o9) You only live once

Call it a divine realization.
Sitting outside, the sunlight beating down on me as it slowly sets, I realized, like some people do, that you do only live once.  There is only one life.  What else are we primping for?  Waiting for?

I'm tired of living like I'm expecting judgment.  Like every day, I'm waiting for something to happen, and I'm not sure what.  Why is it wrong to starve yourself?  Why is wrong to be hungry?  Why is it wrong to smoke?

Yeah, it all will kill you.  But that's the outcome anyway.

I've tasted life, and I'm not exactly craving more.  I want to do the things again that I loved.  The things that made me feel alive.  I want the things I want, and I'm tired of fear.

I'm sick of always waiting for something to happen.

I don't know what I'm going to do from here.  I've had dreams for a while, and no way to make them real.  No way to touch on the fantasy world in my head.  I'll never be anything successful.  I'll never be anything amazing.  I've realized that in these past few years.  All these high hopes and ambitions are never going to go come to fruition.

So why not make it count?

I'm not sure how.  I'm not sure why.  I'm not sure what happens from here.

But I only live once.

And maybe it'll be forever.  And maybe I'll die tomorrow.

But I'm tired of feeling like shit.  And I'm tired of craving.

It's time to breathe again.

Sometimes I wonder why my roomies (soon-to-be) ex wife thinks he and I are fucking.  Then I stumble out of the bathroom after a badass shift at work wearing nothing but a wife beater and boyshorts, pants in hand, without a care in the world.  I don't think she realizes that it has nothing to do with wanting to sexually entice anyone, and far more to do with the fact that I fucking hate my work pants after so long. 

I'm getting my new BodyBugg strap in the mail soon.  SUPER excited!

Tomorrow is my weigh in day for the BB program, as well.  I had a complete binge day, which is fine.  I just need to be at 135.  I just weighed in at 135.2, but this morning I was 134.2.  I'm sure sleep will get me down to where I need to be.  But whatever.  I'll get to where I need to be.  The point is, last week, I weighed in at 136.2, and the week before that at 138.  And when I left The Ex, I was at 146.  So it's happening, even if I am having a hard time seeing it.

Anyway, I need to go pay attention to my dogs.  They're wriggling around and wanting love.  They missed their mommy ♥

o8)

Breakfast: Two forkfills of a TV dinner, four cigarettes, an atrophex, and a good dose of anxiety and depression.

So far, that's all.




I learned my credit is bad today, after talking to a loan company about getting some money for a reconstructive surgery that I desperately need.  Need, as in, I've nearly sliced that part of myself and cauterized it, and would have, had I been able to find a piece of metal in the house that could be heated to the proper temperature without melting.  Ah, the days when I was at my worst.

It's not something I run the risk of doing now.  I like to think I've gotten my head a little more clear than that.



I'm applying for other jobs to save up the money.  And tempted to take an offer to do burlesque on line as a dominatrix.  I say burlesque because the type of outfit I would be wearing would be more along those lines, and I would be commanding men over webcam what do to themselves.  Not too glamorous, but the pay is amazing, from what I understand.



I just feel sort of exhausted.  I had told myself I wouldn't be writing in any of these sorts of blogs anymore.  I feel like I've been desperately grasping at straws of myself, and they've been crumbling to dust everytime my fingers lock around them.




I was in the hospital for what they suspected was a severe form of an STD, but they haven't told me what it is, yet.  I don't know.  Right now, I'm too tired to give a damn.






I just feel sort of empty.  Alone.  Solitary.

Whatever.

I don't really have it in me right now to be a good friend.  Or to be a good anything.  Girly seems to think otherwise.  I'm a selfish person.  And I close off on myself.  I stop reaching out.  I fold up inside, because it's the only thing I know how to do.  I tried so hard to be otherwise.  But it's not something that works very well.

I keep hearing the script played out in my head over and over and over again.  Thoughts given voice by countless others over the years, and I try to find out why I am this way.  What triggered it.  This inability to connect.  To care.  To see when I hurt others, or the effect I have on the people around me.

It's easier, I think, to stop existing as a person of the world.  To fold in, shut down, and just go through the motions.  But then I hurt more people.  And then I feel lost, because why are people trying to get close when I clearly don't want them to?
And then I get lonely, and reach out, and fuck up anyway.

I'm just...I don't know.

Late for work is what I am.
And this post is self pitying and pathetic.

Nothing to do now but get over it and fix it, isn't there?

So it goes.

Now For Something Completely Different--A Tattoo!

MY NEW INK! 

It says "Quod me Nutrit, Me Destruit" with the NEDA symbol underneath. 

o7) The Lie of Love

We're led to believe in the sanctity of marriage--the impugnable holiness of matrimony, relationships, and love.  Told that it is what matters most.  Taught by fairy tales, romance novels, fantasy novels, and even news outlets, that not only is it a requirement and force that overcomes all ailments, but a necessity for normalcy.  That without a prince or princess charming, we are nothing.  Worthless.  Meaningless.

Cinderella was nothing before she was rescued.

Snow White was a victim.

Harry Potter was only as powerful as he was because his parents loved him.

But what about when love fails?

What are we, when we are single?  When our parents don't love us for who we are?  What are the orphans worth, who are never loved by an adopted parent, a sibling, or genetic parentage?  Who are we, when our lives become devoid of devotion, and we lose the love of even ourselves?

The truth is that love?  Love is not the answer.  Love is a word--a feeling.  A concept.  Love is something that exists only philosophy.  This is not to say that there is no happily ever after.  It is to say that love is a chemical reaction, and love ceases to be.  There are divorces, and then those who push on, trying to maintain the false facade of affection long after the flame has died.

