Distract Me from Me

Son of bitch! Everything I write is so.... UGH! It's depressing, not even like blue depressing but a lackluster grey that fades to black and I then erase. Which is precisely how I feel. Actually, it never quite reaches the black and erase part because that would basically mean that I cease to exist. And I'm posting so I'm either alive or a skilled ghost haunting this blog.

....cease to exist... that just sounds so... lovely, so much like a dream that I have every night. So much like the thoughts that's linger in the corner of my brain night and day, like some old alcoholic bar fly that has a cot in the back to plop her onto after she's blacked out. Only to wake up and do it all over again the next night.

I try to distract myself by diving deep into my thoughts, the corner opposite of where the facts of me and my life are kept. Philosophy, sociology, diets, television, Farmville... (Don't judge. Come friend me on Facebook [flushedagain@gmail.com ~ Lina Aria] and be my neighbor!! And challenge me in Tetris! I'll win.) ...but when all the crops are harvested and replanted, my eyes sting from the letters in the textbook, and only infomercials play on TV, I become painfully aware that I am... me.

I pass by the mirror and avert my eyes. I can't bare to see the reflection. My body, face, style (lack thereof)... the fat suit.... And then there is life. I have not even tried for a job because I'm afraid to show this hideous face of mine. I'm sure my work clothes would look disgusting and tight; and out of date. I will be rejected. I will sit across from strangers who will ask me question that they themselves could probably not answer if the roles were reversed. Every cell in my body will be screaming and tantrumming it up, down, and all around, while I try to reach for some semblance of an answer to appease, maybe even land me a job, all the while trying to maintain a calm exterior and keep my voice from sounding like there is a wild lily pad pond infested with toads, flies, and tumbleweeds. (Yes, tumbleweeds. It's my analogy, accept it or click away! Oh wait...that probably happened at sentence two...oh well.)

My personality is unstable. I am sarcastic, witty, positive, negative, smart, ditzy, depressing, ridiculous, ....I could go on for days... in a word, I'm moody. I'm all over the place. Most people don't see this clearly. I try very hard to seem like there is life inside of me, and when I lack the energy to put on the show, I am quiet, force a weak smile, recite one of the many excuses I have (school, rough weak, I've got to do this or that....stress is around every corner) and then I escape. 

Damnit! See! DEPRESSING! This is why my posts are so far between (though I still keep hoping to catch the swing and get back into the rhythm of the keys beneath my fingers). Sorry.

Life is sucking the life out of me.

I don't make sense.

You love it.

(no you don't.)

I love you more :)

(this is true.)

Insane in the Membrane

This body of mine is oh so frustrating. It never fails to amuse (read: infuriate) me how much more puke there is inside of me than I food I remember eating. Also, the worst foods always seem to be the last and most stubborn to come up. I typically make a point of eat food that is low calories, healthy and longer to digest (like vegetables) first and as my binge progresses the healthiness of food I eat decreases. Junk food like cookies, chips, or some other high cal food I save for last.

I always figure the last to go in will be the first to come up. It's not. As much as I try to disillusion myself with this logic, the conclusion (i.e. the spew in the porcelain bowl) does not always prove this hypothesis. The stomach churns. The heavier food will likely sink to the bottom. The processed food will break up quickly and shimmy on down, down, down. Food, when mixed and mingled with the acids, saliva, and mucous in and on it's way down to the stomach will expand the foods that absorbs it. That bowl of tomato soup can end up filling a toilet bowl. The calories in the chocolate cookie that I ate last will end up the first absorbed. 

So frustrating.

Some days puking is easier than others. Sometimes when the puking is done I am calm and relaxed. Some times I want to go at puking again, sometimes bingeing again, and sometimes I just want a damn nap. There is nothing consistent about my puking other than the frequency with which I've been at it. Daily.

I like the calm. I like when I have no appetite afterwards. I like the feeling of the food escaping from my stomach and through my esophagus. I like the taste of food. The first time. But if I'm being completely honest, I'm not too bothered by it the second time.

