All right, let's make this brief, shall we? There's really no need to ramble on and on in a recap of my ED related foolishness...
I had a pretty decent day. Was exhausted yesterday after continuing my 2 lb a day weight loss...of course I'm doing it the unhealthy way. Rapidly, foolishly, slightly obsessively. Meh. The calendar keeps telling me that time is shifting from being on my side to moving on, so I don't have the 'luxury' of being Team Fit Fam (hah) and doing it "the right way" through normal - whatever that is - exercise and a well-balanced diet.
Not like I fucking care. I could die tomorrow from some freak accident and I'd still be skinny-ish, whether it was from barfing or bike riding so whatever, la! Let me do what I have to do for the time being so I can make sure my fat ass gets thin by the time I have to board that plane! Hmph.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. So I'd been tired from my stupid gym obsession and I think I'm becoming dependent on coffee (gross) despite my effort to just limit my intake and only use when extremely necessary. So today/yesterday I decided to take it easy! Don't worry about work or doing a bunch of errands or being *terribly* productive! Just stay happy(ish) and make sure not to tip the scale *no pun intended* towards my freak-out state of mind where I rage and eat everything in sight. No more of that shit, right!
Right. For about 18 hours of the day. Then I met up with a friend and it went downhill from there. Despite me making it clear and she already knowing I don't eat, or at least didn't want to this time, I still managed to kind of get coerced into having just a bit of an appetizer and I *know* in hindsight, and in the rational part of my brain, that it wasn't even anything but it made me uncomfortable.
Ok, no worries. Still had an awesome time, just go home and go to the gym, right? Wrong! She immediately lost her wallet after we left the restaurant, somehow, and my stupid, over-sensitive ass felt bad and bought her a new one. Why? I don't know. I have this awful nagging feeling I'm just bad luck. Seriously. I think that I make everyone's life worse that I know. Whether this is actually true or not, who knows? But I overcompensate.
And then I felt ridiculous for being supersitioius/unfounded in my feelings (because I'm usually pragmatic) and it made me feel bad. I didn't have a meltdown or a complete hissy fit, but I did attempt to binge/purge and, like the forever failure that I am, I fell asleep after just a bowl of ramen. Score! My body went into auto-shutdown mode to prevent serious damage.
So, that's basically it. Oh yeah, I'd been giving my husband a hard time/not playing nice/not intentionally ignoring him the last few days, and then yesterday while I was out, my phone wasn't updating his emails (remember, I cut him off so he can only email me so he can't trigger me or get under my skin). I missed a few of his messages and when I finally did see them, I was in the throes of my eating mania and blurted out that I felt bad for throwing away money like that again, and surprisingly, he just said: you did a nice thing. Treat yourself to something good too and don't worry.
Hold up, who are you? And what did you do with my dense slug of a husband? *pause* I guess everyone has their moments, huh? :-| Whatever, he's leaving for China next week and just told me he'll in fact have to go to Shanghai after all, so who knows what he's up to or what's going on with that. Dunno, don't particularly care. Just come back and keep your job, dude.
Well, that wasn't a particularly short summary of my day's foolishness, but it was thorough!
Now, I can go ceremoniously and symbolically purge and finally get some sleep within the next hour. Which is stupid, cos the gym opens in 90 mins...sigh...
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ramblings. Show all posts
Friday, March 8, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Just Stay Focused
...and try to be a little more positive and just a little lighter than the day before, and somehow the weeks fly by. Do I want my months to be a blur of weight loss and steam and pounds lost and gained? Not necessarily but you can't (or can you?) have it all. There are only so many hours in the day and between juggling work and my future and trying to safely and somewhat rationally get down to where I'd like to be in terms of weight, it doesn't leave much energy or time for me to do much else.
Anyway, I just wanted to jot down a little bit and thoughts on what's been going on. I'd like to keep things going nicely like this: wake up early, get a lot done, drink a little bit and restrict without going nuts, and just feel less like I'm being controlled by my ED and more like I have some say in what's going on in my life.
We'll see how long these good feelings last. I'm not trying to be skeptical or cynical, just practical.
Anyway, I just wanted to jot down a little bit and thoughts on what's been going on. I'd like to keep things going nicely like this: wake up early, get a lot done, drink a little bit and restrict without going nuts, and just feel less like I'm being controlled by my ED and more like I have some say in what's going on in my life.
We'll see how long these good feelings last. I'm not trying to be skeptical or cynical, just practical.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
Full of Emptiness...
Here I am, forcing myself to stay away from the bathroom and willing my stomach to hurry up and digest just a little bit faster so even if I do get up and try and purge, the contents will already be in my intestines and I'll be shit out of luck.
Isn't that ridiculous?
Know what else is something I'm having a hard time dealing with? I want to be happy...I even have more moments that feel, well...OK. "Normal." Pleasant, even. It just sucks because I'm alone. I have no real friends. Hell, I've changed numbers and locations and residences so often in the last 5 years my own family doesn't even know where exactly I am right now. I keep running from my sordid, depressing past thinking I can leave the gloom behind and just reinvent myself.
It works...for a while, at least. But then the old familiar feelings of inadequacy, loneliness and guilt come from the depths of my despair and I find myself right back in some wormhole of self-hating. I wonder what is wrong with me and if I'll ever really find someone who understands and cares about me. If I'll ever have another person to share my highs with, my thoughts, my aspirations...I used to also wonder who would be there for me when I was at my worst - would I suffer alone behind closed doors and have to wipe the misery away and paint on a fake fucking smile, day in and day out for the rest of my goddamn life until I die, just like my poor mother? Jeezus christe, what the hell would keep me from killing myself if that was the case??
Thankfully, I found the wonderful world of Twitter, and just go on there and say whatever the fuck I feel like saying and all the nasty little things on my mind as they pop up, so that's a good release/outlet for my negativity. But still, for my positive moments? They didn't used to be so few and far between before. When I was younger, I was still hopeful. I still had daydreams of finding my own Tuxedo Kamen or being the Chi Chi to some dreamy Goku, or having my own English Patient to take care and fall madly in love with...I was such a naive little nerd.
Now, I'm like: meh. I'm one big :-| since I saw just how stupid and ugly the world can be and usually is. I just had to turn my emotions off, become a hardened, stereotypical Bitch, and shuffle through my days. I was focused on my ED and controlling the abuse I put my body through, because I felt so powerless as to the way others treated me and made me feel small (but not physically small, I'm still fat/huge) and ineffective.
Then, I had a breakthrough. I won that stupid lawsuit against that POS slumlord ex-judge/psycho con-artist and I felt like Samson with a new head full of weave in: who the fuck could stop me if I was determined? I don't need anyone but myself and my will of steel to get through this fucking life. I mean, try as I may, I can never escape myself, right? I'm not psycho. I know I'm not. All those stupid hospital stays and anti-depressants were nothing but money pits that made a bunch of people richer and made me even more depressed at just how shitty some other people's lives are. Especially when the fucking medical staff all but tsked at me and told me to get my shit together and suck it up, cos my life isn't so bad and I was way too young to give up just yet.
And in a sense, they were right. I knew then and still know now that no fucking pill was going to make the world a better place - that's my fucking issue. The *rest* of the world brings me down - the violence, the crime, the racism, the sexism, the injustice, the bigotry, the misogyny, the xenophobia, the judging, the...I could go fucking on forever. Why the fuck should *I* dope myself up on some caustic shit just so I can cope with my racist in-laws calling me an animal and pretending I don't exist because I have more melanin in my skin than they do?
Are you fucking kidding me?
No, I'll pass.
Instead, I finally said: to hell with my loser husband. He fucks both younger, stupid girls and older, pathetic women because he himself is a loser. He can't ever be with someone his own age that's intelligent because she's smart enough to see that he's a cad and not worth anyone's time who is not a total burnout herself. What kind of idiot would I be to still stay with him if I'm trying to get my life in order and overcome the years of isolation and subtle rejections I felt. If I truly believe that there's nothing wrong with me, that I deserve happiness as much as the next person, that despite not having any discernible chest and just a small, scraggly little afro, that I'm still a beautiful enough woman in my own right (no more and no less than any other female walking on this planet, at least. Shit.), why the hell would I still put up with any bullshit in my life?
Not just from my fake husband, either - but from anyone? I've always been a propenent of speaking my mind and the more I saw in the news about family members or neighbor's who would give interviews after someone died or was gone or killed themselves, the more I realized there's no point in keeping shit to yourself. The people yammering away in the camera would always say "but we had no idea!" "We never knew." "Such-and-such always *seemed* to be..." Like, what the fuck? Did these people really not know the person, or was the person just that good at hiding what was going on? I'd never want to wind up dead in my car somewhere and have some asshole give an official statement like: Well, she was just so happy and I can't imagine what could have happened! I would come back from the dead and slap the shit out of whoever would say that cos it would be a fucking lie. And I'm pretty sure anyone who really knows me, or even knows me in passing, knows what shit I can't stand and what gets my goat.
Anyway, what the fuck am I even saying? Oh yes: so I've conquered my demons somewhat in that I'm not actively trying to kill myself and won't do anything sudden like jumping off a bridge, or wading out into the ocean to drown, or gassing myself in the bathroom with charcoals. Too much room for error and I don't want to wind up brain-dead or paralyzed.
So. That leaves me with possibly 80 more years to live. Knowing my luck all the preservatives and shit I've eaten will keep me on Earth until forever and a day somehow so I need to find out how to not be miserable every day, right? While I do have some pretty shitty cards in my hand, there's still the rest of the deck to go through, right? There's the possibility that I'll get even more crappy cards, but then there's the possibility that I won't. Basically, I need to just deal with what I have in front of me and what I can control and give the :-| to the shit that I can't.
If staying in and watching nerdy shows and reading random articles and doing techie stuff makes me happy, then so be it. Yes, it's not exactly how I'd like to spend my nights, but part of me is happy and that's better than none of me being happy, right? So what I don't have a best friend. I didn't come into this world fucking joined at the hip to some other person's kid, right? When push comes to shove all you can rely on is yourself, and even that is fallible, right?
Once I lower my expectations, more things seem to be less irritating or surprising. While it sounds kind of bad, and I guess it is, maybe my standards were just ridiculous ideals to begin with. Perhaps I took things too literally as a child and believed those who told me not to judge a book by its cover, and that there's someone for everyone out there, and that we're all the same. Maybe that stuff doesn't apply all the time: some hos are just hos, maybe there is a mate for everyone but maybe you'll die before you find him, and perhaps we're all the same in that we all have flaws and imperfections.
