I started Prozac, and I can genuinely say that it has helped so far. Not far enough into it to know for sure how it will be right now, but I’m hopeful.
My focus is improved, I don't want to die every moment, and it's helped with my ED a lot.
My binging was getting out of control. My weight now is steadily dropping. Not drastically - just reasonably. I don’t feel like food has so much control over me. It’s strange and delightful and I hope the feeling lasts.
Saturday, December 14, 2019
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
Idiot
I've been a mess.
I have an appointment the first week of December with a psychiatrist. The number of days that I think, "I want to die" are steadily increasing with no end in sight. I think I need to try some meds.
My eating has been all over the place. I started really restricting again, and it's hit or miss. I stopped weighing myself, and I find that it's actually easier to restrict when I don't weigh in... When I weigh in and it's not enough or fast enough, I tend to get the eff-its like, "I'm not losing, so why bother?" OR I weigh myself and I'm doing well, and I will have a thought that I can afford a meal or two when the reality is, I can't. One leads to a binge and then God knows how far It goes...
I need to determine how often I can weigh in and get a better schedule with it... I weighed in over the weekend and was mildly satisfied and kept restricting pretty well all week, but then when I weighed in again yesterday with no change (because of how and when I did it, though...) I got super triggered.
Today at work, there was a baking contest. The hallways reeked of powdered sugar all day. I resisted. I ate my protein bar and hid in my office with my essential oil diffuser going. I had plans to eat something specific when I got home, but when I arrived, the husband had eaten it. I faltered. I just kept picking at things until I had to go throw up.
I didn't initially intend to purge, but the urge was overwhelming. One little passing thought is all it takes and I'm running to the toilet. I purged last night at well, but I honestly don't know why. My intake was pretty low overall, but purging that meal meant almost no food digested.
I'm annoyed I ate and purged... Purging felt good, but the fact that I ate so much when I still have so far to go makes me mad at myself. I had such a good day yesterday, and I should have kept it going rather than attempting to let myself eat. It's like once I start, I can't stop. I need to be more strategic and structured. I need to be stricter.
My daily routine of coffee, protein bar, and apple and/or celery has been going well throughout the day. And honestly, food lately has felt a little blah. Nothing really tastes good when I do eat, so I don't know why I did tonight... I think I'm just overwhelmed with my fucking life and lonely.
But food cannot be my friend. Mia can't either; not really. Ana needs to be my friend. Her and only her.
I spent time tonight looking into the past of my blog...
I used to have boys... So many boys. I had boys for months and years and didn't know what to do with them EVER. Every year a different one. I had Jay, Bogart, Adam, Bird, Gerard, Chevy... I had relationships and flings and things without titles that went on far too long... I had messes.
Why?? What was I getting out of it?
It was exciting, yes, but made my self-esteem so fragile. It was drama, and I don't think drama looks good on me. Drama makes me needy and clingy.
Sometimes I miss it though. Sometimes I think of what my life would be like if I had stayed with a fuck-boy... Would any of it have ever worked? Or what if there was some other person who actually was balanced. Does that exist? Sometimes I want to call them all. I want to check in. I fantasize about bumping into them and how it would go. I wonder if we would reconnect like old times, or if that flame would be extinguished. I can honestly say that I loved all of them in their own ways... I miss them all individually. I want them all to be happy.
And it's so strange, but when I think of the ex husband, I don't feel the same. I feel nothing. No longing, no missing, no regret... I don't think I ever loved him, which scares me a little. I spent 4 years with a person that I didn't love, and I never think back to that time with longing, but the others I had shorter periods with and genuinely miss...
I feel like I ended up with the right man in life. I love my husband. I love the life we are building I don't regret being with him and making things work and adjusting my life to keep him, but I wish I could have some of the old parts back...
I miss drinking. I miss using drugs every once in a while. For the past 2.5 years my life has been so completely different. No significant drinking, no blow, nothing exciting... It's all just bills and babies and work. Being a wife and a mom. And not even a fabulous thin one...
I need to find balance. I need excitement. My husband is working hard in school and in life, and I am so proud. Our relationship is genuinely good, but I'm SO BORED. He's never home. And when he is, we have baby... I am too young to feel this old.
What can I do with myself?? How do I stay old Jay and new Jay at the same time? How do I stay healthier (ish?) and still have fun? I'm crying over this.
I'm unhappy with my life. I don't want to keep going on like this, but I can't go back to the old ways. I don't even want to.
Except for Ana. I want to reconnect with her. I want to rekindle that passion for her.
I always have an easier time restricting in cold months. I don't know why... I think it could be because I was at my lowest weight and most restrictive when I lived up north. It's just easy. Lately it has felt easier, but still not exciting. Nothing is exciting...
I have rules and budgets and no time and too much responsibility... I need to just survive my husband going to school and stick to my routine and learn how to occupy my free time.
And I need to get thin.
I used to think being on maternity leave made me fat, but I think it's honestly due to feeling lonely. I feel extremely lonely these days, and there's nothing I can do about it. My husband is there for me all he can be, I have to be careful at work with my coworkers and in everything I do, and I don't have a lot of friends. And no fuck-boys.
Maybe I'll seek online friends... I need something, and I can't leave my house.
I have an appointment the first week of December with a psychiatrist. The number of days that I think, "I want to die" are steadily increasing with no end in sight. I think I need to try some meds.
My eating has been all over the place. I started really restricting again, and it's hit or miss. I stopped weighing myself, and I find that it's actually easier to restrict when I don't weigh in... When I weigh in and it's not enough or fast enough, I tend to get the eff-its like, "I'm not losing, so why bother?" OR I weigh myself and I'm doing well, and I will have a thought that I can afford a meal or two when the reality is, I can't. One leads to a binge and then God knows how far It goes...
I need to determine how often I can weigh in and get a better schedule with it... I weighed in over the weekend and was mildly satisfied and kept restricting pretty well all week, but then when I weighed in again yesterday with no change (because of how and when I did it, though...) I got super triggered.
Today at work, there was a baking contest. The hallways reeked of powdered sugar all day. I resisted. I ate my protein bar and hid in my office with my essential oil diffuser going. I had plans to eat something specific when I got home, but when I arrived, the husband had eaten it. I faltered. I just kept picking at things until I had to go throw up.
I didn't initially intend to purge, but the urge was overwhelming. One little passing thought is all it takes and I'm running to the toilet. I purged last night at well, but I honestly don't know why. My intake was pretty low overall, but purging that meal meant almost no food digested.
I'm annoyed I ate and purged... Purging felt good, but the fact that I ate so much when I still have so far to go makes me mad at myself. I had such a good day yesterday, and I should have kept it going rather than attempting to let myself eat. It's like once I start, I can't stop. I need to be more strategic and structured. I need to be stricter.
My daily routine of coffee, protein bar, and apple and/or celery has been going well throughout the day. And honestly, food lately has felt a little blah. Nothing really tastes good when I do eat, so I don't know why I did tonight... I think I'm just overwhelmed with my fucking life and lonely.
But food cannot be my friend. Mia can't either; not really. Ana needs to be my friend. Her and only her.
I spent time tonight looking into the past of my blog...
I used to have boys... So many boys. I had boys for months and years and didn't know what to do with them EVER. Every year a different one. I had Jay, Bogart, Adam, Bird, Gerard, Chevy... I had relationships and flings and things without titles that went on far too long... I had messes.
Why?? What was I getting out of it?
It was exciting, yes, but made my self-esteem so fragile. It was drama, and I don't think drama looks good on me. Drama makes me needy and clingy.
Sometimes I miss it though. Sometimes I think of what my life would be like if I had stayed with a fuck-boy... Would any of it have ever worked? Or what if there was some other person who actually was balanced. Does that exist? Sometimes I want to call them all. I want to check in. I fantasize about bumping into them and how it would go. I wonder if we would reconnect like old times, or if that flame would be extinguished. I can honestly say that I loved all of them in their own ways... I miss them all individually. I want them all to be happy.
And it's so strange, but when I think of the ex husband, I don't feel the same. I feel nothing. No longing, no missing, no regret... I don't think I ever loved him, which scares me a little. I spent 4 years with a person that I didn't love, and I never think back to that time with longing, but the others I had shorter periods with and genuinely miss...
I feel like I ended up with the right man in life. I love my husband. I love the life we are building I don't regret being with him and making things work and adjusting my life to keep him, but I wish I could have some of the old parts back...
I miss drinking. I miss using drugs every once in a while. For the past 2.5 years my life has been so completely different. No significant drinking, no blow, nothing exciting... It's all just bills and babies and work. Being a wife and a mom. And not even a fabulous thin one...
I need to find balance. I need excitement. My husband is working hard in school and in life, and I am so proud. Our relationship is genuinely good, but I'm SO BORED. He's never home. And when he is, we have baby... I am too young to feel this old.
What can I do with myself?? How do I stay old Jay and new Jay at the same time? How do I stay healthier (ish?) and still have fun? I'm crying over this.
I'm unhappy with my life. I don't want to keep going on like this, but I can't go back to the old ways. I don't even want to.
Except for Ana. I want to reconnect with her. I want to rekindle that passion for her.
I always have an easier time restricting in cold months. I don't know why... I think it could be because I was at my lowest weight and most restrictive when I lived up north. It's just easy. Lately it has felt easier, but still not exciting. Nothing is exciting...
I have rules and budgets and no time and too much responsibility... I need to just survive my husband going to school and stick to my routine and learn how to occupy my free time.
And I need to get thin.
I used to think being on maternity leave made me fat, but I think it's honestly due to feeling lonely. I feel extremely lonely these days, and there's nothing I can do about it. My husband is there for me all he can be, I have to be careful at work with my coworkers and in everything I do, and I don't have a lot of friends. And no fuck-boys.
