Monday had it's ups and downs, I missed the first class but made it to the second. However, though I was present (and puffy) I was unprepared. No homework, no rough draft for my 3rd essay. On the upside my group in the class is really cool, I even chatted with some classmates after class which had me driving away from school with an overall good feeling.
When I got home my mom asked me what was bothering me. I shook my head. "Do you just not want to talk about it?" Says my mom in a tip-top of a voice that she often uses when she senses I am sensitive. I busied myself with taking out the trash, "Nothing. I'm fine." I reply, end of conversation.
I joined her on the couch, starting off on the chase opposite of her and inching my way closer until finally, "I missed you."
"What's wrong babe?" She soothed as I cried into her chest.
So then there was a lot of crying (by me) and soothing (by her) and then I felt all better! I was even all chatty patty when she got home last night.
On the downside, she made me an appointment to get a physical tomorrow morning (all I'm hearing is "you're fatness is going to be recorded into your medical history.") and she wants me to talk to somebody. Obviously, it makes sense and if I were somebody else I would tell me to go get help. But I'm not somebody else I'm ME and I want to throw myself on the ground kicking and screaming: Idon'twanna!Idon'twanna!! so I won't have to go. However, at 24 years old, this behavior is not only unacceptable but unnecessary because really all I would have to do is stiffen my lower lip, cross my arms over my chest and say, "No. I'm not going." But then the adult in me says to just do it because my mom was right when she said it can get worse and to try and do something now so you know how to get yourself out of it. (Look at all that mother-daughter wisdom! Who says getting older doesn't mean getting wiser? The Chinese were spot on with that one.) (Generally. There are exceptions to every rule, of course.) She knows I don't want drugs, I want a lifestyle that is healthy for my mind & body and independent.
(And super skinny.)
(The body might have to compromise for the latter. Sorry Body–just deal.)
As far as my body goes. I wasn't counting cals while on my period but I was bingeing and since I've have these stupid blisters on my lip I haven't purged. So I would think that my weight wouldn't really fly off the handle but a horse is a horse of course of course and my body felt ginormor-ongous and my jeans confirmed. I was puffy and bloated all over I was chug, chug, chugging water and feeling like amebas on flees on rats on horseshit. But the only way to feel better was to point my finger to the heavens ahead and shout, "Onward with the Restriction!"
(In my mind, of course. I'm not a crazy person.)
I've noticed improvements (bloating went down) but I'm still ascared of the scale because my thighs are about the size of a Redwood trunk only shorter and they've been touching and getting all fresh with each other and doing some kind of come hither jiggly wiggly mating dance or something.
I know... Ew is right. Be glad you are reading about and not seeing it in. the. mirror.
Anyhoodle, this was the first part of Monday, I wrote it before I went to class. I intended to post it but I sent it to Nowheresville in CyberSpace because I put the wrong e-mail addy.
(I'm trying to practice my remembering and recording what the hell is going on because someday I will be a good writer! Until then... practice makes perfect right? Right.)