The Doctor called me -delicate-.

I wound up back in the ER.
Or it's something like an ER. It's an urgent care--so it's where you go when you can't wait for a doctor, and need immediate attention, but it's not yet life threatening.
I had come home from work, and suddenly realized that I was bleeding in the female area. So I went up to the urgent care, and as I was trying to check in, she asked my name, and I couldn't say it. And then I was waking up being held up by this 80 year old woman and with a whole waiting room just...staring at me.
That was embarassing.
They got me back pretty fast.

They did tests, and it turns out I have some weird infection on some of my organs that's gone from just bladder to kidneys and some other areas. It's pretty vicious, and it's literally developed in like, a day. The doctor told me,
"In women who are as petite and small as you are, things like this get out of hand pretty quick. Your insides are inflamed, meaning there's not enough blood to go to your head when you're standing up, and your blood count shows you're anemic. There's also signs of malnutrition and dehydration, which in a girl as skinny as you, can happen fairly rapidly. Your body probably hasn't been able to take in any nutrients. Girls your height and weight can be incredibly delicate."


I clung to that last word.




Delicate.



He told me to go and get food, and go home. He said, "this isn't something you want to play with. Your body is very fragile, especially when sick."


Fragile.

Delicate.
Small.
Petite.
Thin.




I had people holding my arm to walk me around. And even at the pharmacy, a guy came around to help me, and offered to escort me to my car. I was picking up antiobitics, and somehow, I felt delicate. I have an infection in my organs, and it's because I'm at a weight and height where my body is more fragile than bigger girls.




I have never had those words applied to me.
The last time a doctor ever commented about my weight, it was to say I was severely obese and "all my problems would be gone" if I "just lost some damn weight".
But they're not gone.
They're just pretty now.



My blood pressure is severely elevated, my heart rate is very low, I'm anemic, exhausted, malnourished, dehydrated, and I don't think I've ever felt this wonderful about myself in my life.





Good heavens, I really am sick. Both physically and mentally. But I think I'm going to go to bed smiling tonight.

I kicked my own ass at the gym.
But I finally made the scale move down.

122.6.

Woot.

Now my body feels like it's been beaten with a hockey stick in all my major muscle groups.
Oh well!
That pain? Is the pain of success.



(...and here I thought success was supposed to be sweet?)

I found pictures of me on my parents computer of how I used to look. I always tried to avoid letting people take full body shots of me. Obviously, I failed.
I never realized, when I was that fat, just how fat I was.

I wish someone would have said something to me as it was happening. I wish they would have stepped in when I was a child and said, "Woah there, blimpy. Let's get you on a treadmill!"
My dad tried, apparently, but my mother and shrink put a screeching halt to it. Said something about body image, and the judgment damaging my already shaky psyche.
I sort of want to hit them for that.
You know what damaged my "shaky psyche"? How about kidnapping me and leaving me with a child molestor.
Or letting me get so fat that I got teased in school?
Or letting me get to a weight where I hated my body every day I woke up, and had no idea how to properly exercise or what healthy eating habits were, and started vacillating between binging and starving?
Or how about actually taking me off the medication, which was known to cause suicidal behavior in young adults (I was ELEVEN, holy fuck) and putting me into physical activities and on a proper diet, which is proven more effective in clinical studies at relieving a majority of childhood depression?
And it would have also helped me make friends!
Or how about not having pulled me out of gymnastics, dance, karate, and softball when my parents got divorced because they were too fucking lazy to take my anymore?
Or, here's a thought--how about never having had us survive on fast food for years at a time, and actually having taught me healthy habits and coping mechanisms, rather than putting me with an art therapist who liked the idea of me being on Prozac, Xanax, Lithium, and Trazadome from the ages of 10 to 14.

And I wonder why, sometimes, I went to amphetamine abuse. Probably because I was such a fucking zoned out zombie for so much of my life, that I wanted to make up for all the years I missed.

Anyway. Sorry. Rant over.
I'll post up the pics, as well as the most recent body shots of me, later, when I'm able to pull them off my dad's comp. But...it's sort of horrifying. I have a shirt now that is super big, and reaches down to the middle of my thighs. I remember when I couldn't wear it because I was too fat, just this past February. In these pics, I was wearing that shirt, which means I wasn't even at my high weight, but I mean...holy fuck.
To think that I ever got fatter than that.
Good god.

Oh well.
I'll never be back there again.

Also, interesting article about Disney Princesses and thinness:
Located here.

It really does make you think.
Where did our obsession with thinness come from? Why were princesses so delicate and fragile to begin with?
Of course girls were obsessed with looks back then--look at the propganda of the days about how women should act. Look at the old 50's videos about how young girls should behave. And before that, before movies and reels and even silent films, women were using tape worms to make themselves thinner.
Think of the corsets, and how so many aimed to get the wasp waist.
And when Consumption (TB) was considered to be a beautiful disease, and many women dreamed of dying from it, because they wanted to look so delicate, if only for a little bit.