Maybe I'll seek online friends... I need something, and I can't leave my house.
Saturday, October 19, 2019
What’s working
I’ve lost 8lbs in the past two weeks. It’s so nice. I’m starting to feel slightly better even though I’m really fat still.
My routine is to take a multivitamin in the morning and drink coffee. Then throughout the work day I have a protein bar split in half a few hours apart and an apple. And then a dinner of lean meat and veg prepared with just herbs/seasonings and spray 0cal butter instead of any oils or whatever. Sometimes I allow a small snack in the evening. My calories are 500-700 on a given day. It’s been working well. The days I don’t stick to this, I don’t do well. The multivitamin helps with hunger I feel like and the protein bar as well. For 200 cals it has low sugar and a lot of protein.
There have been a few days this week where my intake was not good, but my body was kind to me. I think not eating for most of the day is a good thing. Then even if I eat a bit in the evening, I have the calories to spare.
I just have to make sure my weekends don’t murder me.
The feeling of hunger is starting not to bother me. I always wondered how long it took to get to this point and now I know it’s about two weeks. Yesterday I ate about 350 calories all day and though I was hungry, I felt ok. I even went to bed with hunger pangs but it wasn’t like “omfg I need to eat.” Even as I write this, I feel hungry but not desperate for food. That’s what I need to start being really restrictive.
The kids want sushi bowls for dinner. Still mentally planning mine.
Thoughts:
Rice 1/2 cup - 100 cals
Lettuce, carrots, cucumber, green onion, sesame seeds, seaweed salad - 50 cals
Edamame - 1/4 cup - 50 cals
Tuna and crab stick - 200 cals
Eel sauce - 60 cals
I just want to be successful this weekend and head into Monday weighing less than this moment. I can do ittttt.
My routine is to take a multivitamin in the morning and drink coffee. Then throughout the work day I have a protein bar split in half a few hours apart and an apple. And then a dinner of lean meat and veg prepared with just herbs/seasonings and spray 0cal butter instead of any oils or whatever. Sometimes I allow a small snack in the evening. My calories are 500-700 on a given day. It’s been working well. The days I don’t stick to this, I don’t do well. The multivitamin helps with hunger I feel like and the protein bar as well. For 200 cals it has low sugar and a lot of protein.
There have been a few days this week where my intake was not good, but my body was kind to me. I think not eating for most of the day is a good thing. Then even if I eat a bit in the evening, I have the calories to spare.
I just have to make sure my weekends don’t murder me.
The feeling of hunger is starting not to bother me. I always wondered how long it took to get to this point and now I know it’s about two weeks. Yesterday I ate about 350 calories all day and though I was hungry, I felt ok. I even went to bed with hunger pangs but it wasn’t like “omfg I need to eat.” Even as I write this, I feel hungry but not desperate for food. That’s what I need to start being really restrictive.
The kids want sushi bowls for dinner. Still mentally planning mine.
Thoughts:
Rice 1/2 cup - 100 cals
Lettuce, carrots, cucumber, green onion, sesame seeds, seaweed salad - 50 cals
Edamame - 1/4 cup - 50 cals
Tuna and crab stick - 200 cals
Eel sauce - 60 cals
I just want to be successful this weekend and head into Monday weighing less than this moment. I can do ittttt.
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Weekend and ambivalence
Two days of restricting. Successfully. My weight has already dropped a bit and I’ve only had about 500 cals per day.
My body gets so weird when I do this. I feel manic. My mind feels sharper. My body feels good. I have a crazy amount of obsessive energy. I don’t get as weighed down or care as much. I feel euphoric. I do more at work with better focus. I don’t know if the starving births the mania or the mania births the starving.
I hope this feeling sticks a while. Instinctually I feel like I’ll be able to ride it through the week.
Weekends are always the hardest for me. This week I have plenty to distract myself with and plenty of mania to carry out plans. But weekends are always when I struggle to restrict. Only this weekend will be different. The kids and hubby will all be out of town and only myself and baby to take care of.
I fully intend to drink. I intend to slowly sip wine throughout the day Saturday and consume no actual food. I plan to do it carefully so that the hunger pangs are dull and my mind is a little fuzzy and my body a little warm but I can still function like a good mommy. Right under the legal limit methodically timed and planned.
Isn’t mental illness a sad thing?
Just a month ago I was in the pages of this blog discussing my need to let Ana and Mia go. But I don’t really want that. Even as I wrote it, I wasn’t sure if those thoughts were true or just an idealized pipe dream. I projected them out to the universe to see if they would stick and they didn’t. They can’t because the reality is I don’t feel that way.
I want them here. That’s why they have never left. I want them to whisper sweet nothings into my ears while I ignore my ambivalence. I want them to talk me into being thin again the only way I know how. I want to listen again. I’m tired of ignoring their voices.
And I can say “only until...” all I want, but the truth is it doesn’t ever play out that way. First it will be “only for a couple weeks” and then “only for a couple months” and then “only until my first goal weight” and then two years will have passed. I will develop rules to keep it in check, but they will not give me the results I want fast enough, so I will abandon them. I will give into the addiction again. For who knows how long or to what extent.
I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of being in this body fat in this town again. I am always my heaviest when I live here. Surrounded by people who are in no way fat.
I don’t think eating disorders ever really go away. I feel so broken about it. Something is off. and I don’t know how to think or feel or act to be healthy. I don’t think I ever really will.
So I get the effits, as my therapist says. If you can’t beat them, join them.
My body gets so weird when I do this. I feel manic. My mind feels sharper. My body feels good. I have a crazy amount of obsessive energy. I don’t get as weighed down or care as much. I feel euphoric. I do more at work with better focus. I don’t know if the starving births the mania or the mania births the starving.
I hope this feeling sticks a while. Instinctually I feel like I’ll be able to ride it through the week.
Weekends are always the hardest for me. This week I have plenty to distract myself with and plenty of mania to carry out plans. But weekends are always when I struggle to restrict. Only this weekend will be different. The kids and hubby will all be out of town and only myself and baby to take care of.
I fully intend to drink. I intend to slowly sip wine throughout the day Saturday and consume no actual food. I plan to do it carefully so that the hunger pangs are dull and my mind is a little fuzzy and my body a little warm but I can still function like a good mommy. Right under the legal limit methodically timed and planned.
Isn’t mental illness a sad thing?
Just a month ago I was in the pages of this blog discussing my need to let Ana and Mia go. But I don’t really want that. Even as I wrote it, I wasn’t sure if those thoughts were true or just an idealized pipe dream. I projected them out to the universe to see if they would stick and they didn’t. They can’t because the reality is I don’t feel that way.
I want them here. That’s why they have never left. I want them to whisper sweet nothings into my ears while I ignore my ambivalence. I want them to talk me into being thin again the only way I know how. I want to listen again. I’m tired of ignoring their voices.
And I can say “only until...” all I want, but the truth is it doesn’t ever play out that way. First it will be “only for a couple weeks” and then “only for a couple months” and then “only until my first goal weight” and then two years will have passed. I will develop rules to keep it in check, but they will not give me the results I want fast enough, so I will abandon them. I will give into the addiction again. For who knows how long or to what extent.
I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of being in this body fat in this town again. I am always my heaviest when I live here. Surrounded by people who are in no way fat.
I don’t think eating disorders ever really go away. I feel so broken about it. Something is off. and I don’t know how to think or feel or act to be healthy. I don’t think I ever really will.
So I get the effits, as my therapist says. If you can’t beat them, join them.
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Fatty
I’m fat.
And I just keep getting fatter. The number over the last year has just ballooned when it needed to drop.
I have to come to terms with my body. The baby damage. The aging. It all makes me hate my body and show disregard for it. I don’t even wear makeup anymore. I’m fat. I don’t have cute clothes. I don’t take care of myself. And I desperately need to.
I want to look like all those thin little girls. I want to feel good about myself. I want to be hot.
I need to lose weight. And I keep trying not to be obsessive about it, but I know no other way. When I say “eff it,” I say it too often and loudly. I balloon. When I say I’ll allow myself to care, I take it too far.
I can’t find balance with this. And if I have to pick an end of the spectrum, I know which one I want.
This is the fattest I have ever been. I can’t live in this body anymore.
And I just keep getting fatter. The number over the last year has just ballooned when it needed to drop.
I have to come to terms with my body. The baby damage. The aging. It all makes me hate my body and show disregard for it. I don’t even wear makeup anymore. I’m fat. I don’t have cute clothes. I don’t take care of myself. And I desperately need to.
I want to look like all those thin little girls. I want to feel good about myself. I want to be hot.
I need to lose weight. And I keep trying not to be obsessive about it, but I know no other way. When I say “eff it,” I say it too often and loudly. I balloon. When I say I’ll allow myself to care, I take it too far.
I can’t find balance with this. And if I have to pick an end of the spectrum, I know which one I want.
This is the fattest I have ever been. I can’t live in this body anymore.
Monday, September 16, 2019
Drowning
Being touched is so unappealing, I feel nauseated after sex. I literally gag. I want to cry. It’s not my husband. It’s just me and my crippling mental health issues.
I’m in the middle of a crowd, and I want to scream. Not that I just want to scream... I actually contemplate screaming. At the top of my lungs, just one long scream. I wonder how others around would react. I wonder what’s making me feel this way. I wonder why that instinct to do so appeared in the fiat place.
I’m pretty sure I’m mean. I know I am. I have no patience. My fuse is about a centimeter long, and I have to save it for work. For the baby. The older kids and my husband and the dog just get explosive me. I don’t remember how to love properly anymore. I can’t identity this personality change or what to do about it. Even my pills don’t help enough.