I don't have some pithy little way to tie this up. I probably should have written this in my journal but it would have taken too long. Anyway! I had an OK day even though it was uneventful and I'm slacking off at work. I have a feeling I'm either a) going to go to Japan and not come back or b) become so nonchalant about my job that I just quit. That's another big shortcoming of mine: I'm either super gung-ho or I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass about things. Starving for six days or gorging six pounds of food I don't even like. I really need to work on moderation. And concise bog entries -__-"
Isn't that ridiculous?
Know what else is something I'm having a hard time dealing with? I want to be happy...I even have more moments that feel, well...OK. "Normal." Pleasant, even. It just sucks because I'm alone. I have no real friends. Hell, I've changed numbers and locations and residences so often in the last 5 years my own family doesn't even know where exactly I am right now. I keep running from my sordid, depressing past thinking I can leave the gloom behind and just reinvent myself.
It works...for a while, at least. But then the old familiar feelings of inadequacy, loneliness and guilt come from the depths of my despair and I find myself right back in some wormhole of self-hating. I wonder what is wrong with me and if I'll ever really find someone who understands and cares about me. If I'll ever have another person to share my highs with, my thoughts, my aspirations...I used to also wonder who would be there for me when I was at my worst - would I suffer alone behind closed doors and have to wipe the misery away and paint on a fake fucking smile, day in and day out for the rest of my goddamn life until I die, just like my poor mother? Jeezus christe, what the hell would keep me from killing myself if that was the case??
Thankfully, I found the wonderful world of Twitter, and just go on there and say whatever the fuck I feel like saying and all the nasty little things on my mind as they pop up, so that's a good release/outlet for my negativity. But still, for my positive moments? They didn't used to be so few and far between before. When I was younger, I was still hopeful. I still had daydreams of finding my own Tuxedo Kamen or being the Chi Chi to some dreamy Goku, or having my own English Patient to take care and fall madly in love with...I was such a naive little nerd.
Now, I'm like: meh. I'm one big :-| since I saw just how stupid and ugly the world can be and usually is. I just had to turn my emotions off, become a hardened, stereotypical Bitch, and shuffle through my days. I was focused on my ED and controlling the abuse I put my body through, because I felt so powerless as to the way others treated me and made me feel small (but not physically small, I'm still fat/huge) and ineffective.
Then, I had a breakthrough. I won that stupid lawsuit against that POS slumlord ex-judge/psycho con-artist and I felt like Samson with a new head full of weave in: who the fuck could stop me if I was determined? I don't need anyone but myself and my will of steel to get through this fucking life. I mean, try as I may, I can never escape myself, right? I'm not psycho. I know I'm not. All those stupid hospital stays and anti-depressants were nothing but money pits that made a bunch of people richer and made me even more depressed at just how shitty some other people's lives are. Especially when the fucking medical staff all but tsked at me and told me to get my shit together and suck it up, cos my life isn't so bad and I was way too young to give up just yet.
And in a sense, they were right. I knew then and still know now that no fucking pill was going to make the world a better place - that's my fucking issue. The *rest* of the world brings me down - the violence, the crime, the racism, the sexism, the injustice, the bigotry, the misogyny, the xenophobia, the judging, the...I could go fucking on forever. Why the fuck should *I* dope myself up on some caustic shit just so I can cope with my racist in-laws calling me an animal and pretending I don't exist because I have more melanin in my skin than they do?
Are you fucking kidding me?
No, I'll pass.
Instead, I finally said: to hell with my loser husband. He fucks both younger, stupid girls and older, pathetic women because he himself is a loser. He can't ever be with someone his own age that's intelligent because she's smart enough to see that he's a cad and not worth anyone's time who is not a total burnout herself. What kind of idiot would I be to still stay with him if I'm trying to get my life in order and overcome the years of isolation and subtle rejections I felt. If I truly believe that there's nothing wrong with me, that I deserve happiness as much as the next person, that despite not having any discernible chest and just a small, scraggly little afro, that I'm still a beautiful enough woman in my own right (no more and no less than any other female walking on this planet, at least. Shit.), why the hell would I still put up with any bullshit in my life?
Not just from my fake husband, either - but from anyone? I've always been a propenent of speaking my mind and the more I saw in the news about family members or neighbor's who would give interviews after someone died or was gone or killed themselves, the more I realized there's no point in keeping shit to yourself. The people yammering away in the camera would always say "but we had no idea!" "We never knew." "Such-and-such always *seemed* to be..." Like, what the fuck? Did these people really not know the person, or was the person just that good at hiding what was going on? I'd never want to wind up dead in my car somewhere and have some asshole give an official statement like: Well, she was just so happy and I can't imagine what could have happened! I would come back from the dead and slap the shit out of whoever would say that cos it would be a fucking lie. And I'm pretty sure anyone who really knows me, or even knows me in passing, knows what shit I can't stand and what gets my goat.
Anyway, what the fuck am I even saying? Oh yes: so I've conquered my demons somewhat in that I'm not actively trying to kill myself and won't do anything sudden like jumping off a bridge, or wading out into the ocean to drown, or gassing myself in the bathroom with charcoals. Too much room for error and I don't want to wind up brain-dead or paralyzed.
So. That leaves me with possibly 80 more years to live. Knowing my luck all the preservatives and shit I've eaten will keep me on Earth until forever and a day somehow so I need to find out how to not be miserable every day, right? While I do have some pretty shitty cards in my hand, there's still the rest of the deck to go through, right? There's the possibility that I'll get even more crappy cards, but then there's the possibility that I won't. Basically, I need to just deal with what I have in front of me and what I can control and give the :-| to the shit that I can't.
If staying in and watching nerdy shows and reading random articles and doing techie stuff makes me happy, then so be it. Yes, it's not exactly how I'd like to spend my nights, but part of me is happy and that's better than none of me being happy, right? So what I don't have a best friend. I didn't come into this world fucking joined at the hip to some other person's kid, right? When push comes to shove all you can rely on is yourself, and even that is fallible, right?
Once I lower my expectations, more things seem to be less irritating or surprising. While it sounds kind of bad, and I guess it is, maybe my standards were just ridiculous ideals to begin with. Perhaps I took things too literally as a child and believed those who told me not to judge a book by its cover, and that there's someone for everyone out there, and that we're all the same. Maybe that stuff doesn't apply all the time: some hos are just hos, maybe there is a mate for everyone but maybe you'll die before you find him, and perhaps we're all the same in that we all have flaws and imperfections.
I don't have some pithy little way to tie this up. I probably should have written this in my journal but it would have taken too long. Anyway! I had an OK day even though it was uneventful and I'm slacking off at work. I have a feeling I'm either a) going to go to Japan and not come back or b) become so nonchalant about my job that I just quit. That's another big shortcoming of mine: I'm either super gung-ho or I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass about things. Starving for six days or gorging six pounds of food I don't even like. I really need to work on moderation. And concise bog entries -__-"
Saturday, March 2, 2013
A New Month, A New Me!
Ha ha, just kidding! I'm still a fat mess, but at least I'm trying and figuring out how to manage my rotten ways and ridiculous, disordered eating, right?
See, what it boils down to is I'm an over-achiever...a "Type A" I guess is what they like to label folks with my personality traits. I don't like to be told what to do, I need to micro-manage, and I'm always looking for better and pushing myself to be the best. But the thing that makes me slightly different is I'm not competitive - I don't give a flying fuck what my peers are doing really and I don't want to necessarily have their lives or out do anyone or be better than another person.
Because really, who knows what someone is going through on the inside or what one's life is like behind those closed doors? If someone were to look at my fat ass, they'd think I was very fortunate, with an enviable situation and appealing (enough) body and desirable aspects to my life. They'd be right on the surface I guess but the daily torment/back-and-forth I put myself through is such shyte, I mean, who would really trade their lives for mine if they knew how I really am?
Anyway, what was I babbling about? Oh yes, I've tried kicking my vomiting cold-turkey. It lasted for a few days, then almost a few weeks, but I started again once a day and then I had to just stop eating altogether. I can't with the vomiting. It's tiring, and my allergies are acting up and it fucks with my throat so badly. Plus, I always try and grow my nails out a little as a deterrent from poking around my esophagus and I don't feel like ripping them off again so no more eating which equals no purging. Well, that's the plan, anyway...
But yeah, after being triggered by my husband's perverse, teenage-fucking ways and filing our taxes jointly (for the last time, I swear!), I've been very truthful to myself about my failed relationships and mommy/daddy/guilt issues and I have a plan of attack (kind of) in mind so I'm just chilling out, shopping too much, and trying to be social at least once a week before I finally head over to Tokyo.
I get it: life can be shitty and usually is for a majority of the world's population. Am I going to keep complaining and wallowing in my own fat and failure or am I going to reclaim my philosophy of "fuck the rest, just do your best" and fight for my own version of happiness? If you know me by now, I think you'll know the answer to that question...
See, what it boils down to is I'm an over-achiever...a "Type A" I guess is what they like to label folks with my personality traits. I don't like to be told what to do, I need to micro-manage, and I'm always looking for better and pushing myself to be the best. But the thing that makes me slightly different is I'm not competitive - I don't give a flying fuck what my peers are doing really and I don't want to necessarily have their lives or out do anyone or be better than another person.
Because really, who knows what someone is going through on the inside or what one's life is like behind those closed doors? If someone were to look at my fat ass, they'd think I was very fortunate, with an enviable situation and appealing (enough) body and desirable aspects to my life. They'd be right on the surface I guess but the daily torment/back-and-forth I put myself through is such shyte, I mean, who would really trade their lives for mine if they knew how I really am?
Anyway, what was I babbling about? Oh yes, I've tried kicking my vomiting cold-turkey. It lasted for a few days, then almost a few weeks, but I started again once a day and then I had to just stop eating altogether. I can't with the vomiting. It's tiring, and my allergies are acting up and it fucks with my throat so badly. Plus, I always try and grow my nails out a little as a deterrent from poking around my esophagus and I don't feel like ripping them off again so no more eating which equals no purging. Well, that's the plan, anyway...
But yeah, after being triggered by my husband's perverse, teenage-fucking ways and filing our taxes jointly (for the last time, I swear!), I've been very truthful to myself about my failed relationships and mommy/daddy/guilt issues and I have a plan of attack (kind of) in mind so I'm just chilling out, shopping too much, and trying to be social at least once a week before I finally head over to Tokyo.
I get it: life can be shitty and usually is for a majority of the world's population. Am I going to keep complaining and wallowing in my own fat and failure or am I going to reclaim my philosophy of "fuck the rest, just do your best" and fight for my own version of happiness? If you know me by now, I think you'll know the answer to that question...