I believe we strive for it too young.  Seek to fulfill a hole inside of ourselves created by the fantasy that we must be loved to be worth anything.  And that to be loved, we must be perfect.  There is no affection for those perceived to be flawed.  Cinderella wasn't fat.  Snow White wasn't black.  Harry Potter's father never regretted him. 

We must stop seeking love from others.  Stop seeking love and acceptance from the world.  This is not to say that we must never hope to feel it.  But it is not, in all honesty, the end all and be all.  It does not determine our worth.  It does not determine the quality of us as human beings.  What it does determine is the quality of those we surround ourselves by.

If those around you do not love you, then find others who will.  If your parents do not accept you, do not adore you, then feel that pain, feel that agony, commit it to memory, and then love yourself instead.  It is not your fault.  The flaw lies not in you, your appearance, or in whatever side of you that you believe to be broken.
We are products of nature and nurture.  There are things inside of us that cannot be changed.  Parts of us that will forever remain the way they are.  But the rest is up to us.  We have been nurtured to feel a certain way.  TO believe that we must love, be loved, and that we must do it all before the age of 25.  God forbid, you're unmarried by 30.  There must be something horrible about you, no matter if you're a man or a woman!
We need to stop.
Stop thinking about forever.
Stop seeking validation--seeking love--from others.  Basing our worth on the accolades we receive from our peers.  It is all fine and dandy, but you don't receive those by craving it.  You receive those by not caring.

The true meaning of success is independence.  And the true worth of a person is measured only in the worth they place on themselves, and the way they live their life.

Love is secondary to who we are.  Love is a beautiful thing.  But Love? 
Love is a feeling.
And it can only be truly understood and appreciated when we learn to love ourselves.


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Today, I refused to eat.
I felt bad about my weight.
And yet I meant it when I looked a pretty girl I took on a date in the eyes and said, "I do have some things I want to change, but I love me.  I'm happy with my body."

And I realized something.
Happiness doesn't equate to perfection, or contentment.  Loving myself doesn't mean I've reached the pinnacle of thin or recovery.  Love didn't cure me.  My ex's love didn't cure me, and loving myself hasn't cured me.
It's taught me to be okay with where I am.
Which has permitted me the power to change what I am. 

Being happy with where I am now doesn't mean I don't still want to strive for something better.
And it's nice to realize that even with my disorder, I can look in the mirror, admire my shape, and think, "Damn, I look good...."

After all, in my own mind, even perfection has room for improvement....

o6) 5 Pounds, New Politics, Sexual Trauma

Approx. 5 pounds lost in 7 days.
I don't feel much thinner, but there is a small measure of victory.  My clothes are fitting better.  My tummy is feeling smaller.

I've found out what my problem is when it comes to sex--it's that I am severely, truly, horribly damaged with my outlook on it.  I'm not comfortable with men, unless they're feminized.  I've had several dates and potential suitors, all of the masculine variety, but the only one I can consider dating is a male who looks very masculine, but...has sent me pictures of himself as he feels "he really is", which is dressed as woman.  A convincing woman.  And the thought of dominating him--of possessing him--of taking control, and making him fully subservient to me--spurred me on more than I ever thought it could.  What my past entails has ruined so much of traditional relationships, even in regards to women. 

I'm in my element with the other damaged, and so many of us are.  My current roommate is damaged by the same ex I have--a fellow participant in the cult.  His sex life has taken several blows due to what she put us through, and there is something infinitely comforting in having someone understand the words, "If ____ loved me, then sex wouldn't matter, would it?"

I've started another book.  This one I came up with last night at work.  It's going to be a few years in the writing.  It's a book on American Politics, and my viewpoint of it.  A Reinvention of the American Political System, if you will.  I'm going to start out by writing out my current beliefs, then I have to research the history of Democratics, Republicans, Socialists, Conservatives, and even the ancient Greeks beliefs of Civic Duty and the influence of prominent philosophers.  I also need to research the pharamceutical industries, the beef industries, food subsidies, healthcare policies and privatized hospitals, and the future of energy.

Needless to say, if I crack down, it's a good two, maybe three, years in the making.  Ugh.

The ex keeps calling me.  It's driving me up a wall.  I wake up, and the first thing i see is him, calling.  I hate waking up to that.

There is a world of words I wish to say, none of which presently rise to the occassion.  I blame exhaustion, and a severe lack of caffeine or adderall in my system.
Perhaps tomorrow will bring better results, hm?

o5) Fat laced cow flesh

Looked through my old before/after pictures, from 2008 to 2009.  From 197 to 121.  Then looked at the thinner ones.  119.  116.  You could start to see the indentation under my ribs.  The protrusion of hib bones.

I see myself now.
138.
A fat, gelatinous mass hiding the bones that make me pretty.
I was close to my spine peeking out.
Close to shoulder blades starting to be exposed.  A mere 13 pounds from my ultimate goal.
I want to cry.  To scream.
I've gone from 143 to 138.8 in around a week.  But today, I had a V8, 220 cals worth of a pasta dish, and then I had a prime rib and a quarter serving of fries.  The prime rib was like...800-900 calories.  But I just hit my period, and it was the only thing I could think to eat.  I needed the fatty meat so bad I was starting to shake.  I haven't been going over around 400 calories for three days now, and with the start of my period, I have low iron, potassium, and yeah....I felt so much better, but that meal was like, at least 1000 calories.  I'm at 1400. I want to cry.  I want to scream.  I'm so fat.  I'm so fucking fat.

I wasn't supposed to relapse.
I was supposed to be ok with food.
But I wasn't supposed to get fat, either.
You can't win, can you?