I was not ready to be a mom. Can you ever be, I wonder? I miss sleeping. I miss my body. I miss my freedom. The question of if it’s worth it isn’t even something I feel the need to pay mind to. I know I’m a pretty decent mom. But I wish I had about 10% more freedom and 10% less responsibility.
Everything in my life is draining.
I can’t wait for my husband to go out of town so I can down a bottle of wine.
I wish I could fix me.
I’m in the middle of a crowd, and I want to scream. Not that I just want to scream... I actually contemplate screaming. At the top of my lungs, just one long scream. I wonder how others around would react. I wonder what’s making me feel this way. I wonder why that instinct to do so appeared in the fiat place.
I’m pretty sure I’m mean. I know I am. I have no patience. My fuse is about a centimeter long, and I have to save it for work. For the baby. The older kids and my husband and the dog just get explosive me. I don’t remember how to love properly anymore. I can’t identity this personality change or what to do about it. Even my pills don’t help enough.
I was not ready to be a mom. Can you ever be, I wonder? I miss sleeping. I miss my body. I miss my freedom. The question of if it’s worth it isn’t even something I feel the need to pay mind to. I know I’m a pretty decent mom. But I wish I had about 10% more freedom and 10% less responsibility.
Everything in my life is draining.
I can’t wait for my husband to go out of town so I can down a bottle of wine.
I wish I could fix me.
Wednesday, September 11, 2019
Another depressive ED cycle
My thoughts on why I came here today and what I wanted to say are scattered. There’s no real message. I’m just here. Still struggling with aspects of mental and physical health. Still determined to make progress.
I always tell them you have your whole life to figure it out.
Monday and Tuesday were throw away days this week. I called out of work. After the party this weekend, I couldn’t manage. I could barely walk. My depression was crippling, and I was tired of fighting it. It had been another two months since I called out. I have to make sure I go at least 3 next time.
I’ve been pushing myself too hard and taking on too much. I’ve been allowing myself to be over-scheduled and setting my own standards too high. When I stop and look around, I can clearly see that no one is even impressed. I’m just raising the bar for myself in excess for no real reason and no one is even noticing.
Perfectionist tendencies will be the death of me.
I have started trying to follow my own advice. To give myself what I need. To allow my process to be slow and a priority. I have to make myself a priority again. That is the missing piece for me.
I’ve been eating well for two days now with good plans ahead. I have got to lose weight. No amount of self esteem and acceptance will make me feel ok in this current body. I’m miserable and unhealthy, and the only way to fix that is to get it under control.
But slowly. One small goal at a time. I need to practice what I preach. I’ll be along for the journey we are supposed to start next week. I hope I’m equipped. I know what to do, but I’ve never done it the right way before. Not really. Not for good.
I can no longer distinguish if my hunger is emotional or physical.
I just don’t want to feel that way anymore. I want sobriety from all the things Ana and Mia promise. I want abstinence. I want to stop being addicted to my eating disorder. I thought I had overcome it. I thought I was sober. But I have had relapse after relapse and been on many benders. This more recent one is probably the worst I’ve been.
That thought depresses me.
It really is time to get my shit together.
I always tell them you have your whole life to figure it out.
Monday and Tuesday were throw away days this week. I called out of work. After the party this weekend, I couldn’t manage. I could barely walk. My depression was crippling, and I was tired of fighting it. It had been another two months since I called out. I have to make sure I go at least 3 next time.
I’ve been pushing myself too hard and taking on too much. I’ve been allowing myself to be over-scheduled and setting my own standards too high. When I stop and look around, I can clearly see that no one is even impressed. I’m just raising the bar for myself in excess for no real reason and no one is even noticing.
Perfectionist tendencies will be the death of me.
I have started trying to follow my own advice. To give myself what I need. To allow my process to be slow and a priority. I have to make myself a priority again. That is the missing piece for me.
I’ve been eating well for two days now with good plans ahead. I have got to lose weight. No amount of self esteem and acceptance will make me feel ok in this current body. I’m miserable and unhealthy, and the only way to fix that is to get it under control.
But slowly. One small goal at a time. I need to practice what I preach. I’ll be along for the journey we are supposed to start next week. I hope I’m equipped. I know what to do, but I’ve never done it the right way before. Not really. Not for good.
I can no longer distinguish if my hunger is emotional or physical.
I just don’t want to feel that way anymore. I want sobriety from all the things Ana and Mia promise. I want abstinence. I want to stop being addicted to my eating disorder. I thought I had overcome it. I thought I was sober. But I have had relapse after relapse and been on many benders. This more recent one is probably the worst I’ve been.
That thought depresses me.
It really is time to get my shit together.
Thursday, July 11, 2019
Depression
I tell my husband I’m tired, and he responds that it seems more like I’m depressed. He asks me, “What are you depressed about, babe?” I tell him “Nothing,” but a more accurate answer would be, “Everything and nothing.”
It’s strange that he can tell. But after 7 years, I guess he should be able to. Even if it was a rare occurrence, he’s perceptive enough to pick up on it after that long.
He just lets me have my cycle. I hole up, unshowered, and don’t accomplish anything. I’m grouchy and sad acting and unpleasant. I sleep as much as possible. And he just lets me. He checks in to make sure I’m not gonna kill myself or that I’m not mad at him, and then he just waits for me to return.
This week was hard. The return was long. And now I’m playing catch-up for a few days and I know it. Lucky for me the work load stayed relatively easy.
Today it’s goal-directed side projects and taking on the world. I hope it lasts through the weekend so that I can be fully caught up on life and get back to the gym this week.
I wonder sometimes if it’s better to fight it off as long as possible and semi-function each day for a long period of time, or just let myself fucking lose my shit really bad for a couple days and then get back to better. I’m not sure which one is worse... I wish I could schedule days of depression...
And now off to sleep.
It’s strange that he can tell. But after 7 years, I guess he should be able to. Even if it was a rare occurrence, he’s perceptive enough to pick up on it after that long.
He just lets me have my cycle. I hole up, unshowered, and don’t accomplish anything. I’m grouchy and sad acting and unpleasant. I sleep as much as possible. And he just lets me. He checks in to make sure I’m not gonna kill myself or that I’m not mad at him, and then he just waits for me to return.
This week was hard. The return was long. And now I’m playing catch-up for a few days and I know it. Lucky for me the work load stayed relatively easy.
Today it’s goal-directed side projects and taking on the world. I hope it lasts through the weekend so that I can be fully caught up on life and get back to the gym this week.
I wonder sometimes if it’s better to fight it off as long as possible and semi-function each day for a long period of time, or just let myself fucking lose my shit really bad for a couple days and then get back to better. I’m not sure which one is worse... I wish I could schedule days of depression...
And now off to sleep.
Tuesday, July 9, 2019
Welcome back old friend
Yesterday, I battled crippling anxiety all day long and became so exhausted that I told my husband I needed to go to bed. “I can’t do today.” I had thrown up dinner, taken lots of my meds, but nothing was making me feel better. I lie in bed and think about the past and cry. I wish someone could fix it for me. I still have no answers on quite a few things, and lately I dream about all of them. I fall asleep at 10pm.
This morning my alarm goes off, but my mind says, “Just sleep.” “But I went to bed at 9:30,” I reply. But it won’t listen. I skip the gym and re-set my alarm and tell myself I’ll go to work on time. But at 6:30 when it goes off again, I feel paralyzed. Depression is here. I’m not tired at all. I can’t be. I’m just fucking depressed.
I knew it was coming. A day when I wouldn’t be able to function. I check my texts to my boss and see it’s been two months since I took a sick day. Last sick day, I was legitimately sick. I haven’t called out of work for depression in months. But today, I know I will. I immediately text her, “I’m throwing up. The kids are throwing up.” When in reality, the only throwing up lately was me on purpose. She gives me the day off, and I block out all thoughts of what needs to be done. I tell myself I’ll get back to life tomorrow and work extra hard. I realize that several months without a day like this is actually quite a bit of progress in my life. There was a time where I called out probably every week.
It’s funny how I can always feel it coming. It’s like when you’re standing outside and it’s about to rain. You just know. The shift in pressure and humidity and the way the birds act; even just the smell of things. I know a day like this is coming long before it ever arrives. And just like the rain, sometimes it blows over, and sometimes it pours on me. Last night, I knew. I tried to do all the things that usually snap me back to life, but nothing worked.
So today I’m at home. Tired and sad. For no good reason. Sometimes it takes a day like this to get myself back to functioning.
I just hope the clouds blow over tomorrow.
This morning my alarm goes off, but my mind says, “Just sleep.” “But I went to bed at 9:30,” I reply. But it won’t listen. I skip the gym and re-set my alarm and tell myself I’ll go to work on time. But at 6:30 when it goes off again, I feel paralyzed. Depression is here. I’m not tired at all. I can’t be. I’m just fucking depressed.
I knew it was coming. A day when I wouldn’t be able to function. I check my texts to my boss and see it’s been two months since I took a sick day. Last sick day, I was legitimately sick. I haven’t called out of work for depression in months. But today, I know I will. I immediately text her, “I’m throwing up. The kids are throwing up.” When in reality, the only throwing up lately was me on purpose. She gives me the day off, and I block out all thoughts of what needs to be done. I tell myself I’ll get back to life tomorrow and work extra hard. I realize that several months without a day like this is actually quite a bit of progress in my life. There was a time where I called out probably every week.
It’s funny how I can always feel it coming. It’s like when you’re standing outside and it’s about to rain. You just know. The shift in pressure and humidity and the way the birds act; even just the smell of things. I know a day like this is coming long before it ever arrives. And just like the rain, sometimes it blows over, and sometimes it pours on me. Last night, I knew. I tried to do all the things that usually snap me back to life, but nothing worked.
So today I’m at home. Tired and sad. For no good reason. Sometimes it takes a day like this to get myself back to functioning.