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
My Husband is a Fat, Triggering Ass
....and I need to stop talking to that bastard completely. I've been really good with not messaging him at all, actually, and not saying petty or trite shit, but being honest, direct, and to the point...making sure not to stir the (empty) pot so interactions could go quicker and just stick to business. But recently this bastard has really been trying to be chatty and act as if all is forgotten.
Goddamn I hate him for that. All is not forgotten, nor are you forgiven, you narcissistic sociopath. Just because I am trying to be civil with you doesn't mean I don't hope your racist parents don't die a painful, smog-related death of lung or some other obscure cancer perhaps related to tainted dumplings, or that you don't eventually get some non-life threatening disease of the dick and think of me every time it burns when you pee (cos you do pee a lot). Horrible to say? Yes. But this is my corner of the internet and I have the goddamm right to. Why should I be pleasant after how you continue to passive-aggressively try to mind fuck with me? You're fucking lucky I don't say 1/100th of the shit I want to say to you because it would just be such an awful thing to hear and I'm not an awful person unless provoked.
Anyway, that jackass isn't worth all those words I just typed. I was close to achieving something today but failed to because I let that idiot and bitches at work get under my skin and distract me. I not-so-subconciously turned to food to take my mind off thing and have something else to bitch about that I brought on, at least. My fucking back *killed* and I really didn't even eat that much. Grilled salmon salad and ravioli, but very small portions. My killer is always the liquids though (to ensure a smooth upchuck process). I must have had like a liter over the course of 8 hours. See, my binges when they're very shameful are multi-part processes cos I keep going back until I'm so full or so racked by guilt that I have enough motivation to go puke up all those awful emotions. Took me a while today cos I didn't want to fail at yet another target today and sure enough, I did. I don't know what I got out but it wasn't all of what I put in, and it was thick and lumpy, meaning I absorbed all the water and shit anyway. Fabulous.
I've got that damn case to finally finish coming up in two days (well, tomorrow, since it's now 5:30 AM) and my sister's birthday is the same time. I've been thinking about it off and on for the last week, reminding myself to get her something and then *whoosh* its already almost too late. Preoccupied with starving and trying not to flip out at work, quit, and take the next plane anywhere. What a goddamm mess.
Well, you know I hate complaining, even though I admittedly do it way too much, so I'm going to end it at that. My keyboard sucks, by the way - the 's' key and some others are just lazy as fuck and on their own working schedule, so excuse any errors. I don't care enough to go back at the moment and do a thorough once-over and editing check. *kanye shrug* Who know who actually reads this drivel anyway?
Goddamn I hate him for that. All is not forgotten, nor are you forgiven, you narcissistic sociopath. Just because I am trying to be civil with you doesn't mean I don't hope your racist parents don't die a painful, smog-related death of lung or some other obscure cancer perhaps related to tainted dumplings, or that you don't eventually get some non-life threatening disease of the dick and think of me every time it burns when you pee (cos you do pee a lot). Horrible to say? Yes. But this is my corner of the internet and I have the goddamm right to. Why should I be pleasant after how you continue to passive-aggressively try to mind fuck with me? You're fucking lucky I don't say 1/100th of the shit I want to say to you because it would just be such an awful thing to hear and I'm not an awful person unless provoked.
Anyway, that jackass isn't worth all those words I just typed. I was close to achieving something today but failed to because I let that idiot and bitches at work get under my skin and distract me. I not-so-subconciously turned to food to take my mind off thing and have something else to bitch about that I brought on, at least. My fucking back *killed* and I really didn't even eat that much. Grilled salmon salad and ravioli, but very small portions. My killer is always the liquids though (to ensure a smooth upchuck process). I must have had like a liter over the course of 8 hours. See, my binges when they're very shameful are multi-part processes cos I keep going back until I'm so full or so racked by guilt that I have enough motivation to go puke up all those awful emotions. Took me a while today cos I didn't want to fail at yet another target today and sure enough, I did. I don't know what I got out but it wasn't all of what I put in, and it was thick and lumpy, meaning I absorbed all the water and shit anyway. Fabulous.
I've got that damn case to finally finish coming up in two days (well, tomorrow, since it's now 5:30 AM) and my sister's birthday is the same time. I've been thinking about it off and on for the last week, reminding myself to get her something and then *whoosh* its already almost too late. Preoccupied with starving and trying not to flip out at work, quit, and take the next plane anywhere. What a goddamm mess.
Well, you know I hate complaining, even though I admittedly do it way too much, so I'm going to end it at that. My keyboard sucks, by the way - the 's' key and some others are just lazy as fuck and on their own working schedule, so excuse any errors. I don't care enough to go back at the moment and do a thorough once-over and editing check. *kanye shrug* Who know who actually reads this drivel anyway?
Monday, January 14, 2013
Still Here, Never Stopped.
I have the link to this blog right on my bookmarks bar...I look at it every fracken day and chide myself for not taking just a moment to say something, anything, and not let this corner of the internet collect e-cobwebs. Since nobody says anything on Twatter or in the comments section, I honestly didn't think anyone even ever came on here anymore and just let it fall into disuse. I was genuinely surprised to see activity behind-the-scenes this month - new year's gumption making people consider my crazy tactics worth reading? Hah hah, let me stop flattering myself...
Anywho, I had my phone held hostage from new year's day after work until 4 days later when I had already bought the upgraded model. Some bitch held on to it and took her sweet time turning it in to someone else to get back to me - can you believe that? I can! People are ridiculous. I only bring it up again because I had a few random pictures from 2011 when I was at what I think (if I remember correctly) was my LW and I finally posted them to compare with now. I guess I'm about the same, but in my mind I was near death! Crazy what the body adapts to, hm? And it just further confirms the statement that memory is subjective and not to be trusted :-| I'm going to transfer all the pics and sell my old phone. I had considered using it as an over-sized mp3 player for the steam room, but I'd rather get the cash. *kanye shrug*
What else? I attempted one of my "epic binges" after abstaining from forcing myself to vomit pounds of liquid and unwanted food for an entire week - what...a...letdown! I didn't get much in (about an "average" meal) and knew I should have just kept starving. But it was more of a symbolic kind of purging anyway - I had to be sure that the highs I would get from eating were gone and that my restricting had replaced those endorphin releasing habits in my life. Happy to say it has! My swollen face and irritated scale are also overjoyed and I have no intention of over-eating as long as I have my wits about me. Do you know how exhausting it is to throw up all the time? Always cold then sleepy and hungry minutes after. Ugh! If I just stay empty, my body finally gets tired of grumbling and starts to eat itself or whatever it does.
Well, I'm going to check in on my days off, at the very least. Between this, Twatter, and tumblr, I think I'm more than preoccupied to avoid eating and to keep losing weight. Once I get down to 100 I swear I can drink and eat and do all that "normal" shit again. I said it before and I mean it (more or less): I'm trying to live happier and not die miserably. I pity any fool that dares get in my way....
Anywho, I had my phone held hostage from new year's day after work until 4 days later when I had already bought the upgraded model. Some bitch held on to it and took her sweet time turning it in to someone else to get back to me - can you believe that? I can! People are ridiculous. I only bring it up again because I had a few random pictures from 2011 when I was at what I think (if I remember correctly) was my LW and I finally posted them to compare with now. I guess I'm about the same, but in my mind I was near death! Crazy what the body adapts to, hm? And it just further confirms the statement that memory is subjective and not to be trusted :-| I'm going to transfer all the pics and sell my old phone. I had considered using it as an over-sized mp3 player for the steam room, but I'd rather get the cash. *kanye shrug*
What else? I attempted one of my "epic binges" after abstaining from forcing myself to vomit pounds of liquid and unwanted food for an entire week - what...a...letdown! I didn't get much in (about an "average" meal) and knew I should have just kept starving. But it was more of a symbolic kind of purging anyway - I had to be sure that the highs I would get from eating were gone and that my restricting had replaced those endorphin releasing habits in my life. Happy to say it has! My swollen face and irritated scale are also overjoyed and I have no intention of over-eating as long as I have my wits about me. Do you know how exhausting it is to throw up all the time? Always cold then sleepy and hungry minutes after. Ugh! If I just stay empty, my body finally gets tired of grumbling and starts to eat itself or whatever it does.
Well, I'm going to check in on my days off, at the very least. Between this, Twatter, and tumblr, I think I'm more than preoccupied to avoid eating and to keep losing weight. Once I get down to 100 I swear I can drink and eat and do all that "normal" shit again. I said it before and I mean it (more or less): I'm trying to live happier and not die miserably. I pity any fool that dares get in my way....
Monday, November 12, 2012
Fat Again, Time to Write About It
Not much has changed since this time last year: I'm still fat, still hate my thighs, still wasting money eating and vomiting and laying in bed alone. A year older and am I any happier?
Definitely not but at least I have finally come to terms with my sham of a marriage. My "husband" made it super clear that he will never love me the way I would like and that's that. So I made it super clear that I will expect half of his earnings for as long as he's in America. After all, he would not be where he is now without my anorexic ass so he can just keep funding my binge food. At least it won't be my money going down the drain.
I had a fling with an Israeli guy for a few months - don't ask me why. He had slightly jacked up teeth, was going bald - well, practically already there - and had no direction in life. In hindsight, it was a waste of my time and as usual, I let it go on for far too long. At first, it was just nice to feel wanted and to get some decent dick whenever I wanted. But then he got too serious, always talking about his parents and his family and bringing up religion and monogamy. I was like, "ummmm....did you forget that I'm still married to a dog? I'm technically a cheating whore and you're an adulterer and you wanna talk about monogamy?" Anyway, he was just a loser at the end of it all. He was fired from his job and lost his apartment and car that came with it. I foolishly told him he could stay in my little cubicle of a place if he needed to, but never thought the day would actually come that he would take me up on my offer. What a bad idea!
He was there for almost a month (with a week break while he went to another island to do more of nothing) and I had no privacy and no time to myself. This meant no thinspo, no purging, no binging my feelings of inadequacy and frustrations out. In addition to not having an outlet for my disordered emotions, I now had to eat with this fucker all the time and of course I started to gain. Damn I'm glad he's gone. He had a nice body when I first met him but after a few months even his crazy abs were going away and so was my fleeting attraction to him. I thought he would keep me from slacking off and getting fat and it was the complete opposite. He left for South America and I was really sad for a few days because while he was a major bum, he was company at least.
But after I realized what useless drifter he was, I quickly got over it and stopped talking to him. Actually, only after he said he didn't think we would meet up in January to travel to all the countries he kept telling me he wanted to see with me, was when I finally was like: ok, why the fuck am I still talking to this idiot? Oh, did I mention he always wanted his dick sucked but never wanted to go down on me? He said he tried it once on a woman and wasn't a fan. Excuse me? Then kindly get your penis out of my face before I bite it and spit it in the trash. The nerve of some people.