Makes you wonder.

Metabolic shock

I went to the gym, and was incredibly strict on what I did.
Only 25 minutes on the treadmill.
25 minutes on the treadclimber.
10 minutes on the stair climber.
And then a small amount of leg and calf exercises.
Then stretching.
And home.

I did my typical warm up of course of general core work outs (plank, leg extensions in plank pose, and drawing in the stomach to activate the supportive muscles of the spine and stuff--otherwise I get terrible backaches) but also had thrown in 20 push ups before my work out began to warm up my arms. I was very proud that I could go almost all the way down to the floor before coming back up.

I didn't lose anything from yesterday. In fact, I gained. 124. I didn't even eat a lot after I got home. I think maybe I had pushed so hard that my body went into a form of shock and just held on to everything. Plus, there's muscle gain, and complete water retention. But I'm sort of not doing the gym until the 15th, probably, because my exam is the 14th, and i have to pass that.

Which also means I might be quiet on here for a while.

My goal for this month is to get down, I'm hoping, to about 117.8 lb's. I mean, that's my high goal. My low goal (what I call my "realistic" goal) is to get down to about 120-121. I wouldn't like it, but whatever.
I just can't wait to be out of the 20's. It'll be so strange. Sometimes I can't believe I'm losing.

When I'm really tired and wake up, and worry about what my number will be on the scale, I keep finding myself thinking, instead of "Just please not 125" or something, I think, "Just please not 155...." or "I'll probably be back up to 175...."
And then I stop and blink, because just a few months ago, I was looking down at 152, and thinking, "If only those last two numbers were switched...." and now I freak out at the thought of getting back up to that low goal again.
I never thought I'd make it this far.

I think that's why I froze up at 134.
Why I just started eating and couldn't restrict.
I had never expected to get there. Never expected to be that low. I think I was suddenly afraid of the idea of reaching my goal. I don't know why, but it hit me that I might not know what to do if I did. That if you actually achieve something, or get really close, then it hurts so much more to fail. It was easier to give up than to never succeed, and that was hard to overcome. The fear of success is a real thing, because when you succeed, you gain something, and by gaining something, you naturally thereby have more to lose.

It was easier to always be a failure.
To always identify with one thing, rather than completely change my identity and my view of myself. Going from being, "An obese girl who can't lose weight" to "a skinny girl who met her goals".
Going from being a victim, to a leader. A success.

Isn't it strange how the human mind works?
Afraid of getting what you want.

Huh.

Anyway. I'm off for now to study.
Wish me luck, and I'll try to post a lot between now and my exam!

Coping Mechanisms? What's that?

So today, something happened that flipped me out. That something being my ex sending one of her lackeys to get a hold of me. Now, bare in mind, when I say "psycho", I don't mean it in the "Oh, she's a little emotionally disturbed" kind of way. I mean it in the, "She should really, really be in an asylum" sort of way. Like...she has these guys who are obsessed with her and she's married to one, convinced them all to sleep with each other, write in blood on the walls, and is convinced she's actually an alien, sort of way.
Like...in the, I'm afraid she's going to find this blog and I'm afraid to even TALK about her or say her name out loud because I have this feeling she'll KNOW and pop out of my god damn bowl of cheerios and kill me, sort of way.

So hearing from her boy toys is about as much fun as receiving a rectal exam from a first year med student with hands the size of Goliath's who mistakes the rubbing alcohol for the lubricant. In fact, I would rather submit myself to that large and incompetent oaf with hands of latex and ethanol than have to recall that she even EXISTS.
But no. No. They message me.
And I'm filled with the uncanny desire to gouge out my own eyes, and then dip my laptop in bleach to purify it of her fucking STANK.

Why can't they just leave me alone?

So I went to the gym.

And I did three miles on the treadclimber. And then I ran. Four miles. And then weights. And I realized, after hours of hardcore movement and after having done three miles of running, puked, and gotten back on to finish my last mile...that maybe, MAYBE, my response was borderline...I don't know....unhealthy?
I think it hit me about the time that I started to dry heave the second time, and collapsed to the floor after trying to stand up.

Running 4 miles at a steady pace of 5.8 mph, with only a pause to vomit, after a nice long treadclimber workout, followed by weights...tends to do that, I imagine.

I was so dizzy it was hard to drive home.