I just hope the clouds blow over tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 3, 2019
Girl at the Gym
Dear Girl at the Gym,
When I arrive every morning at 6am and see your frail frame, my heart beats harder. It’s fear. And relief. It’s funny how you can feel both of those emotions at the same time...
It’s clear by the sight of you that you have anorexia. And some may say you can’t tell that by looking at a person - that you may have a medical condition or are “naturally thin” and I shouldn’t judge.
But I know.
I know because of the look of desperation I see in your eyes while you’re on the stair machine. I know because I’ve seen that look in my own eyes in the mirror for years.
The unfortunate thing about eating disorders, is that they are painfully obvious to those around you. Other mental health concerns are hidden in the mind. But eating disorders are obvious in your very appearance. And it’s excruciating to witness your condition at this time. You look like Ana has taken over. Like her hooks are so deep into you, that to pull them out would instantly kill you. Watching you move feels like witnessing a miracle - like you must be too sick to even be able to do so, yet here you are doing it.
I know you must be lonely. You have to be. There is no possible way you can weigh so little and have any good relationships intact. Those who support you in this do not care about you, and those who have fought you on this, I’m sure you have pushed away to get yourself to this point. I wonder if anyone has tried to confront you. If anyone has asked you what’s wrong.. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that you have a few people still. Or maybe you don’t want anyone. Maybe you want to be alone. But I know it’s still sad for you, because I have been that alone. Sometimes, even when we have people, we are desperately alone. You are clinging to Ana. She is probably the only one you really have left.
I wonder things about you... Like if you live alone. How much time you really spend at the gym. How few calories you let yourself have in a day. I think it’s probably only several hundred that you burn off at the gym in triplicate. I wonder if your parents have seen how bad you’ve gotten, if you’ve ever been to treatment, when this issue began for you, and if you ever look at yourself with any kind of positive regard. I wonder what brings you happiness in life, or if anything does at this point. I wonder what took it away from you for you to get to this point. I wonder who you idolize or what your goals are in life. I wonder who broke your heart.
I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could tell you that even though I may not look like it now, I have been to a dark place similar to the one you’re currently in. I know what it’s like to starve. I know what it’s like to experience sadness so deeply embedded that you simply give in to it - to feel like Ana is all you have left in the world, so you may as well give her your soul. I remember thinking I’d rather die than be fat and meaning it.
My main thought concerning you is, I hope you don’t die. I hope you reach out for help and have the strength to accept it when it’s given. You’re clearly very strong, and I hope you live long enough to use that strength to your advantage. I hope this disease doesn’t kill you. Because I can see how beautiful you really are, and it would be so tragic to let Ana murder you. That may seem dramatic... But I know from the sight of you that you’re not that far away from death. You are young, and that’s an advantage... But Ana doesn’t wait forever. If you don’t start fighting her soon, she will consume you.
I wish I could help you. I wish I knew if you wanted help. I thought for half the day today about trying to talk to you. I thought about approaching you and offering that if you ever want help with this, I can help. But I fear that will make you worse. Even sadder. And feel even lonelier. I remember the day a coworker told me they thought I was anorexic. I always thought that those statements would feel like a compliment. But they didn’t. They felt like a slap in the face. I remember the day my friend asked me “what do you do to be so thin?” I was enraged. I wrote in the pages of my blog, “ this is not something I DO. It’s something I AM.” Ana has a way of taking the words of others and twisting them so that you hear disgust and disdain and judgement when what you crave is connection. She takes the good intention of others and morphs it into hatred.
So I will pray for you. Genuinely and intensely. I will look for you every morning. I will try to make eye contact and smile. I will hope that one day you stop coming, not because you are dead, but because you are recovering. I will make myself approachable and friendly and hope that one day maybe we strike up a conversation that leads to another and I can some day slip in the offer of assistance somehow. But I know your time is short. So, in the interim, I will send all the hope for you I can muster out into the universe and wish that you would read this and know that I care. You don’t know me, but I do care. And I hope you win the good fight, my lovely.
Stay strong.
When I arrive every morning at 6am and see your frail frame, my heart beats harder. It’s fear. And relief. It’s funny how you can feel both of those emotions at the same time...
It’s clear by the sight of you that you have anorexia. And some may say you can’t tell that by looking at a person - that you may have a medical condition or are “naturally thin” and I shouldn’t judge.
But I know.
I know because of the look of desperation I see in your eyes while you’re on the stair machine. I know because I’ve seen that look in my own eyes in the mirror for years.
The unfortunate thing about eating disorders, is that they are painfully obvious to those around you. Other mental health concerns are hidden in the mind. But eating disorders are obvious in your very appearance. And it’s excruciating to witness your condition at this time. You look like Ana has taken over. Like her hooks are so deep into you, that to pull them out would instantly kill you. Watching you move feels like witnessing a miracle - like you must be too sick to even be able to do so, yet here you are doing it.
I know you must be lonely. You have to be. There is no possible way you can weigh so little and have any good relationships intact. Those who support you in this do not care about you, and those who have fought you on this, I’m sure you have pushed away to get yourself to this point. I wonder if anyone has tried to confront you. If anyone has asked you what’s wrong.. Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that you have a few people still. Or maybe you don’t want anyone. Maybe you want to be alone. But I know it’s still sad for you, because I have been that alone. Sometimes, even when we have people, we are desperately alone. You are clinging to Ana. She is probably the only one you really have left.
I wonder things about you... Like if you live alone. How much time you really spend at the gym. How few calories you let yourself have in a day. I think it’s probably only several hundred that you burn off at the gym in triplicate. I wonder if your parents have seen how bad you’ve gotten, if you’ve ever been to treatment, when this issue began for you, and if you ever look at yourself with any kind of positive regard. I wonder what brings you happiness in life, or if anything does at this point. I wonder what took it away from you for you to get to this point. I wonder who you idolize or what your goals are in life. I wonder who broke your heart.
I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could tell you that even though I may not look like it now, I have been to a dark place similar to the one you’re currently in. I know what it’s like to starve. I know what it’s like to experience sadness so deeply embedded that you simply give in to it - to feel like Ana is all you have left in the world, so you may as well give her your soul. I remember thinking I’d rather die than be fat and meaning it.
My main thought concerning you is, I hope you don’t die. I hope you reach out for help and have the strength to accept it when it’s given. You’re clearly very strong, and I hope you live long enough to use that strength to your advantage. I hope this disease doesn’t kill you. Because I can see how beautiful you really are, and it would be so tragic to let Ana murder you. That may seem dramatic... But I know from the sight of you that you’re not that far away from death. You are young, and that’s an advantage... But Ana doesn’t wait forever. If you don’t start fighting her soon, she will consume you.
I wish I could help you. I wish I knew if you wanted help. I thought for half the day today about trying to talk to you. I thought about approaching you and offering that if you ever want help with this, I can help. But I fear that will make you worse. Even sadder. And feel even lonelier. I remember the day a coworker told me they thought I was anorexic. I always thought that those statements would feel like a compliment. But they didn’t. They felt like a slap in the face. I remember the day my friend asked me “what do you do to be so thin?” I was enraged. I wrote in the pages of my blog, “ this is not something I DO. It’s something I AM.” Ana has a way of taking the words of others and twisting them so that you hear disgust and disdain and judgement when what you crave is connection. She takes the good intention of others and morphs it into hatred.
So I will pray for you. Genuinely and intensely. I will look for you every morning. I will try to make eye contact and smile. I will hope that one day you stop coming, not because you are dead, but because you are recovering. I will make myself approachable and friendly and hope that one day maybe we strike up a conversation that leads to another and I can some day slip in the offer of assistance somehow. But I know your time is short. So, in the interim, I will send all the hope for you I can muster out into the universe and wish that you would read this and know that I care. You don’t know me, but I do care. And I hope you win the good fight, my lovely.
Stay strong.
Tuesday, June 25, 2019
Post baby body woes
Lost .8 of an lb between yesterday and this morning. Thank god...
Today’s eats:
B: banana, coffee
L: salmon salad
D: pork and slaw
S: apple and 2 squares chocolate
It was a good day. I’ve been super careful about my calories, but not starving persay. I’m too scared to wreck my metabolism again, to be honest. I can’t go lower than 1,000 calories on a regular basis, because I know what that will do to me.
I have to work out to compensate instead of starving. I worked out this rorning and it was so difficult. I wanted to quit at 2 miles but I forced myself to get to 3.3. Tomorrow’s goal is a repeat of 3.3 on a different machine and then some tanning.
Thursday’s goal is an ab workout. They still freak me out since my c section. It makes me fucking cringe when anything pulls on that area of my body because it feels so goddam uncomfortable. I hate it. I’m trying to get more ok with touching it and looking at it and embracing it in some way but it freaks me out so badly still... 9 months later. I wish that I never had to experience that.
I was looking back at photos today, and I can’t figure out when I got this fat. It seems like when my son was about three months old, and I stopped breast-feeding, I ballooned. I was looking bloated by pretty thin prior to that. Then I slowly blew up and put in like 20lbs in about 5 months. It crept on me.
I can’t let it stay.
Today’s eats:
B: banana, coffee
L: salmon salad
D: pork and slaw
S: apple and 2 squares chocolate
It was a good day. I’ve been super careful about my calories, but not starving persay. I’m too scared to wreck my metabolism again, to be honest. I can’t go lower than 1,000 calories on a regular basis, because I know what that will do to me.
I have to work out to compensate instead of starving. I worked out this rorning and it was so difficult. I wanted to quit at 2 miles but I forced myself to get to 3.3. Tomorrow’s goal is a repeat of 3.3 on a different machine and then some tanning.
