Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Aliens!


I'm pretty sure something is trying to dig its way out of my stomach. For the past hour, there's been some weird goings-on down there in the belly region. I suppose it could be muscle spasms, but then these are some pretty spastic muscles.

As long as it's something like an alien (which would make me super cool), or a tapeworm (which would make me super thin), and NOT a child, I'm ok with it.

This is why I'm so unhinged.


I know few things are as tedious as listening to someone else recount one of their dreams, but humor me...

So last night, I dreamt I was back in film school, and we had to get into pairs and film an autopsy. My partner decided he would be camera main, so basically I had to give myself an autopsy. I had to cut myself in certain places to drain the blood out, and then had to pretty much disembowel myself with a big knife. All in graphic detail. And then I was attached to the autopsy table via a metal spike through my left side, but I forgot something on the other side of the room and had to get up to go get it. OW.

I have a feeling this dream was a result of Stan Brakhage's film, The Act of Seeing With One's Own Eyes, being embedded forever in my subconscious. (WATCH AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! DO NOT CLICK IT IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH!) In this documentary without sound, Stan films several autopsies, up close and personal, with absolutely no details left to the imagination. Several members of my junior film class ran out to vomit. Those of us who made it to the end of the film were all curled up into a fetal position in our chairs.

I have graphically violent dreams quite often, usually dreams in which I am the victim of said horrorshow ultraviolence, but the autopsy theme is new.

So far today, I ate: cereal (75), coffee (5). Must try and make it to dinner with nothing else, as we are going out to eat YET AGAIN. At least tonight we're going somewhere safe, where there isn't much to tempt me.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Goddess-Sized. What about Pixie-Sized?


I really love some of the clothes they have in The Pyramid Collection. I don't know how I started getting the catalog, but one came in the mail today and I drooled over all the cutesy dresses. Like this one:

All gorgeous dresses aside, I have a problem with this shop because I cannot actually purchase any of the dresses I like. Their "XS" is a size 2-4. They don't go any smaller. (And seriously, by what stretch of the imagination is 6-8 a small? I'm not saying that's fat, but it's definitely a medium.) The Pyramid Collection does, however, advertise proudly on the front cover that they carry "Godddess-Sized" clothing, in case you're too big for the XL.

Now I apologize if this seems mean, but why the heck is it socially acceptable for this shop to carry Goddess sizes, and for shops like Torrid and Layne Bryant to exist when it's socially unacceptable for me to be the way I am, and for girls like me to be 20 or 30 pounds skinner than I am? It's not exactly any healthier to be so overweight that you need a special shop for clothes, but yet they have special shops for plus sizes. What about the rest of us who are swimming in XXS? Those of us who get too thin for 00? Why can't we have a bloody shop with pixie sized clothing in XXXXXXS and 00000?!?!?

Grrr.

Today I ate: cereal (75), coffee (5), fiber bars (220), lean cuisine (200), one more fiber bar (pig, 130) for a total of 630. Exercise burned 320.


Monday, June 28, 2010

May all your days be bright...


The day has at least ended much better than it began. I just unearthed my old My Little Pony VHS tapes, and plan to watch them in sleeping-pill stupor before I go to sleep. Bear witness to my affliction!!!

Today, I ate: cereal (75), coffee (5), 1/2 fiber bar (70), and a lean cuisine (250) for a total of 400. Perc-ercise burned 700 cals, so I'm in negatives for the 1st time in a while. Not going to make a habit out of the pain killers again, though. Aside from the fact that I build muscle weight with the over-exercising, I also retain water. No thanks.

Nightly Giant Mutant Cricket Count of the basement: 3 crickets. No sign of Big Momma tonight. I shall post a photo of her next time I see her, so y'all can be certain that I'm actually not kidding.

Goodnight, my lovelies!

Gouge away....


Five years of recovery down the effing toilet.

I suppose it's been building. Everyone has a breaking point. I don't know what it was about this morning, but after a brief verbal tussle with Mum at breakfast, I went upstairs and sliced up both hips. With a blunt Moroccan dagger.
One of these:

The argument went something like this:

Mum: (digging through the cupboards) "You didn't get any fiber bars?"

[I went grocery shopping Saturday. Immediately after arriving home, I told Mum that they didn't have any of the fiber bars we like.]

Me: (just woke up literally 4 minutes ago) "......No. I told you, they didn't have any."

Mum: (turns red) "IT WAS ONLY A FUCKING QUESTION YOU DON'T HAVE TO ATTACK ME!!!!! JESUS CHRIST!!"