But
I lost two pounds.
121.8. Awesome.
Then I ate a piece of bread with peanutbutter, and a little bit of cake my dad shoved on me ("You look PALE," he says, "Is your blood sugar low?" Nope, my blood sugar is fine. If by fine, you mean completely crashing with having only eaten a hot pocket and a finger swipe of icing before pushing harder and farther than I EVER have during a workout, then yup, my blood sugar is PEACHES), and then I proceeded to get a terrible stomach ache.

And then I had to go buy girl products from the store in my pajamas. Because I was an idiot, and didn't wash my hands at the gym before going to the bathroom. And I'm standing there, looking at the different products, with a box of Monistat 1 in my hand, and this fucking GUY is looking at me, and he's some stupid little teenage high school punk butt stupid head, with this stupid snicker on his ugly face. And I have no idea what he wanted, but I was so GRUMPY MCFUCKFACE from the extreme workout, my ex, and then that satan cake, and having to come to the store in my pajamas to buy EMBARRASSING GIRL PRODUCTS that I was just...done? And I pointed the box at him and said, "I will fucking shank you in your trachea with a box of vag cream, you bitch!" HE STOPPED SNICKERING.

Oh, to traumatize the youth. But it's only fair that he realizes that all women have their sweet and lovey and perhaps matronly side, but it's balanced out with a midol filled, tampon, and icky-girl-part cream possessing rage monster that will light you on fire just because you're BREATHING wrong.

awoefijawoeifjawioefj



I think I need to a nap.
And maybe a shot of jagger or something.

Ugh, ♥
AT LEAST I DID NOT EAT RIGHT?

God I'm fiesty today XD

Though I got worried. At the gym, after working myself that hard, I didn't feel like I could stop.

I mean...I couldn't. I couldn't stop. I had to beg my friend to tell me to stop. To MAKE ME stop. Because I wasn't going to. And it hit me that while some people binge and purge...I think I just exercise. I think that's my thing. I do it when I eat until I'm ready to collapse, and I make myself sick constantly. I wore myself down to the point of emotional exhaustion, and came so close to begging one of my friends for help, because I didn't want to do this anymore. It's the first time I've felt like I needed help with this whole ED thing.
I guess it's the first time I've ever wanted to stop and couldn't. Usually, I'm grateful when I push. But today...I wanted to stop, and I couldn't make myself. It was like I was possessed. Like I couldn't control my body.

Weird that, isn't it?
I'm glad I didn't ask for help. I got over that feeling pretty damn quick. I think what freaked me out was after I had thrown up, I kept coughing and shit, and I couldn't breathe, and I only stopped running because my hands and feet were numb and I was close to passing out.
And then when I had finished weights, my lips were purplish blue.
And I think it scared me.
But...I'm better now.

I think.
Huh.
Just have to find a way to fix it, I guess.
I mean, sometimes, I want help. I want to ask for help. I want to cry on someone's shoulder and have them make me better.
But I dont' want to ever get better.
I want better control. I want to be able to not have the urge to purge, and to restrict and not hate myself for it, and to be able to stop working out when I want to. I don't want to be normal. I'm better than normal now.
I just want to better than I am.
I want to pluck out my imperfections.

I don't want to get better completely. I just want to get better at what I'm doing.
There's...a distinction, I guess.

Damn it, Janet, be a woman and fetch me my slippers!

I slept like
three hours.

I hate not sleeping. I get so hungry so easily when I don't sleep, as so evidenced by the fact that I've eaten like...oh, I don't know, at least 370 calories already? Before my day really even started?

I have to be up for another like...14 hours. This...is going to be hard.

The only thing that bugs me more than not sleeping enough, is not being able to eat on my normal schedule. Once at 10:30pm, once at 3:30am, snack at 5:30, and then small snacks between 7-10am, never exceeding 300 calories (I have about 800-900 a day right now, since I'm trying to control the binge urge, but I need to go lower than that. That's a disgusting amount still).

On a good note, yesterday was the gym. I weighed myself before I worked out, which I always do. It's at the end of my day, so it was AFTER eating and the like. And guess what? Even with my 3500 calorie day a few days ago?
124.3. I actually dragged the weight up to 127 at first expecting the worst, and felt giddy with every notch I had to tap it down. I did a 2.5 mile run, and then did the treadclimber for 40 minutes, and then some awesome arm/leg full body combo's with the weights, and a few general core exercises. When I weighed after, I was at 123.2.

This morning when I woke up?

123 lb's even.

Awesome.

I just hate that I didn't sleep. If I had slept, maybe I would have lost more (since I tend to weigh less when I've had 8 hours--you can burn upwards of 500 kcals in your sleep, you know), and I wouldn't be so fucking hungry.
I'm really afraid of gaining.
Like, deathly.
We all are though. It's why we do this. Or at least, why some of us do. It's a major trait worth noting in a vast majority?
I've lost my groove. Sleep deprivation kills my ability to make logical sentences or form coherent paragraphs.
AWESOME.

