Houston, we have a problem.

"I might be getting back down to my high weight again." -actual thought I had today.

Terrible. DOWN to my HIGH weight?! There is something seriously wrong with the reality of this situation. I used to be around 120 and knew this because every single morning without fail I would weight myself right before I showered. And then bulimia happened and that number crept out of the 120's and I boycotted the scale. 

Boycotting the scale means that I can't get any heavier right? 

It makes my weight issues go away? 

-Oh hello Delusional we're best friends now. 

Still, I refuse to look at the scale. I couldn't even tell you how long it has been. I even moved it to be hidden in the bathroom so I wouldn't have to think about it anymore. I want the control and obsession back but fear and bulimia hold me prisoner.

Shower time and just changing clothes in general gets me all anxious and crawlunderarockanddy-ish. At least before I could face reality, all I want to do with reality is sweep it under and rug and run from it. Metephorically run of course because I've been far too lazy to engage in physical activities.

I loathe even putting sweats on. SWEATS! Can you imagine? The comfy clothes are even daunting to me. They just aren't all huge and hangey on my like I need them to be.

G2G see my new lil niece. 

Old McDonald had a Farm.

This weekend is holiday weekend (read: bikini's & smorgasboard of moomoo junk food) also, next weekend is family reunion in Laughlin (read: bikini's & copious amts of alcohol).

Are you feeling any of this anxiety radiating from my fingertips and leaking itself into the internet?

I assure you it's at level: Nuclear Atom Bomb. Bikini's are scurry.

Seriously, bikini's affect my hearing. There are no words when I am wearing one all I hear are "moo"'s and the earth rumbling from every step I take. AND it's gonna be hotter than Satan's Vagina. Whose bright idea was it to go to the desert in muther effing Julyheatstroke weather? Not mine, my friends. Certainly. Not. Mine.

I don't want to go (can you tell? Yes. Just checking.) but "I'm fat, broke and I will melt onto the sidewalk and end up SunnySideUp by Sunday" is not what my mom considers a "Good Excuse" actually she believes it to not even qualify to be in the "Excuse" catagory. But I really don't think "my dog ate it" would work in this situation which is the only "good excuse" that I know. So I'll be dreaming up new ones for the next two weeks.

Cry, Crybaby.

Wow, what a week. I went to work all week with my mom (to do work on a side project she's got goin) which was a good thing for me. Everyday I was up, showered and out of the house by 8 o'clock (okay, maybe not 8 but y'know in the "morning") (my mom is salary, sometimes she doesn't get to work til 10:30! or even later...) I basically just sat at a desk all day doing work that is comparable to Slap Jack (without the "slapping". The fun part.), drinking coffee (love, love, love that coffee is limitless at the office!), listened to my iPod and did my best to avoid "office treats" (cheesecake, chocolate cake, donuts....oh my.) and managed fairly well (I had a danish.) (and even though I wanted to chop off my hand for the insufferable crime it was good).

It was nice getting my mind off....well, whatever it is that is was on. And everyday after work we had something to do and kept busy. (No, this is not the norm.) (I'm lame.) So basically, the week went by in a slap jackin' flash.

I only purged once.

(It's all about the small victories)

It's not that I didn't want to or wouldn't it's that I didn't have the opportunity and let's face it my bank doesn't want any part in it either. Speaking of which. I caved. After this whole EDD cutting me off thing festering in me for what feels like an eternity Friday towards the end of the day my mom came down and was telling me what she wanted me to do and she may as well have been speaking Eugoslavian because I wasn't comprehending a damn thing (and my face is expressive).

She asked me if I was okay, if I was hungry or something (which was the case for my slowness on Wednesday) I said no, she continued explaining and tears started flowing. Even after she walked away I just couldn't stop and I was trying to be all super quiet (snot and sniffles) plus I was at my mom's work. The last thing she needs are rumors that she made her daughter cry when I was working for her. She already is a Human Resources/Payroll/Benefits Director at a construction company and if you anything about either that position already warrants you the "office police".

What the hell was I crying for?

Answer: I have no idea. Everything. Nothing. I don't know.

It was so bizarre. I would stop crying and then as soon as a thought (ex: that stapler is black.) I would start crying again. Until finally I tried to stop thinking and just work, like a zombie. I felt all light headed (like I'm in a bubble floating on a cloud), a little dizzy and a faint headache coming but never actually "getting there" (I don't know any other way to describe it). This is exactly how I feel after I've purged. Weird, right?

My mom felt bad (really bad) (which I feel bad for) and apologized later on when I went up to her office so we could get going. She said she was just anxious and letting me know what to do and didn't realize if she was being rude or mean or what. I told her it was fine, I'm just emotion and muttered something about starting my period or something.

That night she was asking me how I wanted to be "compensated" for my work. She didn't want to put me on the payroll or use my SS# at all because she didn't want it to affect my EDD. And I said, it's fine just put me on the payroll, it won't effect my EDD (*gulp*) because (*choke*) they dropped (*tears flowing like the Hoover Dam just cracked open*) me.  There were more uncontrollable sobs, chokes, sniffles and enough tears to fill the Atlantic ocean.

