New Book, New Resolve?

I'm reading a new book. It's telling me not to diet. That's: not diet, you read correctly. I've heard of this book  before and I thought "bitch is crazy" with an afterthought of, "and probs has a muffin top." And she may very well have one (I haven't googled imaged her...YET). A blogger who is formerly a bulimic read it and it changed her and I'm drowning in the vom over hear and living in fear of the nom so I thought fuck it, if the library has it, I'll give it a go.

I've given everything to bulimia. I'm bulimia's bitch. And it's not a position I like to be in. It's a fucked up and abusive relationship and I keep trying to find my way out. But I'm a Namby Pamby and end up in the same position ready to take it in my proverbial arse. If it where an Ed with a P, I may renegotiate, but that's neither here nor there.

There are some nice little nuggets so far that I'd like to share with you ladies.

"The fourth law of the universe is that for every diet, there is an equal and opposite binge."

True story. Ask my arse and/or flusher machine. (You are use to my crassness on the NomVom topic by now, yes?) The diet rebellion seems to always retaliate and wreak havoc on scale. There is always that discipline and motivation when the diet starts the "I will!" and the "I will never again!"'s and where does that go? It's smashed by the Diet Rebellion! If you've been following this blog for a while I'm continually making and consequently breaking new rules. I try to make rules that I can follow because I do want to succeed, however, I have a tendency of pushing the envelope or simply... just giving into eating my emotions. Somehow "If I feel really overwhelmed, devour the kitchen-while shouting 'NOMVOM'S AWAAAAAYYYY!!!'" clause always seems to be written between the lines in Devil's Ink. I'm pretty sure bulimia is a thing of Satan.

Enter The Book. It's called "When You Eat at the Refrigerator, Pull Up a Chair" by Geneen Roth. How could I resist with a title like that?! That title is derived from chapter 3 where Roth suggests imagining a friend comes over and you are going to feed her the way that you feed yourself and precedes to describe a binge; eating random foods straight from the fridge and whatnot. She then tells the reader to imagine treating their self like those you love and sit in a chair as you eat. She has a point. I realized how little I care for myself. Furthermore, I realized that I eat very much the same way that my mom eats.

Enter the Mommy Issues. I'm so much like my mom, except for the fact that I realize how I am, where it comes from, how unhealthy (mind, body & soul) my ways are, and I, unlike Mommy Dearest, want to change my behavior! I don't want to live in a World of Denial! Darn this education! Once you become aware, there's just no turning back. It's either blissfully ignorant or painfully aware....OR that other thing where a person is who they choose to be AND they accept it AND are content with it. A person who recognizes what it is they are not satisfied with and actively change it so that it is no longer something that they are unsatisfied with? I get that nobody is "Happy" all the time. But there are people out there who are content and at peace more than they are not. I want to be one.

I have potential. I'm not going to lie to you guys and say that the reality of my life is horrible. My perception, however.... not so sparkly. I want so much more for myself than I am. And the part that is upsetting is that many of these wants are attainable. It's my mind that's fucking everything up! The mind is like my Right Hand Man, it has the ability to make or break me (or bend me? ...just go with it and let's hope this is leading to something...hope.), well this Right Hand Man is gettin' frisky with Bulimia and leaving me for dead to satisfy The Mistress' agenda!

Bulimia fucked up school for me. Bulimia has fucked up friendships (by way of Alienation Hibernation). Bulimia has fucked up relationships with family. Bulimia has fucked up my body. My teeth. My mind. My bank account....

Bulimia has kept me from doing so much. I'm exhausted. I'm tired of losing.

I need to be WIN-NING! Like Sheen! Minus the coke...the whores...the general fucked uppedness....

...

Okay, maybe not like Sheen. I think I may already be winning like Sheen. Minus the money and the public knowledge of The Cray-Cray.

I digress.

Back to Mommy Issues. My mom has never taught, and by taught I extend that to mean shown by example to care for myself. The only way I can try to explain is how when something is a little messed up or old and outdated at her boyfriends house she will have it replaced or have him replace it. At our house, however, things are held onto until they are peg legged, coughing, and on their last breathe before  she can even consider parting with it. She holds others' standard of living higher than ours. We have to just deal and "make do." She'd rather spend money on things for other people than for us. If it's messy... "it's just us" and then as soon as somebody is about to come over she wants to just hide everything away.

It's gross and embarrassing to me. If she could just invest a little into organization so that things have a place and follow through with that organization we could be living in a nice, clean and tidy home. And I guarantee both of our moods would improve!  But she won't change. She'll complain and talk about it but she lacks follow through. She has tunnel vision and fails to see that I am not the only reason we don't live in a tidy home. Her office is evidence.

I have tried to Be The Change. It ends up with her being all happy and motivated and then it wears off and I end up being the nag, to no avail because she's The Mom and she's a stubborn mule that is set in her comfortable ways. I've given up on changing the living environment outside of my room but I can see how it still has it's negative affects on my psyche. I may have a mild case of OCD. Even typing these last paragraphs has raised my stress/anxiety level.

I've got to climb out of this hole and start succeeding at life. And by succeeding I mean 'not hating mine.' So I'll have to step away from the flusher machine & stop treating myself like shit.

If you made it this far, thank you for listening to be gripe and ramble and give yourself a thumbs up and a high five.

....Are you clapping? Awww....shucks. I didn't need an applause! That's so kind :) Hahahaaaaa