HEED MY INANE RABBLE!
FLARGHALARGHA *KEYBOARDSMASH*


Tomorrow is grocery shopping.
Hate grocery shopping when tired.
Everything looks delicious.
But I'm outta face cream, dog food, and body wash. So unless I want to fend off my starving dogs with the powerful funk of some righteous BO, shopping is a massive requirement. Damn, but I do despise responbility.

---

PS
KEMPER I FUCKING LOVE YOU.
I'm going to be look for a new blog layout. This one is so cyan. (or is that aqua? Blue green? How about kelp. Blue seaweed? OCEAN POT! er....right, that jump in logic was totally off the radar....this is what happens when I don't sleep) and yes. KEMPER IS AMAZING the end.

AND ALSO
I don't like to pimp.
But there's someone who comments a lot on me, and I've seen her comment on others, and she's just really sweet and has almost no followers and she's just starting out. So...
YellowBrick is the name she goes by, and she's been really helpful with a lot of the stuff she says, and super sweet, and it makes me sad whenever I go there and she's so wonderful, and yeah. Just doing this because I get such awesome support from everyone, including her, and she's sorta new on the blogger thing and I just want to make sure that she can get a lot of support, too!

THAT AND IT HELPS THAT she's amazing and you sorta wanna squish her head (in that good "OMFG CAN I HUG YOU NOW?!" sorta way) after talking to her and reading some of her stuff.

THE END!

I'm sorry.

Thank you all for so much support yesterday.
But I didn't do any of you proud.

It was probably the worst migraine I remember having in years. I was too shaky to walk right at work. I kept having to eat, thinking my blood sugar was crashing, and when I tried to lean over to grab something, I wound up on the floor because I felt like the world was moving. I got home and my depth perception went, my speech was slurred, and I remember at some point laying on the floor in the room because everywhere else hurt to be.

And I ate.

Fuck, I broke and I ate. And it didn't HELP. But I kept eating, because I felt like I needed something. Like my body was begging for something.

I stopped counting after 3000 calories, when I broke down sobbing.

The binge ended with plain white rice drenched in salt.
I should have known to go for that first.

My nephew eats it when he feels sick; my sister used to eat it when she would get menstrual migraines or hunger headaches (she was a junkie and had an eating disorder--she doesn't have custody of my nephew anymore--he doesn't even remember her, so when he started craving that without ever knowing his mom used to eat it or that I would eat it, it surprised all of us). It...made the pain so much less. That's what I was looking for. The salt, the carbs, the lack of flavor and just...the pure salt. I used the very thick kosher chunked kosher salt (it's hard for me to eat the regular anymore) and a little bit of sea salt.


I should have reached for it first. I should ahve just gone for it first. Salt always makes me feel better, but I kept thinking, "No, no, I need to cut back, because it makes me puffy."
You know what else makes you puffy?
EATING LIKE A FUCKING PORKER.

I woke up with still the remnants of the migraine, like I do after such bad headaches. My speech finally started working right after I got in to work again. And the shaking stopped.

I haven't eaten anything yet. And I feel like such a fraud. I came in, and my coworker told me, "...did you lose more weight?"
No, I lost the initial bloat from my period.
But I'm so afraid of the scale.


Today is the gym.
Today is back to restricting.
To denying food.
To trying to make myself proud again.

I ate more than 4 days worth of food in the space of three hours.

I have to just let it go. I have to just remember that this is my shame, and it's over now. I can't do it again.
The only thing to do now is to move on.
To work it off.
To start again.

I'm sorry, you guys. I'm sorry I fucked up so badly. My control has been so good lately. I thought I was doing good when I went home to eat instead of going through a fastfood place like I wanted, but I would have been better had I just gotten the fucking grease pit. The only comfort I have is in knowing that my binge was on almonds and soy beans and fiber cereal and healthy things, rather than fat soaked and saturated, artery clogging hand-fulls of preservative filled shit.

I'll do better.
I'll make you all proud again.

I promise.

I feel like that girl from Juno

I feel like that girl from Juno...the one who's in the science lab, and she's like, "I have a menstrual migraine, so, I can't look at any bright lights."

That's what I feel like right now.

Ugh.

I know if I slept, it'd go away. I'm at that stage. Where crashing out would make the pain stop. But I'm at work.
And I'm hungry.
But not hungry.
And I feel exhausted.
And sick.

I hate migraines. I hate periods. They always come with migraines.

I didn't weigh myself today. Not weighing myself until I can get back into the gym (either tomorrow or thursday...hate taking this long off....) and yeah.
Waaant to crrrrryyyyy.
Hate this so bad.

Migraines sabotage weight loss goals.
No joke.



The end.