I can't seem to eat with out bingeing. I can't seem to binge without purging.  I have no energy, no ambition. Anytime I think of things that I need to do I want to retreat inside the batcave with the kitchen and the restroom.

Saturday is my mom's 50th birthday and I have failed everybody. I have ignored phone calls and not done the tasks that I needed to. I dreamed up the plan and then left it for everybody else to make happen while I hide in my private vomitorium under the guise of school and... mystery?

Solitude and suicidal thoughts are on the rise. I am afraid of what will become of me. I think I am going insane. I stay away from people unless it is absolutely necessary because I do not want to burden them with my presence. 

I have no idea what to expect of Saturday. I am so afraid of the day to come, the thought of it makes me want to cry (yes, I'm crying) and be dead. If I'm dead than I don't have to live through the failure and disappointment.

I am thinking irrationally.

I know this.

I'm losing sanity.

I'm a dweebus

I thiiiiiiink I fixed it. I had all kinds of fort Knox security guarding that biotch!

Facebook.

Flushedagain@gmail.com
(Lina Aria)

Or email me I can add you. Either way.

Sorry about the Area 51, Bermuda triangle status with bomb fields, motes, ninjas, jungles, dragons and the chihuahua. I moved my gold bricks to another premise so the FB is (*fingers crossed*) open for biznaz!

Sent from my iPhone.

Social Networks've Got Me By the Balls

So I now have a facebook (for Flushed aka Lina Aria...y'know, the REAL me!) and if you have one you need to friend me.

....you're getting sleeeeeepppyyyy, sooooo sleeeeppy....you will follow the commands of allllllll that you are reeeeeeeeading.... You will friend FlushedAgain@gmail.com on Faaaaccceeeboooook... you will acquire and maintain heeealthy haaaabits that will render your body thin and healthy, and your mind sharp and haaaaappyyyyyy....  you will send giftcard to the Apple store until your credit card is maxed and your bank account depleeeeeted.... when I type "snap" with some astericks instead of quotation marks you'll get to these commands ON THE DOUBLE!

*snap*

I expect many friend request on Facebook from a lot of awesome people. (That's you. Reading this. Yeah, YOU!)

This message is brought to you in part by Kazehana over at Sudden Snow of a Cloudless Sky; she inspired me to join. We now continue with your regularly sporadical posting (both in mood and frequency).

Drowning in a Sea of Depression

Disclaimer: It's all in the title. If you're looking for laughs move on sweet shepherd; Fluffy white sheep cannot be found here.

I find it ironic that this "Flushed" character is more me than I am.  Here on the internet under a veil of anonymity I can be me. It is not to say it is easy. There are times when I am self-conscious, embarrassed, or scared to post certain things. But again, I believe that this is me. There are times when I can't even bare to look in the mirror. There are truths about myself that I try and forget––stuff it into a little box in my mental attic and proceed with my regular programming. There are sometime where I want to cry at the mere thought of me. (This may or may not be one of those times.)

It may not seem that this is the case; my posts have been quite sparse as of late. In all honesty, this is paralleled of me in the flesh. I have checked out of the world. I tweet and reply to text that come from fellow blogesses (bloggers sounds too masculine). Those who I have clinked drink glasses with, however, their texts go ignored.

I am ashamed and embarrassed to be me. I bailed out on my friends bachlorette party because I am fat, ugly, and I cannot bare to be seen. To be spoken with. It's written all over me that I am depressed. I spend my days bingeing and purging; productivity is just a word in a dictionary. There is much to do. Too much. It overwhelms me. I am drowning in To Do Lists and I have no will to swim. Floaties only go so far. I'm just waiting to drown. I don't want to participate in this game called LIFE.

Everyday that I wake up I resent the fact that I am alive. A better person deserves my life. The people in my life deserve a better me. 

(I'm not going to go the suicide route or anything; it's just a thought I seem to entertain. I'm still hoping there is a rainbow and pot-o-gold waiting for this dark and dreary weather to pass. *fingers crossed*)