Thursday’s goal is an ab workout. They still freak me out since my c section. It makes me fucking cringe when anything pulls on that area of my body because it feels so goddam uncomfortable. I hate it. I’m trying to get more ok with touching it and looking at it and embracing it in some way but it freaks me out so badly still... 9 months later. I wish that I never had to experience that.
I was looking back at photos today, and I can’t figure out when I got this fat. It seems like when my son was about three months old, and I stopped breast-feeding, I ballooned. I was looking bloated by pretty thin prior to that. Then I slowly blew up and put in like 20lbs in about 5 months. It crept on me.
I can’t let it stay.
Monday, June 24, 2019
Plateau
I’m struggling to lose.
My body is gripping to my weight like a steel vice, and I don’t know why. I’ve done all the necessary things, and still it’s being stubborn.
This morning the scale said no difference. And the day before. And the day before. I haven’t shown a loss in 4 days.
I feel deflated but clearly am not.
I didn’t have a bm this morning and have struggled to get myself back on track, but wtf... My scale tells me all my numbers - BMI, muscle mass, etc. Not a damn thing has changed. I feel Ike it’s too soon for a plateau, and I’m utterly baffled. I upped my water and fiber today to see. I’m at a complete fucking loss.
I went to the gym this morning. Finally. I’m finally back to it. It wasn’t the hardest workout I’ve ever had. My lungs are ok since I’m not smoking. I left sore but happy. I worked out a full hour.
I hope tomorrow morning I can step off the scale and not want to kill myself. My mood had been decent with the thought of my trip and the fact that I haven’t broken any of my diet rules in like a week. But this plateau bullshit threatens to bring all that crashing down.
Please let me be ok tomorrow.
My body is gripping to my weight like a steel vice, and I don’t know why. I’ve done all the necessary things, and still it’s being stubborn.
This morning the scale said no difference. And the day before. And the day before. I haven’t shown a loss in 4 days.
I feel deflated but clearly am not.
I didn’t have a bm this morning and have struggled to get myself back on track, but wtf... My scale tells me all my numbers - BMI, muscle mass, etc. Not a damn thing has changed. I feel Ike it’s too soon for a plateau, and I’m utterly baffled. I upped my water and fiber today to see. I’m at a complete fucking loss.
I went to the gym this morning. Finally. I’m finally back to it. It wasn’t the hardest workout I’ve ever had. My lungs are ok since I’m not smoking. I left sore but happy. I worked out a full hour.
I hope tomorrow morning I can step off the scale and not want to kill myself. My mood had been decent with the thought of my trip and the fact that I haven’t broken any of my diet rules in like a week. But this plateau bullshit threatens to bring all that crashing down.
Please let me be ok tomorrow.
Friday, June 21, 2019
Kill it.
Thanks to the 4 of you that consistently read this garbage. Your views make my heart feel less heavy, even though our connection might be the most insignificant of my whole life... I still need it.
I did well today. The scale was kind to me last night after the peanutbutter sandwich and potato chips I ate that I didn’t deserve and couldn’t really afford. I absolutely cannot smoke weed right now... I luckily still had lost.
My intake today was:
B: banana and coffee - 115 cals
L: salad - 100 cals
D: little beef, little chicken, and roasted veg - 200 cals
Total: 415
I could still afford another item, but I feel content at this moment, and it’s 9p, so I am going to call it a day and drink some water. I really want to get a workout in tomorrow and need to clean my house very very badly... and complete a lot of paperwork for work...
Tomorrow’s planned eats:
B: yogurt and berries - 150 cals
L: ?? 200 cals max
D: chicken and carrots - 200 cals
Goals: grocery shop, at least 3 loads laundry, clean bathrooms and kitchen, sweep, wash bedding.
Get. Your. Life. In. Order.
I did well today. The scale was kind to me last night after the peanutbutter sandwich and potato chips I ate that I didn’t deserve and couldn’t really afford. I absolutely cannot smoke weed right now... I luckily still had lost.
My intake today was:
B: banana and coffee - 115 cals
L: salad - 100 cals
D: little beef, little chicken, and roasted veg - 200 cals
Total: 415
I could still afford another item, but I feel content at this moment, and it’s 9p, so I am going to call it a day and drink some water. I really want to get a workout in tomorrow and need to clean my house very very badly... and complete a lot of paperwork for work...
Tomorrow’s planned eats:
B: yogurt and berries - 150 cals
L: ?? 200 cals max
D: chicken and carrots - 200 cals
Goals: grocery shop, at least 3 loads laundry, clean bathrooms and kitchen, sweep, wash bedding.
Get. Your. Life. In. Order.
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
Impending trip
Breakfast: banana and coffee - 150
Lunch: apple chips and protein bar - 300
Snack: turkey slices - 150
Dinner: Mia.
What would my diagnosis be? Not binge eating. Not bulimia. Not anorexia. Just fucking eating disordered. A grab-bag if you will. I try to restrict, but I am by no means underweight. I throw up, but not after a binge-usually just after I eat a regular dinner. And I binge sometimes, but not very frequently. I have weird cycles and yo-yo weight.
The thought of going home is terrifying me right now. It’s driving me to lose more. Next week I’m going back to the gym. This week I have been really controlling my eating, and the thought of seeing my old friends is making me restrict a lot more easily than usual. Every time my body wants to argue with my mind about food, my mind simply says “but you’re going home” and my body stops whining. They are in agreement that it would be devastating to be seen like this. Especially when I’m the one who moved away to be successful. I have to look successful.
I have to look successful to be successful, and lately I feel like a complete and utter failure. I haven’t even let anyone see a photo of me that isn’t completely edited lately and doesn’t show my body.
I know losing weight, blowing off steam with my friends in a new body, and getting my mind exercised a little in my old world of academia will be all I need to lift this depression I’ve been under for about two years.
I know that sounds insane, but I know it will help.
I’ve tried so hard to find comprable things to all that here, but there just isn’t. I hate it here. I feel stifled and bored. We moved for my husband to do educational things, and I’m thrilled it’s all working out, but I would die if there wasn’t an end in sight in this godforsaken town. When coworkers or people I know discuss buying a house here, I always think, “What the fuck... WHY?”
That seems very permanent, and I would kill myself if I was permanently stuck here.
I have friends here, but I can’t cut lose with them like my old friends. I don’t have chances, and they don’t have the ability. I love them, but they’re boring. So. Fucking. Boring. Even the one I love the best is boring. She tries, but we come from different planets. They can’t see me for who I was before, and they’re so goddam conservative I could puke.
And I can’t go back to grad school, but educational things make me feel alive. And it’s been a long time since I had any academia coursing through my veins. I’m excited for a chance.
So, I’ll get a few days away from my husband’s sobriety that has been forced upon me, the baby that I birthed, and all the responsibility of work to just relax, see my old friends, exercise my mind, and get a little tipsy. I could scream with excitement. And I already decided that if this doesn’t work out for whatever reason, I’m still going. I’m still taking the time and trip because I need it.
Unless I’m still fat. Then I’m hiding away in a pocket and not seeing a soul.
As long as I get thin before this, I’ll have a wonderful time.
62 days and counting. Only 24lbs to go.
I can absolutely do that.
Lunch: apple chips and protein bar - 300
Snack: turkey slices - 150
Dinner: Mia.
What would my diagnosis be? Not binge eating. Not bulimia. Not anorexia. Just fucking eating disordered. A grab-bag if you will. I try to restrict, but I am by no means underweight. I throw up, but not after a binge-usually just after I eat a regular dinner. And I binge sometimes, but not very frequently. I have weird cycles and yo-yo weight.
The thought of going home is terrifying me right now. It’s driving me to lose more. Next week I’m going back to the gym. This week I have been really controlling my eating, and the thought of seeing my old friends is making me restrict a lot more easily than usual. Every time my body wants to argue with my mind about food, my mind simply says “but you’re going home” and my body stops whining. They are in agreement that it would be devastating to be seen like this. Especially when I’m the one who moved away to be successful. I have to look successful.
I have to look successful to be successful, and lately I feel like a complete and utter failure. I haven’t even let anyone see a photo of me that isn’t completely edited lately and doesn’t show my body.
I know losing weight, blowing off steam with my friends in a new body, and getting my mind exercised a little in my old world of academia will be all I need to lift this depression I’ve been under for about two years.
I know that sounds insane, but I know it will help.
I’ve tried so hard to find comprable things to all that here, but there just isn’t. I hate it here. I feel stifled and bored. We moved for my husband to do educational things, and I’m thrilled it’s all working out, but I would die if there wasn’t an end in sight in this godforsaken town. When coworkers or people I know discuss buying a house here, I always think, “What the fuck... WHY?”
That seems very permanent, and I would kill myself if I was permanently stuck here.
I have friends here, but I can’t cut lose with them like my old friends. I don’t have chances, and they don’t have the ability. I love them, but they’re boring. So. Fucking. Boring. Even the one I love the best is boring. She tries, but we come from different planets. They can’t see me for who I was before, and they’re so goddam conservative I could puke.
And I can’t go back to grad school, but educational things make me feel alive. And it’s been a long time since I had any academia coursing through my veins. I’m excited for a chance.
So, I’ll get a few days away from my husband’s sobriety that has been forced upon me, the baby that I birthed, and all the responsibility of work to just relax, see my old friends, exercise my mind, and get a little tipsy. I could scream with excitement. And I already decided that if this doesn’t work out for whatever reason, I’m still going. I’m still taking the time and trip because I need it.
Unless I’m still fat. Then I’m hiding away in a pocket and not seeing a soul.
As long as I get thin before this, I’ll have a wonderful time.
62 days and counting. Only 24lbs to go.
I can absolutely do that.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Fuck up
Maybe I was just fooling myself for a couple years. Maybe I was just pausing. Is it possible to get back to that place? When I had drive and energy and motivation and commitment? Where I was healthy? What do I need to regain that?