My mom took sympathy and felt horribly that I'd been holding this in (which I'm notorious for) and hurt that I didn't feel comfortable to tell her (scared that she would be disappointed in me for such a stupid mistake) and I should have told her because THIS IS WHAT SHE DOES(!). Which I know, of course, but the look of disappointment that I thought she'd give me (preceding her help) just was frightening to me. (Umm....yea, so I'm no winning any "Smart/Brave Girl" awards anytime soon). It was a long night. Very emotional. Puffy eyes.

I do this every. time. When I get to the point of hating my job I tend to cry on the way home from work (I hold back all day so I don't run my mascara, waterproof is blasphemy!) and lie when she asks me how work is going until finally I do exactly what I did last night burst out into uncontrollably sobs crying mountains of tears. 

Will I ever learn? 

My name means "wisdom". What is that sarcasm? 

I'm thinking yes.

(I can't wait to read all your posts! I've missed out on so much blogging in just a week!)

Quickety Quick

Thank you soooo much for your kind words and suggestions. This week I
am the special task force for a covert op at my moms job. This is what
I tell myself all day for a little boost of enthusiasm (to go with my
never empty cup of coffee) but really it's like playing Slap Jack all
day long when your not even sure there are any Jacks left. Excitement.
Overload.

(that's intense sarcasm just in case you missed it or your memories of
Slap Jack after the age of 10 are insanely different from my own)

Anywho, it's kept my mind (for the most part) sane being at the office
all day and focused on what I'm doing. Did you know there's "life"
"out there"? It's true! And you can "interact" with "people" "face to
face"? And it's called being "social"?

Oh. You knew that already? This isn't news?

Well, I better be off to sleep now there's a thrilling game of Slap
Jack in store for me tomorrow.

Thank you again for your comments I really do appreciate you taking
the time to share your thoughts/advice/anything.

Sent from my iPhone.

I'm No Poet

but I did write a poem. I tried to just put the audio in there but Blogger was being a bloghole so another quickstyle slideshow with one picture because I don't have patience for that shiz.

Home alone again;

But it’s not mischief that’s my vice,

It’s the food in the kitchen

Which taunts me all night.

I go to sleep and dream

nightmares so nice.

But these nightmarish dreams

they follow me to life.

Frantically bingeing

On x-listed food.

I know when it’s gone

There’ll be damage to undo.

My belly overloaded.

The kitchen a wreck.

Drowning in guilt;

I hate what comes next.

Bent at the waist,

Fingers circling my throat,

Over the toilet.

Snot streaming from my nose.

This sick little secret

That nobody knows.

Reminding myself to be patient;

What went down will come up.

Just keep doing what I’m doing

So I can soon flush.

Flush down all the guilt.

Flush down the pain.

Flush down the emotions

I tried to eat away.

I flush and I flush

Until my energy’s depleted.

I hate that I’m weak;

And continually defeated.

Over and over this cycle recurs.

So sick.

So disgusting.

Yet disturbingly obscure.

Eight days a week

My mind flirts with this urge,

Every bite that I eat

My mind tells me to purge.

“This times the last time.”

I use to swear to myself,

Now I don’t even bother,

I’ve no hope for health.

All Emo.

What a mofo'n nightmare today was is. I've b/p'd already and it's still the first half of the day. And I didn't even purge a lot, not nearly as much as I ate. Ugh! Why are you denying me body! Why! That's disgusting in every which way. I hate myself. I hate my body. 

I wasn't even hungry! But I just ate and ate and ate anyway. Why do I do this to myself? It's like I'm begging for misery and unhappiness. I don't want to be me.

I don't know why I'm living, what's the point I have nothing to offer. I'm just taking up space, even more space than I should be since I'm so fat. I feel like I'm only "loved" because it's expected. You can't just not love your family right? That's something people can't even admit to their own self because they think it would make them "a bad person". I hate my life. I hate myself. And I'm too lazy and scared to do anything about either. It's just me, Mia and Ed.

I'm Scared To Face Another Day

My mom said that her boss' boyfriend got denied any further unemployment because he sent in his form late. I was to cry. If they're cracking down I'm donezo. In fact, I may already be donezo. It's been a week and I haven't heard anything from EDD since I sent my I'm sorry it was an accident note. Then flipping through todays mail she made a comment that she never sees when my unemployment checks come. I wanted to die. DIE!

I haven't even looked for a job yet. I haven't even made my resume good. Anybody got any InstaDead for me? Cuz I needs a double.

Almost 24 years old and I'm afraid to tell my mom. I don't think I can handle the pressure [I fear] she will put on to find a job when she finds out I gots no income. I want to cry and shove the kitchen down my throat. And finger it back up chuck by chuck. I'm scared, the emotions stirring in me are overwhelming and I don't know what to do I just want to die to make all my worries go away.

The only thing stopping me from b/p is that I have a softball game and there isn't enough time. Plus, I'm bad enough at softball, I don't need the added handicap of light headedness and guilt.