Where is this post going? Nowhere fast, apparently. Anyway, that's a brief catch up of what's been going on. I was mentally preparing to toss all my shit and fly to some new place and live off my "husband's" dime for half a year and see where the wind takes me, and now I'm back at square one: living in a hotel like a nomad and willing my thighs to go away. At least I'm not suicidal and I have my own car this time around (not renting - yiyuh!). I've also stopped giving two shits about my job and the fact that I wasted half my life being a kid genius with "so much potential" when I could have just not given a fuck earlier and wound up still a disappointing failure.
On that note, I'm going to hit the toilet once more and settle in for some crap television (aren't I witty?) and thinspiration. I need to take advantage of the hotel's sauna before I possibly move in two weeks. As Ana is my witness I want to get under 110 so I can stop having my fucking period.
Definitely not but at least I have finally come to terms with my sham of a marriage. My "husband" made it super clear that he will never love me the way I would like and that's that. So I made it super clear that I will expect half of his earnings for as long as he's in America. After all, he would not be where he is now without my anorexic ass so he can just keep funding my binge food. At least it won't be my money going down the drain.
I had a fling with an Israeli guy for a few months - don't ask me why. He had slightly jacked up teeth, was going bald - well, practically already there - and had no direction in life. In hindsight, it was a waste of my time and as usual, I let it go on for far too long. At first, it was just nice to feel wanted and to get some decent dick whenever I wanted. But then he got too serious, always talking about his parents and his family and bringing up religion and monogamy. I was like, "ummmm....did you forget that I'm still married to a dog? I'm technically a cheating whore and you're an adulterer and you wanna talk about monogamy?" Anyway, he was just a loser at the end of it all. He was fired from his job and lost his apartment and car that came with it. I foolishly told him he could stay in my little cubicle of a place if he needed to, but never thought the day would actually come that he would take me up on my offer. What a bad idea!
He was there for almost a month (with a week break while he went to another island to do more of nothing) and I had no privacy and no time to myself. This meant no thinspo, no purging, no binging my feelings of inadequacy and frustrations out. In addition to not having an outlet for my disordered emotions, I now had to eat with this fucker all the time and of course I started to gain. Damn I'm glad he's gone. He had a nice body when I first met him but after a few months even his crazy abs were going away and so was my fleeting attraction to him. I thought he would keep me from slacking off and getting fat and it was the complete opposite. He left for South America and I was really sad for a few days because while he was a major bum, he was company at least.
But after I realized what useless drifter he was, I quickly got over it and stopped talking to him. Actually, only after he said he didn't think we would meet up in January to travel to all the countries he kept telling me he wanted to see with me, was when I finally was like: ok, why the fuck am I still talking to this idiot? Oh, did I mention he always wanted his dick sucked but never wanted to go down on me? He said he tried it once on a woman and wasn't a fan. Excuse me? Then kindly get your penis out of my face before I bite it and spit it in the trash. The nerve of some people.
Where is this post going? Nowhere fast, apparently. Anyway, that's a brief catch up of what's been going on. I was mentally preparing to toss all my shit and fly to some new place and live off my "husband's" dime for half a year and see where the wind takes me, and now I'm back at square one: living in a hotel like a nomad and willing my thighs to go away. At least I'm not suicidal and I have my own car this time around (not renting - yiyuh!). I've also stopped giving two shits about my job and the fact that I wasted half my life being a kid genius with "so much potential" when I could have just not given a fuck earlier and wound up still a disappointing failure.
On that note, I'm going to hit the toilet once more and settle in for some crap television (aren't I witty?) and thinspiration. I need to take advantage of the hotel's sauna before I possibly move in two weeks. As Ana is my witness I want to get under 110 so I can stop having my fucking period.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Say Hello to Skinny September!
Relaxed, fasted, saved my energy and waited waited waited to walk 6 miles during the hottest part of the day. I didn't feel like I was sweating at all (but then again w/ a restrictive sports bra - medium my ass - a beater, men's long underwear, and a long sleeve cotton t-shirt, what can you really feel anymore?) so I was skeptical. I still plodded along though. Resisted the temptation to cheat, chug water, or catch the train back and pretend like I gave it my all.
Well, hard work pays the fuck off! I came back and pushed through 600 crunches (I was feeling the number 6 today) and stepped on that lovely little scale and nearly genuflected on the spot, I was so grateful to finally see 110. Can you believe that? It just confirms my thoughts that consistency gets results. Plain old sweat and cardio will get you where you want to go. Don't eat, don't gain. It can't get more simple than that.
Yes, what am I going to do once I start eating again? I get this question quite a bit.
Who the fuck says I'm ever going to eat normally again?
I have no problem having a few sips here, a bite a day twice a week there if I feel like it or can afford to gain under a pound that can easily be peed out/worked off later or the next day. Anymore than that and I'm going to get full, I'm going to retain, I'm going to get an extended belly, and I'm going to get depressed. I know how that story ends (in a binge and purge!) and I refuse to let it play through again. Way to tiring and I just can't bring myself to do that anymore. No, thank you!
See, I might be starving myself to death, but I don't want any unwanted attention/interruptions until it happens. I'm not even sure I want it to happen. I was so miserable before, but now I've got this to keep going. HWSNN is a fat, insensitive loser that was never good enough for me, but I was wallowing in depression and my fat thighs. Now, I have less of my thighs to hate and I'm not bed-ridden, so that's a plus. Maybe I can finally drag my ass away from him and pretend the last 4+ years didn't happen?
Hell, why stop there. Let me just pretend this whole life up 'til know didn't happen, and I just appeared as Fat Free Choco and didn't go through my Dark Choco phase! Pft, yeah right. See, that's my problem - I think too much. Let me just keep trodding along, one foot in front of the other, and not waste energy wondering about this or that. I'm pleased I'm making progress and I need to ignore all the other bullshit.
Skinny September is off to a solid start.
Well, hard work pays the fuck off! I came back and pushed through 600 crunches (I was feeling the number 6 today) and stepped on that lovely little scale and nearly genuflected on the spot, I was so grateful to finally see 110. Can you believe that? It just confirms my thoughts that consistency gets results. Plain old sweat and cardio will get you where you want to go. Don't eat, don't gain. It can't get more simple than that.
Yes, what am I going to do once I start eating again? I get this question quite a bit.
Who the fuck says I'm ever going to eat normally again?
I have no problem having a few sips here, a bite a day twice a week there if I feel like it or can afford to gain under a pound that can easily be peed out/worked off later or the next day. Anymore than that and I'm going to get full, I'm going to retain, I'm going to get an extended belly, and I'm going to get depressed. I know how that story ends (in a binge and purge!) and I refuse to let it play through again. Way to tiring and I just can't bring myself to do that anymore. No, thank you!
See, I might be starving myself to death, but I don't want any unwanted attention/interruptions until it happens. I'm not even sure I want it to happen. I was so miserable before, but now I've got this to keep going. HWSNN is a fat, insensitive loser that was never good enough for me, but I was wallowing in depression and my fat thighs. Now, I have less of my thighs to hate and I'm not bed-ridden, so that's a plus. Maybe I can finally drag my ass away from him and pretend the last 4+ years didn't happen?
Hell, why stop there. Let me just pretend this whole life up 'til know didn't happen, and I just appeared as Fat Free Choco and didn't go through my Dark Choco phase! Pft, yeah right. See, that's my problem - I think too much. Let me just keep trodding along, one foot in front of the other, and not waste energy wondering about this or that. I'm pleased I'm making progress and I need to ignore all the other bullshit.
Skinny September is off to a solid start.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Binged on Popsicles - Dammit All!
And that's why I'm not 110 by now. Damn shame. There's 1 more day before August is over. Gonna wake up and put in my time and try not to pass out at work. I was so cold today, I didn't wear any tights, so my toes and chest were exposed and I just felt a little worn thin. My mouth was so dry from talking about stupid bullshit products that I neither care about nor would I myself even buy (stupid, overpriced material shit) that I had to rinse it out several times.
I binged during lunch because I was sitting out in the sun with sweatpants on under my dress (grabbed them from my bag) and it just felt so good. I didn't freak out though, because I ended up peeing it out later. But I was disappointed in myself because I didn't put in the hours/effort today in the evening. Whenever I cheat or don't push myself, the Almighty Scale knows and punishes me by not moving. It's ok though, there's still time tomorrow morning. I'm not getting my hopes up though, because I just drank some water and had twice as many pops as I should have (had to take a Centrium, my feet have been cramping intermittently since this afternoon).
Oh, and as expected, HWSNN is acting like a petulant child. Television's so loud again, I couldn't even follow what I was writing just now (hope it makes sense) and picking little fights. I just can't stand him. He's so selfish and negative. And he knows I know he's going out of his way to be as annoying as possible, trying to push my buttons and shit. Doesn't he realize, his stupid dick antics just fuel me to keep going and not fuck this up? Thanks, asshole. You're just the reminder I need as to why I keep this up so I can take my frustrations out somehow...I may not be the happiest, but I can keep trying to be the thinnest.
I binged during lunch because I was sitting out in the sun with sweatpants on under my dress (grabbed them from my bag) and it just felt so good. I didn't freak out though, because I ended up peeing it out later. But I was disappointed in myself because I didn't put in the hours/effort today in the evening. Whenever I cheat or don't push myself, the Almighty Scale knows and punishes me by not moving. It's ok though, there's still time tomorrow morning. I'm not getting my hopes up though, because I just drank some water and had twice as many pops as I should have (had to take a Centrium, my feet have been cramping intermittently since this afternoon).
Oh, and as expected, HWSNN is acting like a petulant child. Television's so loud again, I couldn't even follow what I was writing just now (hope it makes sense) and picking little fights. I just can't stand him. He's so selfish and negative. And he knows I know he's going out of his way to be as annoying as possible, trying to push my buttons and shit. Doesn't he realize, his stupid dick antics just fuel me to keep going and not fuck this up? Thanks, asshole. You're just the reminder I need as to why I keep this up so I can take my frustrations out somehow...I may not be the happiest, but I can keep trying to be the thinnest.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Return of the Choco Beast!
Yes, yes, it's been an entire MONTH since I posted something. And don't think I forgot or overlooked it or didn't want to. I thought about it every day, but was going so up and down that I just couldn't bring myself to write about anything. Who am I to sit here and preach about "skinny or die, mother suckaaaa!" if I took a fucking "break" for 2 or 3 days and let myself get back up to 120.
