had other things to say.

Oh, yeah, G. Sexy McFuckHisFace. Sir BangMeHard of Longdickinson.
He told me the other day,
"Ever since I've met you, I couldn't think of anything else but how I've wanted to throw you on the bed and wreck you."

.....oh dear. Yes, please!
But I told him no.
He doesn't want a relationship.
So...I don't do casual sex.
I plan to find a way to convince him otherwise.
That, or find someone better. Girl or guy, whatever.
Point is, he's hot as all can be, and yes, my libido goes insane around him. But the difference between me and most other girls who would bow to the demands of a solid mass of flesh, muscle, attraction, and perfection? Well...that difference?
Is I have standards.
I have a sense of self worth.
I may not think much of myself, but I was raised being told one thing, and no matter how down on myself I feel, the fact still remains...
...I'm BETTER than anyone you've ever had. I'm BETTER than anyone you'll ever meet. I am the superior being. And I am worth every inch of devotion given to me.

While I don't believe it of myself, for some reason, I can't help but demand other people treat me that way.
No matter how much I hate me, I can't tolerate other people acting the same.
How very strange.

This entry just irritated me.
I've been doing that a lot lately.
I really, really irritate me.
All my entries sound dramatic. Boring. Without personality. Too colorfuly written or something. Pompous? Arrogant?
I used to get told by my friends and parents "Stop using such big words! You'll lose friends that way!"
Depression makes me too artistic, and it also makes me emo.

I should change my background to dark things and skulls and blood tears and talk about slitting my wrists and listen to Fall Out Boy and Dashboard and other emo music ALL DAY and sit here and WEEP MY HEART OUT.

Dear god, someone smack me.


  1. Congrats for your lost inches!
    xoxo, Melissa

  2. *Smaks* Get over it, you bloody great sook! :p Feel better now?

    I love reading your blog! You have such a delicious turn of phrase. Its like a delicious ice cream sundae for the eyeballs, pure decadence.

    I fully understand your logic. "I'm the only one allowed to put myself down! Me and only me! STFU!!" Good on you for sticking to your guns. That sad bastard had better cave and come crawling to grovel at your feet damn soon!

  3. sounds like you have a good therapist. i say keep her.

  4. Hahaha ur post made me laugh!!!

  5. :) I like you. I'm glad you have your principles. I love seeing that, and I relate. Reading your blog makes me smile, makes me sad... it can be depressing or wonderous all at the same time. One thing you don't leave me is cold. You have a beautiful depth and dynamic. You have a real soul.

    Maybe part of it is the stuff you don't talk about. Some people go most of their lives with out anything truly awful happening to them, and some people face some horrible circumstances.. sometimes quite young... but not all of them survive it and instead live as frightened, walking dead. You strike me as the third type. The type that survives, riddled with scars, tortured, but real, deep and beautiful.

    I hope you keep on surviving. :) ... its my own selfish wish... because it makes me happier knowing there are people like you in the world. Real people.

  6. P.S. lol I also catch shit for the big vocab. Always have. :) I spent most of my semi-adult and adult years trying to dumb myself down for people. It's overrated.

    P.P.S. /smack!


  7. ...I'm BETTER than anyone you've ever had. I'm BETTER than anyone you'll ever meet. I am the superior being. And I am worth every inch of devotion given to me.

    WORD. I feel the exact same way.
    Your therapist sounds like the therapist I had who saved my life. She chose to hold back on addressing my eating issues in favor of helping me to get to the root of my problems. She trusted me to do the work, to dig and be brave and face the demons. She gave me the courage to fight.

    And you're so, so right about honesty being the thing that saves you. If you can't admit truths, you can never find a way to live with yourself.

    I'm so happy for you that you found a person who will work with you who gets you. Art is such a great way to exorcise your spirit of lingering traumas.

    Also...fuck emo: GOTH TIL DEATH. lololol

  8. you are right i would probably tell all the things to my therapist if i had one. i could not even thrust her that much, although i know she would not tell anyone becasue the doctor client thing but still i would just tell her some things and would leave some thing out.

    I also have high standards :)
    sometiomes i think i should lower them becasue maybe noone will ever reach there...?


  9. It sounds like you have a wonderful therapist!! You sound like you're all over the place these days!! RELAX PW!! You're awesome. Trust me. I know this!


  10. You're funny. I can't help but laugh when your sarcasm bites through the words on the page. As for your therapy, that's awesome that she's so direct and willing to try something outside the lines. I personally love your writing style, and find your words all grab me with familiarity. I can't say, "I understand" in the literal sense of the word. I do, however, think I may have a teensy weensy inkling, and I want you to know how much it means to me that you share what you can, here, with us.

    Keep those standards. I've thrown my body away in vain attempts to convince myself my soul isn't attached. While I may not regret it, I certainly do wonder at times how different my life would be.

    You're an amazing writer, whether "emo" or not, and I'm 99.999% sure this means you're amazing in real life, too.

    I look forward to reading more, and thanks again for being as truthful as you are.

  11. Good god, keep the long words. It's better than the pathetic brain blurbs of the rest of the unthinking people.
    Congrats on the inches lost. I have always been a bit over-consumed with the scale and completely forget about the measuring tape.
    And kudos for having some sense of morality and self-worth. It puts you a good couple of notches above half of my friends
    P.S. Your writing DOES have personality...your own.