The First Step Is Always the Hardest One

I'm pretty sure that's a lie.  I think maybe Captain Carnivorous is just getting started with me.

Maybe.

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.)

(Yet.)

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.)

Falling Under the Apple Tree

My mom came home while I was in the shower, I knew then that I would not make it to class. She knocked on the door happily calling out to me, happy to be home.  I couldn't even speak.  A spurt of tears fell but I managed to squeeze my eyes shut and breathe my way through.

Robed and in my room, she knocked and entered. "Can I have a hug?" 

Wrapped in her arms I held my breathe and squeezed my eyes shut. 

"I missed you!" she says; and she does. She's all bubbly and briefly briefs me on her vacation (a rarity for her–she tends to overdo it on the details. Ex: Was it a blue sign or a purple sign...? She'll ponder when the point is what the sign said, color is irrelevant!). I tried to be congenial but I was fighting tears and forcing smile. Concentrating on keeping my voice steady and my lips from quivering. She let me alone to finish gettin ready for school, she thinks.  And she probably thinks she caught me in a mood, sad that I didn't reciprocate her cheeriness.  I wanted to be happy with her but it was Come One, Come All! on the emotional front.  I'm so sorry Mom, my sadness is raging bull I'm trying to keep at bay.

I cry in spurts  while getting clothes on and when I look in the mirroring I break, and break some more. Trying to sob quietly so she won't hear.  She's cheery and home I can't let my tears rain on her parade.  I separate my clothes doing my best to keep the sobs at bay, dirtying my clothes even more wiping the snot and tears from my puffy face.

My clothes are separated.  She must realize by now that I'm not going to class and wonder why I've not come out of my room. Whether she has heard my sniffles or not she will not know how to approach the bomb field she knows my moods and emotions to be.

I don't know what to do. I can't burden her with this. I just want it to go away and never be known to her, or anybody. I hate that mothers will inherit a daughters emotions. I can't stop crying. I can't leave my room.

This is the whole reason I hoped I would be gone when she came home. (To school not goneGone.) 

I'm trying to hang on to what is left but I can't hold onto my pride at the same time.  It's one or none.

Finally, I pull myself together enough to put on make up (sans eyeliner & mascara for obvious reasons) and face my mom.  I am composed when I ask her to tell me about her trip busying myself with food/coffee/water while I listen.

She told me how upset she was for most of the weekend because of comments made by the man in the couple that they went with.  Everything she said or did he would tease her and she had to keep reminding herself that "that's just the way he is" and do her best to let it go. 

Evidently it was not going anywhere, only growing on her pre-menstruating nerves because she was able to tell me ALL about it.  She gave me a play by play of the days on vacation (in her usual detail-y fashion) and how she finally broke on Friday or Saturday because she just wasn't able to "shake it off" any longer.

For 10 days she endured the teasing-even after she broke because she endured in silence, further retreating into herself with each passing comment because acting normally would only egg him on more.  When she cried she cried alone in the room so nobody could see her tears only the redness of her eyes.

Sound familiar?

She would emerge with fresh make, a fake smile and will to ignore the teasing and not spoil the weekend.  Unfortunately, she didn't do a fantastic job of it.  When her boyfriend asked if he had done something to piss her off she said could say no with honesty.  When he asked her what was wrong, she lied and said, "Nothing. Just let it go." with her less than fantastic fake smile and act.  She knew even if she told him not to, he would say something to TheTeaser which would just make things worse.

I smiled and added my observations, questions, even some jokes and smiles.  There were moments when I felt emotions and tears well up but I looked away or distracted myself to hide them.  I was surprised at how well I masked myself, she could tell I was hiding a mood but trying.

Then it came time to ask about my last 10 days and it was obvious that I was on the verge of bursting into tears but I kept it on the verge with short answers and distracting myself with doing the dishes.  

Dishes helped, the mask is back up.

I'm off to school in a bit, actually right now.  I'm uncomfortable in my skin I'm fat, puffy and bloated ALL OVER.  EVERYWHERE.  I can't sit or stand without it tugging at my thoughts but better that than all emotional, right? Right? Damn. Lose/lose.