Oh shit, fat's out of the bag now isn't it? Yup, I ate like a donkey - Mongolian barbeque and Mrs. Field's mini cookies for you Curious Cathys - and didn't purge because I didn't fucking feel like it. Also, because HWSNN got me a new laptop that I was in dire need of and had been dreaming about for some time now (not this particular one, because it's actually bigger than my last one, which makes me feel like I'm in a way bigger and needed something to accomodate my fat fingers/self, but that's for another post). That day I had been in heels for hours, walking around at work, then spending several more hours walking around trying to decide which machine to get, I was so famished. Combine physical exhaustion with HWSNN's pestering of never seeing me eat anything, I just gave in and *devoured* that spicy goodness, oh gawd.
Anyway anyway, lets not rehash the past. I ate and I enjoyed it for a second and felt bad and let it continue until I got up to 120 and nearly committed seppuku right there in the hotel bathroom because I undid how many weeks of working out in just how many days? Really Choco? *This* is your idea of "Fat Free" by eating half the food court in one evening? Oh hellz no!
So I vaguely admitted my transgressions on Twatter and vowed to get things under control. I never like to mention specific foods or anything, so I don't trigger anyone (I haaaaaaaaate those fat bitches that not only can't stop themselves from eating, but can't stop themselves from tweeting about all the nasty shit they just inhaled! Seriously? Why are you trying to drag the rest of us down with you??? Just say you binged and keep it moving! Don't go into detail about how the food was prepared and *ugh* go so far to post pics! Fat fuckers >:(
What was I saying? Yeah, so I've given up purging until at least after the gym is open again (it'll be closed from the 1st through the 8th for "renovations" read: because the staff is lazy and just wants time off. I bet not a damn fucking thing will be different) mainly because I am sick of it and I don't even want to eat. Two very good reasons, right? I waste so much time heaving my innards up and out that I could be relaxing in bed or doing whatever it is my ass wants, not doubled over some disgusting hole used to collect fecal matter and urine. Also, if I eat *anything* I immediately look at the time, see how long I have left until my body absorbs the damage, and count down if I can make it safely or not to get it out. Beyond crazy and obsessive. I don't want to do that anymore. But this is the case for any and everything I consume - nuts, fruit, liquids. Liquids are not air, people. They will show up on the scale!
Oh yes, I've given up my stupid lax tea for the time being (read: it's been about a week) because that shit was just adding water weight and not really moving shit - no pun intended. So what's a Mia to do to get her hydration fix? I discovered the wonderful world of popsicles! But not the fatty fat American kind that are XXL and full of sugar and milk or juice and shit. I'm talk the micro mini kind (like under 30 ml) from Japan that are more colored frozen water than anything. Amaaazing! I can have 5 in a day and it's not showing up on the scale enough for me to lose my shit. Ok, what's .2 lb really matter anyway? The alternative is me trying to only have a can of Rock* and not let it open the floodgates is always very slim. Regardless, I'd put back on the pound I just sweat out in the gym, and hate myself for the rest of the day. These ice pops are amazing and something different that helps me regulate what's going in me. And I'm still hydrated enough to trickle something out at regular intervals and when I wake up. Last thing I need is me passing out 'cos of dehydration, or even worse, dying out of the blue and I'm still big! I'd have nothing to show for all the shit I've been putting myself through, and the coroner would just be like: well, that was a waste. Her thighs are still huge!
So, anyway, I'm back and I'm skinny again. I as 113.8 before (barely 113 but I claimed that shit proudly!) and now I'm 113.4 and I haven't been purging every day, so I'm pleased. I got 3 new kinds of popsicles today: one is foul (I'll let HWSNN devour those), one is so so (only if I'm desperate), and one is great but has pieces of fruit in it :-| Whyyy! I don't want food sitting in my intestines, piling up and adding to my weight before I hit 105. Shit! There are only 5 in the box, thankfully, so I won't get this kind again for a few weeks. I know this is beyond looney tunes but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. I want to get back to restricting and stop this purging altogether. Let me finish August strong and actually try and enjoy September. It's not Mission: Impossible and I know I can do it if I remain strong. One day, one step, one pound closer to what I want...
Oh shit, fat's out of the bag now isn't it? Yup, I ate like a donkey - Mongolian barbeque and Mrs. Field's mini cookies for you Curious Cathys - and didn't purge because I didn't fucking feel like it. Also, because HWSNN got me a new laptop that I was in dire need of and had been dreaming about for some time now (not this particular one, because it's actually bigger than my last one, which makes me feel like I'm in a way bigger and needed something to accomodate my fat fingers/self, but that's for another post). That day I had been in heels for hours, walking around at work, then spending several more hours walking around trying to decide which machine to get, I was so famished. Combine physical exhaustion with HWSNN's pestering of never seeing me eat anything, I just gave in and *devoured* that spicy goodness, oh gawd.
Anyway anyway, lets not rehash the past. I ate and I enjoyed it for a second and felt bad and let it continue until I got up to 120 and nearly committed seppuku right there in the hotel bathroom because I undid how many weeks of working out in just how many days? Really Choco? *This* is your idea of "Fat Free" by eating half the food court in one evening? Oh hellz no!
So I vaguely admitted my transgressions on Twatter and vowed to get things under control. I never like to mention specific foods or anything, so I don't trigger anyone (I haaaaaaaaate those fat bitches that not only can't stop themselves from eating, but can't stop themselves from tweeting about all the nasty shit they just inhaled! Seriously? Why are you trying to drag the rest of us down with you??? Just say you binged and keep it moving! Don't go into detail about how the food was prepared and *ugh* go so far to post pics! Fat fuckers >:(
What was I saying? Yeah, so I've given up purging until at least after the gym is open again (it'll be closed from the 1st through the 8th for "renovations" read: because the staff is lazy and just wants time off. I bet not a damn fucking thing will be different) mainly because I am sick of it and I don't even want to eat. Two very good reasons, right? I waste so much time heaving my innards up and out that I could be relaxing in bed or doing whatever it is my ass wants, not doubled over some disgusting hole used to collect fecal matter and urine. Also, if I eat *anything* I immediately look at the time, see how long I have left until my body absorbs the damage, and count down if I can make it safely or not to get it out. Beyond crazy and obsessive. I don't want to do that anymore. But this is the case for any and everything I consume - nuts, fruit, liquids. Liquids are not air, people. They will show up on the scale!
Oh yes, I've given up my stupid lax tea for the time being (read: it's been about a week) because that shit was just adding water weight and not really moving shit - no pun intended. So what's a Mia to do to get her hydration fix? I discovered the wonderful world of popsicles! But not the fatty fat American kind that are XXL and full of sugar and milk or juice and shit. I'm talk the micro mini kind (like under 30 ml) from Japan that are more colored frozen water than anything. Amaaazing! I can have 5 in a day and it's not showing up on the scale enough for me to lose my shit. Ok, what's .2 lb really matter anyway? The alternative is me trying to only have a can of Rock* and not let it open the floodgates is always very slim. Regardless, I'd put back on the pound I just sweat out in the gym, and hate myself for the rest of the day. These ice pops are amazing and something different that helps me regulate what's going in me. And I'm still hydrated enough to trickle something out at regular intervals and when I wake up. Last thing I need is me passing out 'cos of dehydration, or even worse, dying out of the blue and I'm still big! I'd have nothing to show for all the shit I've been putting myself through, and the coroner would just be like: well, that was a waste. Her thighs are still huge!
So, anyway, I'm back and I'm skinny again. I as 113.8 before (barely 113 but I claimed that shit proudly!) and now I'm 113.4 and I haven't been purging every day, so I'm pleased. I got 3 new kinds of popsicles today: one is foul (I'll let HWSNN devour those), one is so so (only if I'm desperate), and one is great but has pieces of fruit in it :-| Whyyy! I don't want food sitting in my intestines, piling up and adding to my weight before I hit 105. Shit! There are only 5 in the box, thankfully, so I won't get this kind again for a few weeks. I know this is beyond looney tunes but a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do. I want to get back to restricting and stop this purging altogether. Let me finish August strong and actually try and enjoy September. It's not Mission: Impossible and I know I can do it if I remain strong. One day, one step, one pound closer to what I want...
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Shitty Weekend (No Surprise)!
I'll keep this *really* brief (I know I always say that and then go on to write the Illiad) 'cos I'm packing up to leave. Want to have enough time to go to the gym early, drop of HWSNN, go back to the gym, clean up, and head to my interview in time. I want it that way and so it shall be!
I just wrote 2 paragraphs that went into detail about why I was so despondent this weekend, but it's much too shameful and depressing. No need to get specific about why my life sucks, just trust me, it does. Anyway, I didn't work out or steam today, and I'm sure I'm going to wake up a fat whale tomorrow. Marvelous! I will deal with that when the time comes to step on the scale.
Bought some makeup at the mall in an attempt to hide the dark circles under my eyes and trick people into thinking I'm pretty, but I just can't put this shit on my face. It's supposedly organic, animal-friendly, yadda yadda, but I only bought a primer and some concealer and a brush (and some "mist" to hydrate???) and shit was $150. I feel way too guilty and the sample she put on me makes me look like an oily pig. I'm returning this shit tomorrow. I'm fat and I'm ugly and I look like a sad panda - oh well! These are the genes I was born with. Why fake the funk with war paint? So god help me if I ever step out without it, people will hid their babies from me in terror. Well, the little Chinese ladies do that now already, anyway so no biggie.
What else? Oh yeah, tried on 27 shorts/jumpers at Forever 21, too big too big. Yes! Size 0s are a 24, so I must be a 3 or so? I want to be a 2, that's nice and even and definitely small. A 4 is somewhere in the land of not quite small enough and smaller than that *other* fatty over there, but don't get too cocky 'cos you're one latte away yourself. I want to lose 2 inches from my thighs. Then I will be able to feel like a real skinny twig bitch and can at least throw on what I want and make other hos feel fat and unhappy and hang around the mall/beach/wherever the fuck I want all day. Yes, I'll still be a miserable hag in an awful relationship, but who needs to know that other than me?
I just wrote 2 paragraphs that went into detail about why I was so despondent this weekend, but it's much too shameful and depressing. No need to get specific about why my life sucks, just trust me, it does. Anyway, I didn't work out or steam today, and I'm sure I'm going to wake up a fat whale tomorrow. Marvelous! I will deal with that when the time comes to step on the scale.
Bought some makeup at the mall in an attempt to hide the dark circles under my eyes and trick people into thinking I'm pretty, but I just can't put this shit on my face. It's supposedly organic, animal-friendly, yadda yadda, but I only bought a primer and some concealer and a brush (and some "mist" to hydrate???) and shit was $150. I feel way too guilty and the sample she put on me makes me look like an oily pig. I'm returning this shit tomorrow. I'm fat and I'm ugly and I look like a sad panda - oh well! These are the genes I was born with. Why fake the funk with war paint? So god help me if I ever step out without it, people will hid their babies from me in terror. Well, the little Chinese ladies do that now already, anyway so no biggie.