Me: " ."

I guess it was a combination of things. I binged pretty bad yesterday (stupid fat pig f*cking elephant disgusting obese aaaarrrgghhhh), haven't been sleeping well even with the sleeping pills, and am just more irritable and agitated in general. So this morning, something in me broke. I had to do it, and I admit I felt much better afterwards. It was not, however, entirely satisfactory because (1) The good knives were downstairs, where Mum and the stepfather were hanging around the kitchen silently hating each other; (2) The knife sharpener was also downstairs, in the kitchen; (3) I am out of lemon juice, iodine, rubbing alcohol, and rock salt; and (4) I've misplaced the clean razor blades.

Honestly, I'd like to skip all the foreplay and go straight to my favorite form of self torture - cutting up the bottoms of my feet and binding it with lemon juice and rock salt so I can feel the pain and the burn with every single step I take. This gets problematic in the summer, as people tend to notice if you're wearing heavier shoes all the time, or walking around with sandals and your feet wrapped in bloody, lemon-fresh gauze.

All is not lost. My lovely friend Raul gave me some percocets on Saturday, so I intend to cut up my feet when I get home, wrap them with the lemon-and-rock-salt combo, and run on the treadmill for at least 1 hour.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Bloated Sac of Protoplasm.


Ok, so I didn't binge, but I totally feel like I ate way too much today. I started out awesome - the 90 cal cereal-and-coffee breakfast. I burned off 500 cals in my workout, went to Express and bought 2 pairs of size 00 shorts, and almost blacked in Stop & Shop while grocery shopping.

And then I went out to dinner (again!! why can't my fam just eat at home like normal people?!?) with mum and my aunt. I ate some swordfish (150), like 1/4 of my spinach and scallops salad as it was a bit gross (100), and 2 bbq chicken wings (300? Idk what the heck I was thinking - I was pissed that my salad was nasty), and then a fiber bar when I got home (110), so it's like 750 for the day. But I still feel like a bloated, fat giant pig. Like my rib cage is disappearing under a filthy layer of whale blubber.

And not a small, cute whale like a Dwarf Sperm Whale. More like a Blue Whale.

In other news, giant mutant crickets have taken up residence in my basement. Again. The 1st official Cricket Count of 2010: 7 crickets, and 1 Big Momma Mammoth cricket. Seriously, that bitch was like 3 inches across.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Why am I such a spastic?


I really need to learn to just keep my big mouth shut, but sometimes things just pop out before I can stop it.

Like this morning for example, my step-father offers me some breakfast from the deli: a plain bagel with butter (at least 400) with 2 fried eggs on top (at least 200, fried in butter or oil) and like 6 slices of bacon on top of the eggs (300+). That's a total of AT LEAST 900 cals for breakfast.

My reply: HA!!!

So far today, I ate: cereal (80), coffee (10); and exercise this morn burned about 500 cals.

This is why I don't do drugs.

Last night I went out to dinner and didn't really eat any of it (less than half veggie burger, no bread, side salad with low fat dressing - 200ish) I also had 4 beers and a shot of whiskey later on in the evening, which put me at a whopping 1,050 calories for the day. :*(

Around midnight, a friend offered me some smokie treats. Normally I would say absolutely not, because those things give me the munchies when they don't make me suicidally paranoid, and it's usually best to just avoid it. But stupid me, drunk, said "ok!"

I don't know how to properly explain the terror that I felt. I was just sitting there, outside the back of the pub where everyone goes for ciggies, and was overwhelmed. Like "OH MY GOD, I am the biggest pig alive. FOUR beers??? What was I thinking?!?And there's so many people here! They all think I'm a fat pig!!!!! ::scans crowd:: Am I fatter than she is? What about that girl over there? I bet she didn't have 1,050 calories today.
::check face fat under chin::
::check ribs::


No, no I don't think I'm fatter than they are. But holy hand grenades, I've got to do something. Must get home. Everyone's watching me. They know I'm nuts. They'll lock me up if I stay here too long. They'll make nice and act like friends and wait until my back is turned and I'll be locked up in Bergen Regional faster than I can blink.

But then if I go home, I'll have to get past... Mum.

...I don't remember too much after that point, but I did get safely home to bed and managed to take off my make-up and put my jammies on, so I mustn't have been too obliterated. But good God, I have such an epic fear of my mother when I get paranoid like that, it's amazing I haven't had a heart attack yet.


New resolution, as of now! No more substances. At all. None.