I can’t shut up. I can’t stop being too much. All I’ve ever wanted is to disappear, and I can’t seem to do it. I call too much attention to myself and always feel like a freak. I hate myself and feel like everyone else must also. They have to. I’m a huge and complete fuck up. Only now I’m a pretender and a fake person. I expose too much of myself and can’t stop talking about how great I am when, in reality, I’m a piece of shit.
I shouldn’t tell anyone anything because I’m such a goddam fuck up.
My depression is like lead blanket. And when it’s pulled away, it peels off my flesh leaving exposed raw nerves. Nothing calms me. Nothing makes me feel better. Nothing ever feels like enough.
They come to me with isssues. I share the same ones. I have no answers. I only know what you’re suppose to do, but I can’t do it. I talk and talk and hope something makes a difference. But I don’t think it does.
Tears of joy come to my eyes when I have the chance to purge in peace. Later, whatever was bothering me enough to get me to that point circles back through my head, and I feel like the wind is sucked out of me.
You’re a fuck up. A fat ass and a fuck up.
You had so much shining potential, and you became a total fucking loser. You were the envy of your academic world somehow, you had so much wisdom, and now you can’t even do this right. You should have listened more instead of being such a goddam know it all. Now you can’t remember what you were supposed to do.
I need something to heal me. To self-care better. I need a better routine and more coping. I need to take time off to get my life together.
I don’t know what the fuck I need. I just know I’m needy and not doing well.
I can’t shut up. I can’t stop being too much. All I’ve ever wanted is to disappear, and I can’t seem to do it. I call too much attention to myself and always feel like a freak. I hate myself and feel like everyone else must also. They have to. I’m a huge and complete fuck up. Only now I’m a pretender and a fake person. I expose too much of myself and can’t stop talking about how great I am when, in reality, I’m a piece of shit.
I shouldn’t tell anyone anything because I’m such a goddam fuck up.
My depression is like lead blanket. And when it’s pulled away, it peels off my flesh leaving exposed raw nerves. Nothing calms me. Nothing makes me feel better. Nothing ever feels like enough.
They come to me with isssues. I share the same ones. I have no answers. I only know what you’re suppose to do, but I can’t do it. I talk and talk and hope something makes a difference. But I don’t think it does.
Tears of joy come to my eyes when I have the chance to purge in peace. Later, whatever was bothering me enough to get me to that point circles back through my head, and I feel like the wind is sucked out of me.
You’re a fuck up. A fat ass and a fuck up.
You had so much shining potential, and you became a total fucking loser. You were the envy of your academic world somehow, you had so much wisdom, and now you can’t even do this right. You should have listened more instead of being such a goddam know it all. Now you can’t remember what you were supposed to do.
I need something to heal me. To self-care better. I need a better routine and more coping. I need to take time off to get my life together.
I don’t know what the fuck I need. I just know I’m needy and not doing well.
Monday, June 17, 2019
Really hating me
Today’s intake was under 1,000 cals.
I did well, but the voice in my head telling me to eat is screaming at me lately. “Eat and don’t atop eating! Eating will make you feel bettter!” But it doesn’t. It never has.
I need to starve. For two good solid months. I need to stop binging. I need to stop allowing myself liberties. I need to just quit cold turkey and not do this binge and purge fuck-fuck game for the first couple weeks like I usually do. I need to go straight to Ana and cut Mia out completely.
I’m fat. So fucking fat. And yeah, I had a baby, but you can only ride that excuse for so long. I go back home in two months, and I swear to god if I look like this I will kill myself. I’ll hide in my hotel room and not see anyone and get drunk alone snd take benzos and cry.
I never make it to those type of goals. I never get in shape on a timeline like I know I can. I always fuck it up too hard. I have two solid months to lose about 25lbs. That is completely doable. I just need to fucking do it.
Today wasn’t terrible. I had a banana, grilled chicken, peaches, salad, beef, and corn. Could have been better but at least I didn’t lose it. I just miss the days when I could skip dinner happily and drink a hot tea. I struggle to actually starve these days. My body gets weak and sick feeling because it’s so goddam used to being a fat fucking pig who eats a ton of food each day.
I’m going to be one of those girls people are like “what happened to her? She got fat...” if I don’t catch myself. Like Megan. Or Jenna. I don’t want that at all. I ways Jay to see me in a couple months in my new skinny clothes with my phone full of baby photos and think “omg I missed out on this. I fucked up.”
I need to atop running my fucking mouth so hard. I need to stop trying so hard to fit in at my goddam job and just do the work. I need to get my lazy ass back to the gym. I need to clean my fucking house. I need to eat healthier and not be so fucking fat. I need to take my own goddam advice and stop giving advice to other people.
I hate myself. And the only cure is to get back to October 2017. I know I can get back there. I need to. I have to so I don’t have to hate myself so much.
I did well, but the voice in my head telling me to eat is screaming at me lately. “Eat and don’t atop eating! Eating will make you feel bettter!” But it doesn’t. It never has.
I need to starve. For two good solid months. I need to stop binging. I need to stop allowing myself liberties. I need to just quit cold turkey and not do this binge and purge fuck-fuck game for the first couple weeks like I usually do. I need to go straight to Ana and cut Mia out completely.
I’m fat. So fucking fat. And yeah, I had a baby, but you can only ride that excuse for so long. I go back home in two months, and I swear to god if I look like this I will kill myself. I’ll hide in my hotel room and not see anyone and get drunk alone snd take benzos and cry.
I never make it to those type of goals. I never get in shape on a timeline like I know I can. I always fuck it up too hard. I have two solid months to lose about 25lbs. That is completely doable. I just need to fucking do it.
Today wasn’t terrible. I had a banana, grilled chicken, peaches, salad, beef, and corn. Could have been better but at least I didn’t lose it. I just miss the days when I could skip dinner happily and drink a hot tea. I struggle to actually starve these days. My body gets weak and sick feeling because it’s so goddam used to being a fat fucking pig who eats a ton of food each day.
I’m going to be one of those girls people are like “what happened to her? She got fat...” if I don’t catch myself. Like Megan. Or Jenna. I don’t want that at all. I ways Jay to see me in a couple months in my new skinny clothes with my phone full of baby photos and think “omg I missed out on this. I fucked up.”
I need to atop running my fucking mouth so hard. I need to stop trying so hard to fit in at my goddam job and just do the work. I need to get my lazy ass back to the gym. I need to clean my fucking house. I need to eat healthier and not be so fucking fat. I need to take my own goddam advice and stop giving advice to other people.
I hate myself. And the only cure is to get back to October 2017. I know I can get back there. I need to. I have to so I don’t have to hate myself so much.
Thursday, May 9, 2019
Fear of becoming mom
My intake today was 300 calories. I got so busy at work I honestly didn’t even think about eating. I feel like being hungry makes me sharper. More aware. Work faster. I pumped out all the necessary things so quickly. It was effortless.
My doctor prescribed me a new anxiety med yesterday. I hope it works. It’s not a daily use drug unless you decide to utilize it that way. He also gave me some Xanax that I immediately hid. I am ready for this. I’m ready to take something and feel better. I’m ready to stop being so anxious all the time and allow modern medicine to help me with my mental health.
I realized today that my biggest fear in life is becoming my mom. And I’m sure I’ve stated that on the pages of this big before, but I didn’t realize until recently how much of my life has been built around that fear and the avoidance of becoming anything like her. I have strived to be the opposite of her since childhood. I communicate. I work. I stay busy. I wanted kids and a husband, yes, but I’d didn’t ever want to do things the way she did. I don’t think she did things wrong, persay. I just always saw her so UNHAPPY, and never doing a thing to change it, and I vowed somewhere in my subconscious eons ago never to ever be like her. I vowed that I wouldn’t spend half my life in bed crying and the other half holed up in my house feeling anxious.
I have this vivid memory of my mom in the yard with us as kids. We had moved into the home they’re in now only a little before, and the land was still muddy from clearing. We were outside playing with kites. She strung one up into the air and ran with it. Not far. And not well. She had greasy hair and baggy pajamas on and ran clumsily and jiggly. She was smiling and got out of breath very quickly. We made eye contact, and I smiled. But inside I felt a wave of sadness. I remember hoping it didn’t show in my eyes. I was sad because I could see her in that moment trying to be normal. She was trying to be a mom who played with her kids. Who ran. And she wasn’t good at it. I remember thinking it was the only time I ever saw her run. Ever. I’m not sure if I ever have since. She wasn’t good at running, and she wasn’t good at being normal. I remember thinking that soon enough she’d be back in bed depressed, so I should try to enjoy this brief moment while it lasted.
I was 11.
My mom had severe issues my whole life that she never worked on. Never resolved. And still won’t. We had a conversation last week because her doctor wants her to go to therapy. She won’t. She won’t try. And we all suffered because of it. I did. My dad did. My brother did. And sometimes we still do. And it gets carried over into our people now. My husband has suffered because of it. Any my brothers’s girlfriend.
I used to fear that I would be like her. It was literally my biggest fear. I used to hate when people said I looked like my mom, not because she was fat or ugly, but because I didn’t want to be anything like her. She was miserablr. I still fear being like her.. I look back at photos before I was born and before my brother was born, and everything seems good. And I wonder if it really was, or if she was already depressed and crazy. I wonder if it got worse later. And I wonder why she didn’t do anything at any point to take care of her mental health.
I fear I will do the same to my kids. That I’ll be a fully functioning person now, but somewhere along the way, something will break and I just won’t fix it. That’s why I am so determined to get rid of my anxiety. And to get thinner, because I know being overweight makes me depressed.
I can’t become my mother.