What else? Oh yeah, tried on 27 shorts/jumpers at Forever 21, too big too big. Yes! Size 0s are a 24, so I must be a 3 or so? I want to be a 2, that's nice and even and definitely small. A 4 is somewhere in the land of not quite small enough and smaller than that *other* fatty over there, but don't get too cocky 'cos you're one latte away yourself. I want to lose 2 inches from my thighs. Then I will be able to feel like a real skinny twig bitch and can at least throw on what I want and make other hos feel fat and unhappy and hang around the mall/beach/wherever the fuck I want all day. Yes, I'll still be a miserable hag in an awful relationship, but who needs to know that other than me?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Fasted for 4 Days, Waste of Time
So I haven't been on here for what seems like donkey years and that's been a mix of me not wanting to drag my ass anywhere to go online and a mix of feeling like I was a big loser for not keeping my pace of 5 lbs/9 days. So, I chalked it up to "conserving energy" and "staying focused" and really just skirted anything else I had to do outside of going to the gym, finding new classes to join (because I said I would!), and losing weight. If I'm not going to face anything else that I have to do, at least let me do a good job with pleasing the scale, right?
Well, I've been doing good enough, I suppose. Enough so that the whores at the gym have the gall to bring up how much time I spend there everyday and to follow me around like hungry wolves to a roasting pig. This is exactly why I hate gyms - full of nosy bitches and horny pricks that want to fill their eyes to the brim full of other people: fat, skinny, whatever. They soak it up because they're not satisfied with their own lumps of flesh and pass time judging/lusting over others. If you'd only focus more on your ass then you'd be out faster and have more time to enjoy life outside, right, ho? Stop staring at me and stare at your own droopy snatch, maybe you'd do those squats a little bit better.
Ahem. I digress.
So, I've been maintaining a pound lost a day, which is slightly more than what I was doing before (still trying to make up for the past. Gawd, why can't I get over it?) but really now, how long can I keep this up? I say I'll be so happy to get to 115 and will ease up but that's a lie. That'll only be the end of the month, probably. I still have a month's membership. And if the scale goes from moving every day to just every other day...oh gee. It's going to fuck with my head. Like, rational me will say, "it's ok. .6 lbs lost is still good, and still going down. Chill the fuck out!" while irrational me will say, "you inadequate loser. It's still the same goddamm number! What's wrong with you! Somewhere out there, someone's reaching her goal and getting the gigs and guys and glory you want, and it's not you!" and then I'll be bed-ridden for a few days.
So, let me keep doing what was working before - eat and purge - and sweat as much as possible in 4-6 hours. Waking up early and going for 2 hrs, then dropping off HWSNN and heading back to get the rest out worked well for the week or so that I did it. I should try that again. Doing 1 big chunk of gym at a time is draining. I really hate people and how they always want to talk about shit that has nothing to do with them, quip about this and that and stare like they were raised without consideration or manners (probably were). No, if I can help it, I'll take the gym in small doses - crunches, steaming, classes, bball, adios!
HWSNN had some work dinners this week, so I obviously had no reason to eat by myself. I remember before feeling the urge to buy food and eat it alone in the room, without anyone seeing me and without having to see anyone, like some secret shame (ugh, weirdo). Now, I don't even *want* to eat. I know the full feeling that will follow and that feeling equals failure. Failure that I couldn't eat just 5 bites less, failure that I couldn't just not eat at all, failure that I even feel bad about eating 100 cals of nothing! Vegetables and fucking air. So I just restricted my liquid intake so I don't pass out from dehydration and didn't eat until today.
Tell me why the fuck it seemed like my body decided to give me grief and hold on to those liquids for dear life??? Even though I was sweating buckets, I felt like the scale was baaaarely moving. Then I realized that all the purging was sucking those liquids right out of me as fast as I was putting them in, duh! The little bit of lax tea or whatever that I would sip on right before bed didn't really matter, 'cos that's essentially all that stuck with me. So fasting is so not worth it for me. I want to drink drink drink as usual, but I'm so dehydrated that my body just holds on to that shit like a sponge and I barely pee anything out. I didn't feel shaky or so weak that I couldn't function before, so I'm going back to what I know best. Tonight though, I barely ate anything and just couldn't eat anymore. It was so unlike me. If I'm going to eat, I'm going to *eat* and not stop until it's gone. Guess my stomach has other plans for me, these days. I'm not complaining tho. Less time scarfing down means less of a chance that shit is absorbed and retained and more of a chance for me to keep getting smaller.
Speaking of which, my thighs might have shrunk (still trying to figure out if this is true) but it's in proportion to how I was before!!!! I'm MEGA MAD at this fact - what's the fucking point! Now I'm a walking bag of bones draped in chocolate, propped up by two fat marshmallow mounds. Give me a break! I thought my top couldn't get any smaller, and yet, the weight still seems to be coming from there. I can almost hear my thighs taunting me, "we're not going anywhere, Fatty McGee! You're stuck with us for liiiiife, mwa ha ha haaaa" every time I look in the mirror. It's *seriously* frustrating. It's beyond irritating, it's sad. I'll probably be forced to stop going to the gym before I can get them the way I want them to be, and then what am I going to do? I wish I could just donate them to some Body Salvation Army and pick up some other obsessed gal's thighs (that are probably perfectly normal) to replace them...wouldn't that be grand?
Well, I've been doing good enough, I suppose. Enough so that the whores at the gym have the gall to bring up how much time I spend there everyday and to follow me around like hungry wolves to a roasting pig. This is exactly why I hate gyms - full of nosy bitches and horny pricks that want to fill their eyes to the brim full of other people: fat, skinny, whatever. They soak it up because they're not satisfied with their own lumps of flesh and pass time judging/lusting over others. If you'd only focus more on your ass then you'd be out faster and have more time to enjoy life outside, right, ho? Stop staring at me and stare at your own droopy snatch, maybe you'd do those squats a little bit better.
Ahem. I digress.
So, I've been maintaining a pound lost a day, which is slightly more than what I was doing before (still trying to make up for the past. Gawd, why can't I get over it?) but really now, how long can I keep this up? I say I'll be so happy to get to 115 and will ease up but that's a lie. That'll only be the end of the month, probably. I still have a month's membership. And if the scale goes from moving every day to just every other day...oh gee. It's going to fuck with my head. Like, rational me will say, "it's ok. .6 lbs lost is still good, and still going down. Chill the fuck out!" while irrational me will say, "you inadequate loser. It's still the same goddamm number! What's wrong with you! Somewhere out there, someone's reaching her goal and getting the gigs and guys and glory you want, and it's not you!" and then I'll be bed-ridden for a few days.
So, let me keep doing what was working before - eat and purge - and sweat as much as possible in 4-6 hours. Waking up early and going for 2 hrs, then dropping off HWSNN and heading back to get the rest out worked well for the week or so that I did it. I should try that again. Doing 1 big chunk of gym at a time is draining. I really hate people and how they always want to talk about shit that has nothing to do with them, quip about this and that and stare like they were raised without consideration or manners (probably were). No, if I can help it, I'll take the gym in small doses - crunches, steaming, classes, bball, adios!
HWSNN had some work dinners this week, so I obviously had no reason to eat by myself. I remember before feeling the urge to buy food and eat it alone in the room, without anyone seeing me and without having to see anyone, like some secret shame (ugh, weirdo). Now, I don't even *want* to eat. I know the full feeling that will follow and that feeling equals failure. Failure that I couldn't eat just 5 bites less, failure that I couldn't just not eat at all, failure that I even feel bad about eating 100 cals of nothing! Vegetables and fucking air. So I just restricted my liquid intake so I don't pass out from dehydration and didn't eat until today.
Tell me why the fuck it seemed like my body decided to give me grief and hold on to those liquids for dear life??? Even though I was sweating buckets, I felt like the scale was baaaarely moving. Then I realized that all the purging was sucking those liquids right out of me as fast as I was putting them in, duh! The little bit of lax tea or whatever that I would sip on right before bed didn't really matter, 'cos that's essentially all that stuck with me. So fasting is so not worth it for me. I want to drink drink drink as usual, but I'm so dehydrated that my body just holds on to that shit like a sponge and I barely pee anything out. I didn't feel shaky or so weak that I couldn't function before, so I'm going back to what I know best. Tonight though, I barely ate anything and just couldn't eat anymore. It was so unlike me. If I'm going to eat, I'm going to *eat* and not stop until it's gone. Guess my stomach has other plans for me, these days. I'm not complaining tho. Less time scarfing down means less of a chance that shit is absorbed and retained and more of a chance for me to keep getting smaller.
Speaking of which, my thighs might have shrunk (still trying to figure out if this is true) but it's in proportion to how I was before!!!! I'm MEGA MAD at this fact - what's the fucking point! Now I'm a walking bag of bones draped in chocolate, propped up by two fat marshmallow mounds. Give me a break! I thought my top couldn't get any smaller, and yet, the weight still seems to be coming from there. I can almost hear my thighs taunting me, "we're not going anywhere, Fatty McGee! You're stuck with us for liiiiife, mwa ha ha haaaa" every time I look in the mirror. It's *seriously* frustrating. It's beyond irritating, it's sad. I'll probably be forced to stop going to the gym before I can get them the way I want them to be, and then what am I going to do? I wish I could just donate them to some Body Salvation Army and pick up some other obsessed gal's thighs (that are probably perfectly normal) to replace them...wouldn't that be grand?
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Hit A Mental Roadblock Today
But I still managed to push myself to stick w/ my gym time until I saw 122 (praise be to you, Almighty Scale!) and am happy I did. According to my progress chart, I should've been 120, but let me stop harping on last week. That horse is dead and rotting now, what's done is done. As a reminder to what happens when I slack off, I forced myself to go shopping and went straight to the "small" section for everything: dresses, jeans, bras. The usual things that never fit the way they should and make me sad and mopey. Last time I went shopping at the beginning of the month, I could barely get into size 5 skinny jeans. Well, today I got my fat ass in, zipped up, and not bursting out. Damn right I bought 3 pairs of different colors and styles and brands just to make sure I don't ever try and give myself a break in the next 6 weeks before my gym membership expires (I'm not renewing that shit, fuck no).