Friday, June 25, 2010

I'm not sure if this is torture or not...


Most of the time when I eat while at work, I'll start at around 12.30 or 1, taking minuscule bites of my fiber bar(s) every fifteen minutes. This makes sense, because it means I get to eat every fifteen minutes without really consuming too many calories. But then it also makes me stare maniacally at the clock, waiting for the next 15 minutes to be up so I can have another little bite.

I don't know which would be worse torture - taking teeny tiny bites and still being hungry for more but having to wait fifteen minutes for the next bite; or just all-out starving until like 4.45 and then eating a whole bar at once. Either way, I will still feel hungry afterwards. So what would I enjoy more? Getting to revel in the ecstasy of the whole fiber bar for the 20 seconds it takes me to eat it all at once, or enjoying many many bites of it over the course of the day? I just don't know.

The Boss managed to eat 3 of the bags of Oreos that the home inspection sales rep guy brought in yesterday. Sometimes I wish I could be a man. The Boss seriously comes in some days with all sort of goodies--like giant stacks of brownies, bags of cookies, buckets of fried chicken, etc.--and he'll eat ALL OF IT in one sitting. Yet he's an effing TWIG. I would sell my soul to Satan for that kind of metabolism.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Is this justifiable anger, or am I just a tool?


I work for an attorney, and we handle quite a few real estate cases. With real estate comes home inspections, and we usually use the same home inspection company (Accurate Inspections) because my boss is kind of friendly with the owner. I have no problem with them in general - the people there have only ever been polite and helpful when I call for inspection reports or with questions. However, the sales rep pisses me off.

I do not know his name, but he stops by like once a month to drop off all manner of junk that we really don't need, like giant stacks of business cards, huge boxes of little notebooks (I could seriously build a small house out of the notepads we have accumulated from this guy), pens, post-its, and pamphlets that go straight in the bin.

And he likes to bring in at least 3 big bags of Oreos with each visit.

What the f*ck.

My boss will not eat all of those Oreos. The other lawyer in our office will not eat them, and his secretary has kind of a stick up her butt when it comes to anyone who's friendly with my boss, so she won't touch the Oreos. I hate wasting food, so I hate to see all these bags of (magically delicious) cookies go in the garbage. I asked the guy politely last time he came in, could he please not bring all those Oreos? No one really eats them, and we hate to be wasteful.

So today he brings in 4 bags of Oreos. I feel like saying, "Listen buddy, I have a f*cking EATING DISORDER. I could really do without all those cookies sitting around the office while I'm trying to starve myself, so could you seriously KNOCK IT OFF?!?"

But then I feel like that would be mean and ridiculous. So I'll just try and be polite. Again.

Really?


I actually didn't have a food dream last night, which has been the norm lately. Instead I had a graphic sex dream with Triple H:

Major yummies!!!! :D

.............................................
For a while I thought Mum was just turning a blind eye to my eating habits, but after this morning, I'm not so sure. I have to be super-stealth on Thursdays for breakfast, as it's Mum's day off work and she likes hovering around the kitchen while I'm trying to eat my cereal and make my tea, and she likes talking at me a hundred words per minute when I'm not properly awake yet and then she gets pissed off that I cannot provide anything more than the odd grunt or "yes." She makes me think of those muppets on Sesame Street that couldn't talk, just "yipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyipyip...."
These things:

Anywho, Mum was never bothered by the fact that I keep a measuring cup in the box of Corn Flakes so I can have exactly 1 serving for breakfast (140 cals). I do, however, think she would have an issue with what I've been doing for the last month or so - shaving quite a bit off the top of the 1 cup of cereal and then adding just a tiny splash of skim milk and a lot of water (makes it about 90 cals, or less depending on my mood). Herein lies the reason I must be stealth on Thursdays.

So later on, when I was making my coffee, she caught me pouring exactly 1/2 tbsp (5) of fat free half & half into the coffee and goes, "OCD much?"

I was like, "..... huh?"

And then I realized: maybe she isn't turning a blind eye to my ED; maybe she really thinks my OCD has just gotten that much worse.

Of course, she could just be in denial, but Mum's not prone to denial. She has more a blunt-force-trauma-to-the-head attitude on life and any issues she might face on a day to day basis. Denial takes some hard work and imagination, and she is not comfortable with either.

Mum has never said anything about me cutting up my dinner into tiny pieces all exactly the same size, or my measuring of pretty much everything. I guess those behaviors could look like OCD, especially when coming from someone who already has mild OCD. I shall have to pursue this notion further and gauge her reactions.

