Thursday, April 28, 2011

I Need Help.

We all do, really. But like most of you, I am not willing to take that step. I refuse. I try and tell myself that I'm going to beat this bulimic shit out of the park like Babe Ruth and end up like The Babe. Ya know, the pig? Right. It seems like I'm getting better but the fact of the matter is I'm just getting more and more use to the view. Bulimia is my coping mechanism. Bad day? Throw it up. Wash, rinse, swear next time I'll cope differently, and repeat.

School is shitty. (I'll pass yoga. One credit closer to an Associates.)
I'm poor and poor-ering. (I really wish I could blame this on new pumps rather than The Pumps.)
I think I kind of hate my mom. I need to get away but then it goes back to my second point and then my first.

There are so many "ways" that I am that I would like to change. I'm a believer in change. I am a believer that where there is a will there is a way. But that way would be so much shorter, easier and better if I could just get away from the lady who has conjured all these undesirable traits and is continually (albeit inadvertently) pressing the buttons. With one comment, one casual encounter, she can flip my mood. I feel so much tension in the air we are in the same vicinity. And by vicinity, I mean house.

These are the things that have recently taken a backseat to what I'm hoping is not a growing problem. In the past weeks I have a growing annoyance with my fingers and toes. It feels like some parasitic monster has gotten inside of me and is travelling via blood stream to the tips of my fingers and toes. Vacationing like my digits are the Florida Keys. It feels like they are trying to eat their way out, occasionally traveling up the coast. And by coast I mean up the outer side of my foot. From the minute I felt the first bite, I was hoping that it would be short lived. Still mutha fuckin munching, they are.

I couldn't tolerate it today. I went home after my first class... not helping the school situation. And then what did I do?! Cope-ish. VomNom's away! Not helping the fat situation nor my bank account since food costs money.  And it worked for that while when I was distracted with food and flushing. Now I am exhausted of vomming, feeling fatter than ever and the microscopic munchers are chomping away.

Did I mention I have Lupus? Stress is a huge trigger. And I am so trigged. School, money and the future. I don't know what I'm going to school for anymore. It feels like I will never get the hang of it. I am failing and hurts at my core. I kind of use these pains as a siren that I'm OVER-THE-MOON-AND-ON-PLANET-PLUTO-BACK-WHEN-IT-WAS-A-PLANET-STRESSED. It's school. It's fat. And life would be easier to just work. But when I was working I was miserable because it was going nowhere. Since I was a little girl I was always so sure that I would be educated and successful. I was also sure that I would eventually be beautiful, charming, stylish, and have an amazing svelte body. Bulimia was not ever in that dream.

What do I do?

Give up?

Keep going?

Neither seem to be a good option. I'm not a quitter. But I'm afraid that to keep going would be hurting me.  And then there is time. It's ticking. Father time is a workaholic, he hasn't had a day off ever.

...I'll just Publish Post now and not ramble on further and weigh ya down with my sadpants post.


  1. Father time is also one crazy ass multitasker, if you follow anything related to physics.

    When I was a kid, I was certain I would be a famous and beautiful actress. Then I was going to be educated and never work a desk job. I was going to graduate college, and somehow be something amazing. Like a Prince in a Disney Movie. Or else just happy. At one point, I wanted to be a jet. Not a jet setter. The fucking jet. I'm not sure what that says for my psyche, other than that I have a history of unattainable dreams.

    I'd be happy, now, with just making enough to have my own apartment.

    VomNom is my new favorite phrase. Do you mean you have tingles in your extremities?

    I have this fear of completing things. I'm two classes away from my associates, but keep making up excuses to not take said classes. Everytime the end of some task is at hand, and I'm close to victory, I give up. I think it's because I'm afraid of what will happen if I do finish, and it's not good enough.
    I think I'd be a perfectionist if I had the inner motivation to rock that shit like the backseat of a car on prom night.

    I've missed you, bb. Sorry it's taken me so long to pull my head out of my ass and start following again. I haven't been keeping on anyone's blog since TheEx, and The Miscarriage, and The Hospital, and The Stress, and The Drama (all capitalized, because I'm certain they deserve something like that with how big they are in my head).

    I'm sorry for having been so whiny and flaily butt at you for so long.
    <3 <3 <3


  2. check in: I'm new and you're my favorite today because
    1. you said "sadpants"
    2. you said "I'm nerdcore to the power of lazy"
    3. you said " I'm lazy and that would be efforty"
    I haven't even read all the way to caught up, but I just HAD to say xo on this post because I didn't want you to miss it if I said it on a WAY earlier post.

    You're a Deedledee and I heart you out the door.

  3. tomorrow will be better? it will, really, just keep thinking that:)

  4. gargh for seemingly unbreakable cycles! The hardest part is to realize that you gotta just do it, just be the change you want to see...
    And do it.

    There's no secret, nothing you need that you don't have ... And hey, semester is almost over and then you can start fresh, right?

    No matter what you do, you are not alone (I was supposed to be b/p free all week, and when did I fail? Monday afternoon. You are NOT alone on this one)

    I'm late for school but mad xxxxxxx



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