If I'm able to drop 30 lbs in in this first month and a half, what can I do in the second? At the very *least* get down to 110. If I'm not a size 3 or even a 1 by then, I'll feel like a failure. Not because those numbers are anything special, but because they are lower than where I am now. They signify progress and a step closer to perfection. My thighs still jiggle now and the gap is barely noticeable. There's maybe a pencil's width of space and they still spread when I sit. I want smooth sailing between my legs (that sounds dirty, hm) and no change from when I go from standing to sitting to squatting to whatever. I want sticks for legs, essentially, yes. When they get very slender, I'll start toning them so they don't look gross. I don't want muscle, but I don't want wobbly, either. I was so pleased with myself at dinner, I had almost nothing! Purging was a breeze! It's like, I can't even will myself to eat like I was even a week ago, because it's just so exhausting to deal with the guilt and doubting if I got everything out. Once I'm out of the 120s, I'm just going to stick to 24 oz a day, fuck it.
Oh, I tried 32As because I'm sick of wearing these junior's tops with the boobs built-in (it's been wicked cold these days and I need a bra for under my 4 layers - tank, long sleeve, turtleneck, hoodie - so I don't let my sad chest get on my nerves. The 34Bs I've been wearing suck! I wear them all the way over, so isn't that essentially like a 32? Whenever I'm measured, they say 32 but before that shit was uncomfortable, so I always took 34s and just wore them as tight as possible. I hate back fat and bras that look like they're cutting off circulation. In reality, I think I was a 33 or something. Anyway, the 32s are for true skinnies that are like, 31s or something, because I felt like a fraud. The A cup was fine, I barely filled that shit out either, and the padding felt like I was walking around with airbags so whatever. I didn't get any of them. I'll stick to my less padded bras that run smaller (I have about 3 now that are decent, just lined, no padding) and my dresses/tops that come with breasts pre-installed. HWSNN says he feels like he's sleeping with a different person now, it's weird, and I think, 'Good. Then the old me is really becoming a thing of the past, finally.'
I was going to wait until the 110s to try going out again, get new clothes and try new places that are a little trendier, start shmoozing my way to meeting the right people to get connections and look for management. Then I thought, why wait? Go to the places you hate (because they're filled with tiny women of East-Asian descent that weren't raised on this fatty fat moo moo shit) and just dance until you can't move - and then dance some more. I'm not interested in getting attention - never happens - or making fake friends for the night to never hear from them again or having some ugly drunk try and liquor me up to rub his dirty dick on me in some corner. Thanks, but college was over years ago. I'm gonna do my own thing and enjoy the music and just not think about anything for 2 hours. Have I forgotten what it means to have a good time?
Ah, I bought more long underwear for my workout shit, so I'll never have to go another day w/o a pair like today. I power-walked 7 miles today and was actually please! That might not sound like much, but considering I usually only do 4 or 5, this was really pretty good for me. But I didn't sweat anything out - here comes the feeling of inadequacy again. I was devastated. Seriously, I wanted to just leave the gym right then. Why didn't any of my fat/frustration/failure come out as usual? I was wearing 4 layers. It's because I had a loose sweatshirt on instead of my usual tight, long underwear, duh! Never again will I waste time like that if it doesn't translate to buckets of sweat drenching my clothes. Sweat = exertion = results. End of story.
Well, time to get my ass moving and get back to the shithole to change and head out. My afro looks like crap and I have to de-hairify my body but who cares? I got a shit ton of new flavored chapstick and with heels my underarms will be so far above everyone's head, who's going to notice? I'm getting waxed when I hit 120 I decided. I know, I was supposed to get a laptop but we're supposedly moving next week and I should probably wait. 120 waxing and yoga pants, 115 pedi and bikinis (small bottoms or I'm going to scream!!), 110 new laptop and new management. Life's so much easier when you have a clear plan and goals that you can actually attain. If I wasn't focused on getting my body in proportion, I don't know how I would get out of bed every day, honestly. Actually, I know I wouldn't. That was me for the last X months before this, basically. Never again, never again.
If I'm able to drop 30 lbs in in this first month and a half, what can I do in the second? At the very *least* get down to 110. If I'm not a size 3 or even a 1 by then, I'll feel like a failure. Not because those numbers are anything special, but because they are lower than where I am now. They signify progress and a step closer to perfection. My thighs still jiggle now and the gap is barely noticeable. There's maybe a pencil's width of space and they still spread when I sit. I want smooth sailing between my legs (that sounds dirty, hm) and no change from when I go from standing to sitting to squatting to whatever. I want sticks for legs, essentially, yes. When they get very slender, I'll start toning them so they don't look gross. I don't want muscle, but I don't want wobbly, either. I was so pleased with myself at dinner, I had almost nothing! Purging was a breeze! It's like, I can't even will myself to eat like I was even a week ago, because it's just so exhausting to deal with the guilt and doubting if I got everything out. Once I'm out of the 120s, I'm just going to stick to 24 oz a day, fuck it.
Oh, I tried 32As because I'm sick of wearing these junior's tops with the boobs built-in (it's been wicked cold these days and I need a bra for under my 4 layers - tank, long sleeve, turtleneck, hoodie - so I don't let my sad chest get on my nerves. The 34Bs I've been wearing suck! I wear them all the way over, so isn't that essentially like a 32? Whenever I'm measured, they say 32 but before that shit was uncomfortable, so I always took 34s and just wore them as tight as possible. I hate back fat and bras that look like they're cutting off circulation. In reality, I think I was a 33 or something. Anyway, the 32s are for true skinnies that are like, 31s or something, because I felt like a fraud. The A cup was fine, I barely filled that shit out either, and the padding felt like I was walking around with airbags so whatever. I didn't get any of them. I'll stick to my less padded bras that run smaller (I have about 3 now that are decent, just lined, no padding) and my dresses/tops that come with breasts pre-installed. HWSNN says he feels like he's sleeping with a different person now, it's weird, and I think, 'Good. Then the old me is really becoming a thing of the past, finally.'
I was going to wait until the 110s to try going out again, get new clothes and try new places that are a little trendier, start shmoozing my way to meeting the right people to get connections and look for management. Then I thought, why wait? Go to the places you hate (because they're filled with tiny women of East-Asian descent that weren't raised on this fatty fat moo moo shit) and just dance until you can't move - and then dance some more. I'm not interested in getting attention - never happens - or making fake friends for the night to never hear from them again or having some ugly drunk try and liquor me up to rub his dirty dick on me in some corner. Thanks, but college was over years ago. I'm gonna do my own thing and enjoy the music and just not think about anything for 2 hours. Have I forgotten what it means to have a good time?
Ah, I bought more long underwear for my workout shit, so I'll never have to go another day w/o a pair like today. I power-walked 7 miles today and was actually please! That might not sound like much, but considering I usually only do 4 or 5, this was really pretty good for me. But I didn't sweat anything out - here comes the feeling of inadequacy again. I was devastated. Seriously, I wanted to just leave the gym right then. Why didn't any of my fat/frustration/failure come out as usual? I was wearing 4 layers. It's because I had a loose sweatshirt on instead of my usual tight, long underwear, duh! Never again will I waste time like that if it doesn't translate to buckets of sweat drenching my clothes. Sweat = exertion = results. End of story.
Well, time to get my ass moving and get back to the shithole to change and head out. My afro looks like crap and I have to de-hairify my body but who cares? I got a shit ton of new flavored chapstick and with heels my underarms will be so far above everyone's head, who's going to notice? I'm getting waxed when I hit 120 I decided. I know, I was supposed to get a laptop but we're supposedly moving next week and I should probably wait. 120 waxing and yoga pants, 115 pedi and bikinis (small bottoms or I'm going to scream!!), 110 new laptop and new management. Life's so much easier when you have a clear plan and goals that you can actually attain. If I wasn't focused on getting my body in proportion, I don't know how I would get out of bed every day, honestly. Actually, I know I wouldn't. That was me for the last X months before this, basically. Never again, never again.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
No Excuses, No Fat, No Mercy
Today was great, from start to finish. Weight loss wise, that is. I mean, what else really matter to me right now, duh, right? Anyways, why did it go so well? I got my ass up before 7 AM and ran - yes, *ran* for a straight mile and then power walked for 2 more. I popped that out in 30 minutes and then crunched myself into another dimension, and steamed myself back to reality all before 9 AM. Drove H.W.S.N.N. to work, turned around, and did it all over again. I was just so pumped to be going back for a 2nd round when I usually would just be waking up again and checking Twatter, feeling crappy for sleeping in and fucking up. But here I was, walking to Timbuktu and feeling *good* it was like some natural high that all those doctor's talk about (although I don't think they quite meant for you to get it like this...)
I was right smack at 124.0 and if I wanted to, I could've seen 123 today but I figured I'd let myself have something to look forward to tomorrow - who wants to see the same # 2 days in a row? Not me! I feel like a failure if the scale doesn't change from day to day. Like, really now. What am I doing if I'm not losing weight? Waiting for it to just fall off when it's ready? Pft. I took a break last weekend and we saw how that turned out (please, see last entry) so I'll never slack off again. Not until I'm 100 lbs (hahhahahahahha) which is quite a while's away.
Earlier, I saw someone ask "why are we doing this to ourselves??" and I thought, what a stupid fucking question. Because it makes us have something to work hard for, to look forward to, to strive towards, to gain order and control in a chaotic, messed up, superficial, stupid world. Because someone, sometime, somewhere made us feel inadequate, slighted, less than worthy of attention or affection (whether purposefully or not) and here we are, trying to make up for it in our own sad way, knowing that it's unhealthy or leading to our demise, but still showing dedication rivaling that of any other person who's determined to succeed in achieving some perfection.
It's like, bitch, really, if you have to ask then you obviously are just going through some bored phase during the summer months, realizing your thighs still rub together but unwillingly to do a damn thing about it. Please, stop following me and filling my timeline with your shit about ringdings and ho-hos. I hate those fatties that go on and on about all the food they ate and how they aren't losing weight. Every time, I vow to block them but forget which whale it was that ruined my afternoon with her binge pics/descriptions, and she stays safe for another day. That'll all change when I get my new laptop and I can be on all day, looking at thinspo in my new place and avoiding food like the hobos outside my door. I can't wait!
Oh yes, this took me a good like, eternity to write because this mofo wouldn't stop talking to me about all sorts of random shit. I hope it makes sense. I wanted to write about staying focused, making up for lost time, yakking up my 1 meal of the day (and getting sick of it, but not enough to ever stop or get lazy and not get it all out), the cunts at the gym following me around and judging my neuorsis, and best of all, legit thigh gaps AND kicking my period's ass and finally getting rid of it, but it was hard enough to end this coherently, let alone talk about all that stuff. Until tomorrow, then! At least I wrote something. I'm going to fudge the time so it shows up for Thursday, shh~
I was right smack at 124.0 and if I wanted to, I could've seen 123 today but I figured I'd let myself have something to look forward to tomorrow - who wants to see the same # 2 days in a row? Not me! I feel like a failure if the scale doesn't change from day to day. Like, really now. What am I doing if I'm not losing weight? Waiting for it to just fall off when it's ready? Pft. I took a break last weekend and we saw how that turned out (please, see last entry) so I'll never slack off again. Not until I'm 100 lbs (hahhahahahahha) which is quite a while's away.