So far today, I ate: cereal (80); coffee (5). Have to go out to dinner tonight, as it's the little sis's last night in the US before her trip to Costa Rica (bitch), so I must conserve.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Dinner? No thanks.


Assembly of the new elliptical/exercise bike is taking a bit longer than anticipated. Christopher encountered a problem with one of the bolts. He explained it to me using terms I didn't understand. I suggested the hammer.

So no exercise = no dinner. And of course tonight I've got the regular fam (mum, sis, step-father), plus 1 auntie staying for summer, one of mum's friends, her son (he's putting the elliptical together), the step-brother (evil), and his son. How the heck am I supposed to skip dinner when they insisted on making barbecued chicken and steaks, served with broccoli, spuds, and all manner of fattening cold salads, to be eaten together as a big happy family? I'll tell you.

Mum starts talking about dinner. Step-dad starts cooking steaks outside, where we're all sitting on the deck.

Mum: "You want a steak or chicken?"

Me: (frown slightly, rub stomach) "I'll pick at the salads maybe. Can you get me an alka-seltzer?"

Mum: "You don't feel well?"

Me: "It was meatball day at work. They are soooo good. Greasy, though. You know how I get with greasy stuff."

Mum: (makes a face) "Meatballs?" (She doesn't like meatballs. Or anything that I say I like)

Me: "They're ridiculous. I think he deep fries them, or something. I got like 5 of them on a sandwich with fried onions."

Mum: "No wonder you feel sick!"

Me: "Yeah, I might just pick at the broccoli and the bread."

Mum: "Probably a good idea. I'll get your alka-seltzer on my way back outside."


I'd like to thank the Academy.

Today, I ate: after everything posted in the previous entry, broccoli (20), 1/2 piece of flatbread (50) with mustard (5). Total of 395.





I get an new elliptical today! ...Again.


Well actually, I got the elliptical-combo-exercise bike about 2 weeks ago, and discovered I am too much of a weakling to lift the box. Even tried taking all the bits out of the box and carrying them down to the basement one piece at a time. Negative. Still can't move the main piece of the elliptical. I managed to get it about three feet across the garage floor so I can move my car in and out of said garage. That's as far as I could go.

But at long last, I have found a man to put it together. He comes over tonight at 6. This poses a small problem, as I will feel a bit awkward on the treadmill while he's putting my elliptical together a few feet away. And it's like 90 degrees outside, which means I am definitely not going walking or hiking. Shall just have to skip dinner.

So far today, I ate: cereal (90); coffee (10); fiber bars (220).

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I don't get clothes sizes.


I went shopping today after work, as I need new work trousers. I love Express editor trousers, so I figured I'd go there and get some shorts as well, and maybe some capris.

This is what I don't get: I am a 0 in the editor pants. I fit into a 00, but as they're for work I like them a bit loose. In the Eva jeans (mid-rise) I also fit in a 00, but I like my jeans a bit loose as well so stick with the 0. In the Stella jeans (low rise), however, I am just a 0. Can barely squeeze the 00's past my knees. Mia jeans (high rise) - 0. In their shorts, which are low rise, the 00's are even a bit loose, but then when I tried on the capris, I had to go all the way up to a 2 (at which point I said f*ck that, and put them back).

One would think that since all these different sorts of trousers are in the same shop and all the same brand, that I would be the same size in everything. Wtf?

Same thing in Charlotte Russe - I needed a THREE in the capris, and yet 0 in the shorts.
Trying everything on was like riding an effing emotional roller coaster. Omg, I'm fat! Omg, I'm thin! What? I think I'm just going to start doing all of my shopping online.

Today I ate: cereal (90); coffee (10); fiber bars (340); flatbread w/ jelly (125), for a total of 465.

On a side note: I found these 100-calorie flat bread things in A&P. These are friggin delicious.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Welcome to Hell. Smoking or non?

Most days I just plod through life like everything's no biggie. Anyone who knows me will tell you it takes A LOT to upset, offend, shock, or bother me. Same goes for my eating habits. I try not to think about it; I just do it: stay between 300 and 800 calories a day. Ignore the hunger. Chug water. Kill my appetite with sudafed. Exercise on too few calories until I feel like passing out. No big deal.

And then there's other days where I think about what I'm doing to myself. I can see my future without much effort of imagination. My aunt has had issues with ana most of her life. At the moment, she's 51 and cannot be more than 90 lbs. And the serious problems are starting, mostly with her renal system.