My doctor prescribed me a new anxiety med yesterday. I hope it works. It’s not a daily use drug unless you decide to utilize it that way. He also gave me some Xanax that I immediately hid. I am ready for this. I’m ready to take something and feel better. I’m ready to stop being so anxious all the time and allow modern medicine to help me with my mental health.
I realized today that my biggest fear in life is becoming my mom. And I’m sure I’ve stated that on the pages of this big before, but I didn’t realize until recently how much of my life has been built around that fear and the avoidance of becoming anything like her. I have strived to be the opposite of her since childhood. I communicate. I work. I stay busy. I wanted kids and a husband, yes, but I’d didn’t ever want to do things the way she did. I don’t think she did things wrong, persay. I just always saw her so UNHAPPY, and never doing a thing to change it, and I vowed somewhere in my subconscious eons ago never to ever be like her. I vowed that I wouldn’t spend half my life in bed crying and the other half holed up in my house feeling anxious.
I have this vivid memory of my mom in the yard with us as kids. We had moved into the home they’re in now only a little before, and the land was still muddy from clearing. We were outside playing with kites. She strung one up into the air and ran with it. Not far. And not well. She had greasy hair and baggy pajamas on and ran clumsily and jiggly. She was smiling and got out of breath very quickly. We made eye contact, and I smiled. But inside I felt a wave of sadness. I remember hoping it didn’t show in my eyes. I was sad because I could see her in that moment trying to be normal. She was trying to be a mom who played with her kids. Who ran. And she wasn’t good at it. I remember thinking it was the only time I ever saw her run. Ever. I’m not sure if I ever have since. She wasn’t good at running, and she wasn’t good at being normal. I remember thinking that soon enough she’d be back in bed depressed, so I should try to enjoy this brief moment while it lasted.
I was 11.
My mom had severe issues my whole life that she never worked on. Never resolved. And still won’t. We had a conversation last week because her doctor wants her to go to therapy. She won’t. She won’t try. And we all suffered because of it. I did. My dad did. My brother did. And sometimes we still do. And it gets carried over into our people now. My husband has suffered because of it. Any my brothers’s girlfriend.
I used to fear that I would be like her. It was literally my biggest fear. I used to hate when people said I looked like my mom, not because she was fat or ugly, but because I didn’t want to be anything like her. She was miserablr. I still fear being like her.. I look back at photos before I was born and before my brother was born, and everything seems good. And I wonder if it really was, or if she was already depressed and crazy. I wonder if it got worse later. And I wonder why she didn’t do anything at any point to take care of her mental health.
I fear I will do the same to my kids. That I’ll be a fully functioning person now, but somewhere along the way, something will break and I just won’t fix it. That’s why I am so determined to get rid of my anxiety. And to get thinner, because I know being overweight makes me depressed.
I can’t become my mother.
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Fat
600 calories today.
I’m. So. Fat.
The scale is dropping rapidly, but nothing could ever be fast enough.
I just want to be thin.
I’m. So. Fat.
The scale is dropping rapidly, but nothing could ever be fast enough.
I just want to be thin.
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Agoraphobic feels
Breakfast: egg whites, fake cheese, English muffin: 180cals
Lunch: popcorn and pumpkin: 140cals
Dinner: binge and purge
My shoulder is very messed up, and I started my period today, so I’m not in a good mood. I was struggling to take care of the baby and not getting anything else accomplished today. He was very clingy and wouldn’t even let me leave the room he was in and would barely let me put him down. I didn’t even step outside, though I agonized about the fact that I should take a walk for basically hours... In the end, the verdict was I didn’t have the mental strength to do it, and I made a nest of pillows and blankets on the living room floor. We played all day and cuddled and napped. It was a good day aside from my binge and purge and my anxiety that is staggeringly bad lately. Every day that passes is a day closer to Wednesday and my doctors appointment and the hope that he’ll prescribe me the meds I want to help with it. I’m literally praying every day that it’s not a huge ordeal, but I’m so scared it will be.
I need to get stricter about my rule following. I keep having eff it moments that I instantly have to fix. Because I’d rather purge than digest. Every time I break a rule lately, I think about how FAR I have to go and how if I let this meal digest, it just keeps me another day further away from happiness. Then it’s not even a question of purging or not. Today’s purge was easy, thankfully. But I still don’t like doing it and wish I could just starve. It’s always a part of my cycle - at first I struggle and purge a lot, and then I get better and starve better and purging is only for emergencies. I am trying to get to that point as soon as possible, because lately purging has been almost daily.
Being fat is making me very unhappy. And I know my husband is suffering for it. He’s tired of hearing me whine about it and have moods over it. I know that. I don’t think he actually minds the way I look right now, but I definitely do. It’s very clear that I’m bigger than ever, and he’s made a couple of comments to that effect. Not mean ones or critical in any way, he’s just said a couple things that make me realize he clearly sees I’m basically at the heaviest I’ve ever been right now. It’s actually tied for my highest weight.
That thought makes me want to shoot myself.
I discovered on Amazon tons of ED television that’s included in my Prime membership. I watched one documentary today, and I’m about to watch another. It always seems to be a huge part of going back to weight loss for me - ED books and movies and documentaries. I also get obsessed with models and ballerinas and devour content on those things instead of actual food. It’s a great distraction until bedtime when I can take my Benny and drift off to sleep.
And now, I’m off to do that. Think thin.
Lunch: popcorn and pumpkin: 140cals
Dinner: binge and purge
My shoulder is very messed up, and I started my period today, so I’m not in a good mood. I was struggling to take care of the baby and not getting anything else accomplished today. He was very clingy and wouldn’t even let me leave the room he was in and would barely let me put him down. I didn’t even step outside, though I agonized about the fact that I should take a walk for basically hours... In the end, the verdict was I didn’t have the mental strength to do it, and I made a nest of pillows and blankets on the living room floor. We played all day and cuddled and napped. It was a good day aside from my binge and purge and my anxiety that is staggeringly bad lately. Every day that passes is a day closer to Wednesday and my doctors appointment and the hope that he’ll prescribe me the meds I want to help with it. I’m literally praying every day that it’s not a huge ordeal, but I’m so scared it will be.
I need to get stricter about my rule following. I keep having eff it moments that I instantly have to fix. Because I’d rather purge than digest. Every time I break a rule lately, I think about how FAR I have to go and how if I let this meal digest, it just keeps me another day further away from happiness. Then it’s not even a question of purging or not. Today’s purge was easy, thankfully. But I still don’t like doing it and wish I could just starve. It’s always a part of my cycle - at first I struggle and purge a lot, and then I get better and starve better and purging is only for emergencies. I am trying to get to that point as soon as possible, because lately purging has been almost daily.
Being fat is making me very unhappy. And I know my husband is suffering for it. He’s tired of hearing me whine about it and have moods over it. I know that. I don’t think he actually minds the way I look right now, but I definitely do. It’s very clear that I’m bigger than ever, and he’s made a couple of comments to that effect. Not mean ones or critical in any way, he’s just said a couple things that make me realize he clearly sees I’m basically at the heaviest I’ve ever been right now. It’s actually tied for my highest weight.
That thought makes me want to shoot myself.
I discovered on Amazon tons of ED television that’s included in my Prime membership. I watched one documentary today, and I’m about to watch another. It always seems to be a huge part of going back to weight loss for me - ED books and movies and documentaries. I also get obsessed with models and ballerinas and devour content on those things instead of actual food. It’s a great distraction until bedtime when I can take my Benny and drift off to sleep.
And now, I’m off to do that. Think thin.
Friday, May 3, 2019
I could die
They’re always there. Just behind the outside corners of my eyes. The tears. Waiting to spring forth like a bursting dam. Wanting to flow like river rapids. But I perceptually dam them up.
I always feel as if I would be ok if I died. I always feel just a little suicidal. I always have. Some days I think of how I could do it, and some days it’s just a passing thought. But if I were to answer the question, “what keeps you from killing yourself?” the answer would be, “Obligation,” long before it was ever, “Because I want to live.” I think I have always been ok with the thought of death. I’ve always thought it would be a relief. Not to feel badly anymore or perpetual exhaustion. Even if there’s nothing after this life, I think I’d be content with just not existing anymore. A final unsanctimonious, anticlimactic “poof” would be perfectly fine with me. I’d revel in that just as much as the thought of some glorious heaven. To rest forever would be just as ideal.
I only ate a piece of chicken and a serving of vegetables today. I had a terribly rough day at work where no one agreed with me, but I stand firm in my decisions. My husband said I make my own rules too often. He’s right. I’ve never been good with rules.
I miss my hypomania right now. I could use a dose.
I always feel as if I would be ok if I died. I always feel just a little suicidal. I always have. Some days I think of how I could do it, and some days it’s just a passing thought. But if I were to answer the question, “what keeps you from killing yourself?” the answer would be, “Obligation,” long before it was ever, “Because I want to live.” I think I have always been ok with the thought of death. I’ve always thought it would be a relief. Not to feel badly anymore or perpetual exhaustion. Even if there’s nothing after this life, I think I’d be content with just not existing anymore. A final unsanctimonious, anticlimactic “poof” would be perfectly fine with me. I’d revel in that just as much as the thought of some glorious heaven. To rest forever would be just as ideal.
I only ate a piece of chicken and a serving of vegetables today. I had a terribly rough day at work where no one agreed with me, but I stand firm in my decisions. My husband said I make my own rules too often. He’s right. I’ve never been good with rules.
I miss my hypomania right now. I could use a dose.
Thursday, May 2, 2019
Missing my ex ladies
Sometimes I miss it... the full blown ED.
I miss Ana. I miss Mia. I miss the reckless abandonment with which I pursued them.
Now, they’re like my ex’s...