Earlier, I saw someone ask "why are we doing this to ourselves??" and I thought, what a stupid fucking question. Because it makes us have something to work hard for, to look forward to, to strive towards, to gain order and control in a chaotic, messed up, superficial, stupid world. Because someone, sometime, somewhere made us feel inadequate, slighted, less than worthy of attention or affection (whether purposefully or not) and here we are, trying to make up for it in our own sad way, knowing that it's unhealthy or leading to our demise, but still showing dedication rivaling that of any other person who's determined to succeed in achieving some perfection.
It's like, bitch, really, if you have to ask then you obviously are just going through some bored phase during the summer months, realizing your thighs still rub together but unwillingly to do a damn thing about it. Please, stop following me and filling my timeline with your shit about ringdings and ho-hos. I hate those fatties that go on and on about all the food they ate and how they aren't losing weight. Every time, I vow to block them but forget which whale it was that ruined my afternoon with her binge pics/descriptions, and she stays safe for another day. That'll all change when I get my new laptop and I can be on all day, looking at thinspo in my new place and avoiding food like the hobos outside my door. I can't wait!
Oh yes, this took me a good like, eternity to write because this mofo wouldn't stop talking to me about all sorts of random shit. I hope it makes sense. I wanted to write about staying focused, making up for lost time, yakking up my 1 meal of the day (and getting sick of it, but not enough to ever stop or get lazy and not get it all out), the cunts at the gym following me around and judging my neuorsis, and best of all, legit thigh gaps AND kicking my period's ass and finally getting rid of it, but it was hard enough to end this coherently, let alone talk about all that stuff. Until tomorrow, then! At least I wrote something. I'm going to fudge the time so it shows up for Thursday, shh~
Friday, July 8, 2011
Hot Sauce + Dairy = Trouble
Went to Denny's yesterday with H.W.S.N.N. It was his first time (natch) and he ordered 2 separate breakfast meals. No surprise there, he's a real fat ass at heart and so am I, no wonder we were drawn to each other (at first anyway). I of course basically did the same. I won't go into details so I don't trigger any of you poor souls into late-night Julia Child's style binging, but it was serious. I even got iced coffee - 'For energy at the gym after!' - to round things out. Biiiiiiiiiig fucking mistake. Second mistake? Dousing everything in some bootleg hot sauce like I was 15 again!
I used to eat food so spicy when I was younger, I would just numb my tongue into oblivion. And not the kind of hot that is like, one green pepper seed in a vat of stew. I know how some people are (Like, omigawd! I'm on fiyah!). No, I'm talking about, Shit, is that another ulcer forming? Why couldn't I have asked for mild this time? I was raised with heat all around. I think my mother would give me chili peppers to suck on instead of a bottle, if my memory serves me correctly...spicy has always been my pal.
Until yesterday. The combination of this no-name tobasco sauce that was probably first bottled in the '70s, coupled with the probably whole fatty-fat milk in my iced coffee (or the more "conservative" half and half, hah. Half fat mixed with no fat is still fat, dummies!) made for a slow-acting laxative. H.W.S.N.N. has finally realized that I'm serious about disappearing and has taken to sitting in booths with me and blocking me in so I can't purge while he's paying the bill. Well, the anxiety of feeling all that goddamm Denny's traveling through my system into my intestines where I'd be too late to hurl them out must have light the match that ignited my bowels because I could hardly make it 5 mins down the road to the bathroom in his office.
After doing damage there, we went to the gym and I couldn't even whoop his ass on the basketball courts because I was still feeling weak from taking a semi-legit crap, the first in 2 weeks. So, instead, I masked my ED cold sweat by punishing myself in the steam room. As *soon* as I got out, back to the toilets! Oh gawd, it was horrible. I really thought I was going to be found dead and naked in that crummy gym's bathroom. What a fitting end. Just the thought of the indignity of it all gave me enough energy to shuffle my droopy ass out to the showers and fling on my clothes.
That night was tough. I was empty and tired and knew I had work early this morning full of standing and smiling and general fake fucking positivity (that shit takes energy!) so I forced H.W.S.N.N. to drag his ass to 7-11 and get me juice and chips. Yes, I said it: FOOD. I drank all 16 oz of that shit (so sweet!) and ate most of those goddamm oily pieces of regret. I fell into a tormented sleep but managed to stay conked out until dawn. Usually I wake up in the middle of the night (either I was socked in the face or the neighbors are high and fighting/roaming the streets) so I took this as a sign of extreme exhaustion after trying to digest all that crap.
Anyway, I was late for the gig today, as usual, and I just walked in like nothing was amiss. If you don't make a big deal then chances are other people won't either. Unless they are some nosy, stick-in-the-mud pricks that are out to ruin your day. Luckily, that was not the case. I immediately cracked open what I *thought* was my new best friend (but like all "good" friends, I was betrayed) those sexist, pink Rock* energy drinks and had about 5 sips before I started feeling doped up. Like, I was on Twatter, posting a new message every 15 seconds kind of feeling. I had to check the ingredients (is there smack in here?) and then check my pulse. It was a weird, uneasy feeling. I didn't finish the can and just had ice water. Passed out in my car during my extended break and somehow managed the day without incident.
Had Japanese food, too much as usual. Purged it, but maybe not thoroughly enough. Felt fat, weak, and disgruntled, so I again skipped basketball - I'm glossing over this because I'm so mad at myself for being weak - and went straight to the steam room (my sanctuary) for 30 minutes. The experience was nearly ruined by a gassy lady that kept farting or queefing or SOMETHING for the .2 seconds she lasted. Thank god she was too frail to stay in there for any longer. She looked like she was a few sweat drops away from dying herself. Should have asked her for some advice now that I think of it...
Anyway, here I am. Bought some liquid Hello Pussy sugary shit drink from the Japanese convenience store (why is it pink *and* slightly bitter???) that disappointed me. Also got some other shit I shouldn't have, but I won't go into details so no one's triggered. I'm not proud of eating, but I don't want to make a fucking scene this weekend by hitting concrete 'cos my body decided to peace out on me. I'm sure no one would try and break my fall but everyone would have their cameras out and I'd be on YouTube before my head even touched the ground. At least let me be underweight by then so I look lovely while I'm out! Right? Right?? The camera adds 15, not 10 lbs, for my unlucky self.
I used to eat food so spicy when I was younger, I would just numb my tongue into oblivion. And not the kind of hot that is like, one green pepper seed in a vat of stew. I know how some people are (Like, omigawd! I'm on fiyah!). No, I'm talking about, Shit, is that another ulcer forming? Why couldn't I have asked for mild this time? I was raised with heat all around. I think my mother would give me chili peppers to suck on instead of a bottle, if my memory serves me correctly...spicy has always been my pal.
Until yesterday. The combination of this no-name tobasco sauce that was probably first bottled in the '70s, coupled with the probably whole fatty-fat milk in my iced coffee (or the more "conservative" half and half, hah. Half fat mixed with no fat is still fat, dummies!) made for a slow-acting laxative. H.W.S.N.N. has finally realized that I'm serious about disappearing and has taken to sitting in booths with me and blocking me in so I can't purge while he's paying the bill. Well, the anxiety of feeling all that goddamm Denny's traveling through my system into my intestines where I'd be too late to hurl them out must have light the match that ignited my bowels because I could hardly make it 5 mins down the road to the bathroom in his office.
After doing damage there, we went to the gym and I couldn't even whoop his ass on the basketball courts because I was still feeling weak from taking a semi-legit crap, the first in 2 weeks. So, instead, I masked my ED cold sweat by punishing myself in the steam room. As *soon* as I got out, back to the toilets! Oh gawd, it was horrible. I really thought I was going to be found dead and naked in that crummy gym's bathroom. What a fitting end. Just the thought of the indignity of it all gave me enough energy to shuffle my droopy ass out to the showers and fling on my clothes.
That night was tough. I was empty and tired and knew I had work early this morning full of standing and smiling and general fake fucking positivity (that shit takes energy!) so I forced H.W.S.N.N. to drag his ass to 7-11 and get me juice and chips. Yes, I said it: FOOD. I drank all 16 oz of that shit (so sweet!) and ate most of those goddamm oily pieces of regret. I fell into a tormented sleep but managed to stay conked out until dawn. Usually I wake up in the middle of the night (either I was socked in the face or the neighbors are high and fighting/roaming the streets) so I took this as a sign of extreme exhaustion after trying to digest all that crap.
Anyway, I was late for the gig today, as usual, and I just walked in like nothing was amiss. If you don't make a big deal then chances are other people won't either. Unless they are some nosy, stick-in-the-mud pricks that are out to ruin your day. Luckily, that was not the case. I immediately cracked open what I *thought* was my new best friend (but like all "good" friends, I was betrayed) those sexist, pink Rock* energy drinks and had about 5 sips before I started feeling doped up. Like, I was on Twatter, posting a new message every 15 seconds kind of feeling. I had to check the ingredients (is there smack in here?) and then check my pulse. It was a weird, uneasy feeling. I didn't finish the can and just had ice water. Passed out in my car during my extended break and somehow managed the day without incident.
Had Japanese food, too much as usual. Purged it, but maybe not thoroughly enough. Felt fat, weak, and disgruntled, so I again skipped basketball - I'm glossing over this because I'm so mad at myself for being weak - and went straight to the steam room (my sanctuary) for 30 minutes. The experience was nearly ruined by a gassy lady that kept farting or queefing or SOMETHING for the .2 seconds she lasted. Thank god she was too frail to stay in there for any longer. She looked like she was a few sweat drops away from dying herself. Should have asked her for some advice now that I think of it...
Anyway, here I am. Bought some liquid Hello Pussy sugary shit drink from the Japanese convenience store (why is it pink *and* slightly bitter???) that disappointed me. Also got some other shit I shouldn't have, but I won't go into details so no one's triggered. I'm not proud of eating, but I don't want to make a fucking scene this weekend by hitting concrete 'cos my body decided to peace out on me. I'm sure no one would try and break my fall but everyone would have their cameras out and I'd be on YouTube before my head even touched the ground. At least let me be underweight by then so I look lovely while I'm out! Right? Right?? The camera adds 15, not 10 lbs, for my unlucky self.
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