So I think about that, and about all the other possible consequences of staying on this path - my hair falling out (I have thin hair to begin with, so I already have nightmares about this), aging faster (my aunt happens to be an exception to this; she looks 40 at most), growing fur. And oh yeah, not being able to stop, and eventually dying of heart problems or kidney failure.

But I can't stop. I think about it, and the idea just seems completely absurd. Nonsense. Not count calories?? Eat more than 800 cals a day??? Are you kidding?!?!? I'll get fat!!! I'm already fat!!!!!!! And so my brain jumps back and forth, and I can't concentrate on anything, and I want to stop this, and I can't stop this ever, and then I just feel scared and can't even pinpoint exactly what set me off and made me scared in the first place.

Today I ate: cereal, which I have with mostly water now, and just a splash of skim milk (100); coffee (10); fiber bars (250 - pig); Lean Cuisine (240), for a total of 600. Exercise burned about 400, so I'm at 200 for the day.

Goodnight, my lovelies!! Going to watch Criminal Minds until the Sominex kicks in. Agent Hotchner is hot.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Goal Weight Number 1 Accomplished!!!

After months of staying at the same weight, I have finally gone down from 108 to Goal #1: 105. Yay me! And this is the first weekend in a loooooong time that I have not over-eaten at all. Not once. I managed to stay under 800 calories Friday night, Saturday, and today. I finally feel like I'm actually getting somewhere. :)

Stay strong, ladies!!! xXx

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Ugh


My wonderful loving father informed me today that he's too busy to see my older sister and me on Father's Day. He and Wife #3 and my brothers have plans to go to Wife3's parents. My sis and I are not invited. But if we really want, he'll be home after 2 hours of church at around 11.30, and as they're not leaving for Wife3's parents' house until 12, we are permitted to come and stop by for half an hour.

I live an hour away.

And of course I made the enormous mistake of telling my mother about this. Thus ensued a diatribe against the Father (which is entirely justified), during which she basically called me a giant wuss and a pussy and a pushover for not telling my father what an asshole he has turned into since he was Saved. Then she declared that it's obviously all her fault, she never does anything right anyway, she should just kill herself, etc. (this has been her theme song for 2 decades). When I tried to calmly tell her that NO, it's not all her fault, and NO I do not think it's all her fault, she shouted at me for attacking her. I have no choice but to shut up when she gets like this. If I argue, she'll only get louder and louder to drown me out. So I sit and seethe and wallow in my own silent rage against myself.

::stupid/useless/fat/worthless/ugly/fat/stupid/weak::

I am too aggravated to even feel slightly hungry, so I can at least see the bright side of things.


Some bad poetry:

The Queen is in the Counting House,
counting this, counting that.
The Queen is in the Counting House,
counting every ounce of fat.
She wages war upon herself;
For her there's no repast.
The Queen will count her life away
In coffin made of glass.



The scale has finally moved!!!


After a sort of rough patch of bouncing between 110 and 108, or just staying at 108, I HAVE LOST 2 LBS.!!! Am now 106. :)


Houlihan's has this awesome new "small plates" menu, for those of you who find yourselves stuck going out to eat. (Their full list of nutrition facts is on their website, too.) It says on the menu that the "average" person gets 2-4 small plates and that makes up a full meal. I got 2: the Shrimp Po'Boy (213 for one slider) and the Spring Rolls (207 with no sauce) and managed to eat half of each one. The awesome thing is that it still looks like I ate a decent sized meal, and my dindin was only 211 calories....



Friday, June 18, 2010

Where is fancy bread? In the heart, or in the head?


Is it just me, or has Webs.com just vanished? Pretty Thin is gone, as is the website that I spent HOURS building to show off my photography!!! I feel like a lost little girl!

Scratch that. I feel like a disgruntled young woman. That sounds better.

So far today, I ate: 1 small bowl corn flakes with water - no more milk for me (90), coffee with 1/2 tbsp half & half (5), fiber bar (90).

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I just don't know.


I realized something after my weekend binge fest: I no longer know how to tell if I'm full. On binges, I eat and eat and eat, and never stop unless the food runs out or I get bored. I don't stop when I'm full. Even on the rare occasions I spend a day not technically binging, just eating like a normal person - I still don't know if I'm full or not after a normal-sized dinner.

The purpose of a binge, I presume, is for the body to try and reclaim everything it has lost. In my head, it's a desperate, suicidal attempt to not feel so horrendously hungry. And yet it never works. I could eat my weight in Wendy's; I'll still be hungry afterwards. Because I don't know how not to be hungry. I have condemned myself to a Tantalus-esque punishment.

This sucks.

It has, however, given me a better outlook. If I'm going to be feeling hungry all the time anyway, no matter what I do, then what's the point of binging at all? I'll just starve and be hungry rather than stuff my face and be hungry.

At least, I'm going to try. Again.

*-Still at 108. I suppose that's better than going back up over 110.-*


Sunday, June 13, 2010

You know you've got a problem when your solution for an anxiety attack is to take 5 laxatives.


Sometimes I wonder if maybe I was just meant to be fat. I do awesome for days, sometimes weeks, and then one day I just suddenly find myself eating everything that isn't nailed down. And I can't stop!!! It's like the conscious part of my brain just drops dead and the unconscious kicks in. I go on epic binges - giant bowl of cereal with sugar and 2% milk, caramel Frappes from McDonalds, huge tubs of popcorn covered in butter and salt, a half rack of ribs bathing in barbecue sauce with fried onions and French fries, Cadbury buttons with peanut butter right out of the jar, and top it all off with a box of South Beach fiber bars (s'mores flavored).

And then afterwards, when I am in fat-ass-super-full-tummy stupor, my conscious mind decides to wake up.

How could I NOT take a bunch of Ex-Lax??? I can't make myself puke. I've never been able to do that. I could stick my whole fist down my throat; I still won't vomit. But I must get rid of it. I can't live with that kind of shame coursing through my digestive system, filling me up with lardy fat and turning the blood in my veins to greasy sludge. I don't care how much pain I'll be in come morning.

And then I feel like a weakling. A sissy. An out of control fat ass. A stronger person could just say no. A stronger person would have the will to resist. A stronger person would be thin.

Friday, June 4, 2010

Weird Dream I Had Last Night:


This is the first food/ana dream I’ve had that didn’t involve me stuffing my face and then panicking.

So I’m sitting at this sort of outdoor cafĂ© thing with a friend (friend keeps changing between people I know and people I don’t). Friend is eating and telling me I really should eat, and I refuse. As I’m sitting there, I’m getting thinner and thinner to the point that I’m pretty well emaciated, and I’m absolutely thrilled about it.

I decide to go for a walk, and I run into myself, only it’s me at age 19 (judging from the purple hair and funky hairstyle). Real-Life me is back up to 108 lbs., while 19-Y-O me is cancer-patient-skinny (which is inaccurate, I was like 120 at 19). I get pissed off and Friend is back telling me if I don’t eat, I’m going to die and then I get this stabbing pain in my side, which wakes me up and I’m pretty sure it hurt in real life, but I can’t remember.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Tonight, I will successfully dine out.


I have done it before, which means I can do it again. I managed to keep my calories at 90 so far today. At dinner, I shall have either a spinach salad, or a quarter of a turkey burger (no bun) and a side salad with no dressing. I may also have a glass of wine. Maybe.

But the point is that I will be STRONG. I will not order a hamburger! I will not drink 3 glasses of wine and then a glass of Bailey's! I will RESIST, and I will do my best to hide it from my mother.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Someone shoot me. I can pay you...


I’ve been pretty badly blocked for about a month and a half. This raises my anxiety to a level just barely hovering on the sane side of Serial Killer. (And the stress makes it that much harder to restrict what I eat.) The hardest thing is that I actually don’t know how to think.

I don’t know what normal people think about on a day to day, hour to hour basis. I have never been normal. Normally for me, even when I have mild to moderate writers’ block, I am constantly thinking about plots, sub-plots, characters, settings, dialogues, and everything that makes up a good story. This is why I am an insomniac and can’t sleep at all without pills – I can’t turn this off. Ever. I even do it in my drug-induced sleep: I dream in the third person, like watching a movie, and I keep a notebook and pen beside my pillow just in case I get an awesome idea.

But recently, I just can’t get a firm hold on any of my ideas. They’re floating there in my brain, but it’s like they’re just barely out of reach. I’ll play with a new idea for a few days and then go to write it down and as soon as my pen hits the paper – POOF, idea gone.

This makes me want to repeatedly bash my head into a brick wall. To jump off a cliff just for the adrenaline rush. Run around with a big metal stick during a thunderstorm, so the lightning will strike my brain. Anything but this feeling that I can’t get my thoughts in a nice ordered line, and the feeling of barbed wire wrapping itself tighter and tighter around my chest.