I can think back on the thin times with longing for my old body, but also see how bad my life was at that time. I was so depressed. So fraught with sadness and longing for real intimacy with anyone. I was completely alone except this blog and my ED. I didn’t know life could or would become actually pretty good for me.
I know I’m a little unhappy right now in my life, but it is nothing compared to what I once was.
And I’m honestly a little foggy on if the ED preceded the depression, or if the depression preceded the ED.
I don’t actually know if it makes me feel better or worse when I engage in the behaviors.
I don’t know if I was doing it because I was sad or if it was making me sad to do it.
But I feel myself on the edge of testing to see for myself.
I want to starve again.
I want to take crazy laxative combos and not eat and throw up the amounts I do. I want to count calories and work out til I’m about to faint. I want to weigh myself every morning and feel the rush when a pound comes off. I want to obsess about what I eat and have rules and lists. I want to lose drastic weight quickly and with a pit churning in my stomach the entire time. I want my clothes to get too big and my head to feel dizzy and people to comment on how I look. I want to indulge with Diet Coke and hot tea and looking at photos of thin girls online.
And I can.
I have the time and money and freedom and lack of supervision that it takes to really starve.
I just need a plan and some willpower.
Lately I’ve been doing ok with it. I have lost some and kept it off...
But I want more. I want to do it all again. This time not because I’m sad and attention seeking, but to actually enjoy my body. To have my husband enjoy my body. To feel better. To control better.
Am I allowed this journey again?
Am I allowed the manic evenings with no sleep, the hundreds of thrown up meals, the hours at the grocery store reading every package, the faking that I ate meals and avoiding food at all costs? Am I allowed to be concerned about my toward appearance so much that I devote all my remaining youthful energy to adjusting it? Am I allowed to be that shallow and vain? That nearsighted and unrealistic?
Because I really really really want to be.
I miss Ana. I miss Mia. I miss the reckless abandonment with which I pursued them.
Now, they’re like my ex’s...
I can think back on the thin times with longing for my old body, but also see how bad my life was at that time. I was so depressed. So fraught with sadness and longing for real intimacy with anyone. I was completely alone except this blog and my ED. I didn’t know life could or would become actually pretty good for me.
I know I’m a little unhappy right now in my life, but it is nothing compared to what I once was.
And I’m honestly a little foggy on if the ED preceded the depression, or if the depression preceded the ED.
I don’t actually know if it makes me feel better or worse when I engage in the behaviors.
I don’t know if I was doing it because I was sad or if it was making me sad to do it.
But I feel myself on the edge of testing to see for myself.
I want to starve again.
I want to take crazy laxative combos and not eat and throw up the amounts I do. I want to count calories and work out til I’m about to faint. I want to weigh myself every morning and feel the rush when a pound comes off. I want to obsess about what I eat and have rules and lists. I want to lose drastic weight quickly and with a pit churning in my stomach the entire time. I want my clothes to get too big and my head to feel dizzy and people to comment on how I look. I want to indulge with Diet Coke and hot tea and looking at photos of thin girls online.
And I can.
I have the time and money and freedom and lack of supervision that it takes to really starve.
I just need a plan and some willpower.
Lately I’ve been doing ok with it. I have lost some and kept it off...
But I want more. I want to do it all again. This time not because I’m sad and attention seeking, but to actually enjoy my body. To have my husband enjoy my body. To feel better. To control better.
Am I allowed this journey again?
Am I allowed the manic evenings with no sleep, the hundreds of thrown up meals, the hours at the grocery store reading every package, the faking that I ate meals and avoiding food at all costs? Am I allowed to be concerned about my toward appearance so much that I devote all my remaining youthful energy to adjusting it? Am I allowed to be that shallow and vain? That nearsighted and unrealistic?
Because I really really really want to be.
Sunday, February 10, 2019
Fantasies
My anxiety has me fucked tonight and throwing up ice cream alone.
I want to hide. I want to run away. I want to get wasted. I want to stop eating. I want to quit my job. I want to hook up with a random. I want to drop off the planet for a couple days. I want to spend a my money. I want to stay up all night doing blow. I want to be so fucked up that I don’t care. That I feel pretty. I want to stop caring. I want to stop feeling. I want to be alone but never lonely. I want to be free.
Fantasies are so much better than reality.
I want to hide. I want to run away. I want to get wasted. I want to stop eating. I want to quit my job. I want to hook up with a random. I want to drop off the planet for a couple days. I want to spend a my money. I want to stay up all night doing blow. I want to be so fucked up that I don’t care. That I feel pretty. I want to stop caring. I want to stop feeling. I want to be alone but never lonely. I want to be free.
Fantasies are so much better than reality.
Wednesday, February 6, 2019
Husband rant
Whenever I come to this space, I am shocked at how many views my posts have.
It makes me feel less alone in a world that I actually feel very alone in... If you read this, know that you are not alone. My heart is heavy, and I know how that sadness you are feeling also feels. I’m sending all I have within me out into the universe hoping all of you have those small moments that somehow manage to keep you alive.
Lately those small moments have been almost impossible for me to grasp onto. I have been very depressed and extremely anxious almost every day. I went to the doctor and she prescribed me Xanax and Zoloft. The magical American cocktail. But the Zoloft had terrible side effects and the Xanax was consumed primarily by my husband. So I’m untreated to the point I need to be.
My only highlight is baby lately, and even that’s overly stressful some days.
My husband and I are not doing fantastic. I’m trying not to be resentful lately, but that’s a difficult task. I had my baby and am back to work full time. He quit one job and was laid off from the other in the same week. He has been unemployed for three months now, and he’s not working that hard to fix it. He’s been a mess. His anxiety is through the roof, he blows up over small things, and he’s extremely difficult to live with. I’m trying to be understanding of his mental health, and not berate him too much, but I’m so TIRED of working and worrying while he gets to be home with the baby I fought so hard to make healthy and ruined by body to have. He constantly freaks out about money and nags me about every dollar I spend when I’m the only one making anything. It’s completely not fair, and I hate it. I’m trying not to hate him and to realize this is just a phase, but I need him to find some inner strength and stop being such an anal prick about stupid things and then somehow complacent over major things. Lately I find it hard to care about his feelings because they’re just ALWAYS hurt or negative in some way, and I don’t have the energy to determine what’s a valid complaint and what’s him just wallowing in self-pity.
So here I sit legitimately needing the Xanax for my new phase of panic attacks, but he basically relapsed and was stealing all of them from me non stop, so I’m basically out. I had 180 pills prescribed to me in October, which would have lasted me months, and he ate ALL of them unsavory 8 weeks aside from a few that I hid. It’s hasn’t been long enough to warrant going to a doctor for a refill. It’s too soon, and I know they wouldn’t because I can’t explain why I don’t have any left. I have about 4 pills that I have been stretching to make last. It’s not enough, so most days I just sit through my panic attacks angry at him and wanting to run away from my entire life.
We are so poor it’s disgusting. Somehow things keep happening to finically take care of us, but every month we’ve been short about $600, and our plan to move out of this shitty house and town is our off indefinitely. The baby is getting to the point where he needs his own room, but we don’t have the space. The credit card was just paid off via a personal loan that I have to start paying back, but it’s now back up to nearly 3 grand. I thought our tax return would cover it, but because my husband’s two fucking jobs both didn’t take out taxes properly, he owed almost 3 grand this year. Even though I told him about fifty times while he was working there that he needed to handle it and this would happen. Basically the baby bonus on taxes was null and void, and the money we’re getting back won’t even cover all of the credit card debt. And there’s no end to using it in sight because he doesn’t have a fucking job. I am about to have to get tough, and I don’t want to have to do that... I don’t want to be like “don’t come home until you have a job” but I’m almost to that breaking point. I’m about to get to the point with him that I was at with the ex, and as much as I am understanding of his issues, they need to be fixed.
I hate my job lately. My husband tells me every fight we get into that I can’t possbly be good at it because I’m so crazy, so it makes it that much harder to get up and go to work every day. My boss is terrible, my workload is staggeringly large, and my coworkers are pieces or shit who constantly slack off. I am starting to loathe it and doing things like leaving early and calling out. I already called out for tomorrow because I’m legitimately SO sick today. I have had a fever and stomach ache and a terrible cold for almost 3 weeks and I feel worse instead of better, so I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. Not that I can afford it.
I came home today and there was no dinner, dirty house, and he’s spending his energy making a grow box for weed. I am about to start hating him.
I’m back on the Ana kick. I’ve missed her. She’s always there for me, and I need to remember that. I almost broke today and ate a snack cake, but as soon as I took the first little bite, the neighbors dog started howling, baby woke up, his pacifier slipped and got stuck sideways in his mouth and he started screaming. I told my husband to run into our room which he didn’t do well and got an attitude with me, and I got one back. I took my things and went to the bedroom leaving the snack cake in the living room. He tried to give it to me when I went back out to get cough drops, and I closed the door in his face.
I don’t want to hate him. But it’s getting harder every moment.
It makes me feel less alone in a world that I actually feel very alone in... If you read this, know that you are not alone. My heart is heavy, and I know how that sadness you are feeling also feels. I’m sending all I have within me out into the universe hoping all of you have those small moments that somehow manage to keep you alive.
Lately those small moments have been almost impossible for me to grasp onto. I have been very depressed and extremely anxious almost every day. I went to the doctor and she prescribed me Xanax and Zoloft. The magical American cocktail. But the Zoloft had terrible side effects and the Xanax was consumed primarily by my husband. So I’m untreated to the point I need to be.
My only highlight is baby lately, and even that’s overly stressful some days.
My husband and I are not doing fantastic. I’m trying not to be resentful lately, but that’s a difficult task. I had my baby and am back to work full time. He quit one job and was laid off from the other in the same week. He has been unemployed for three months now, and he’s not working that hard to fix it. He’s been a mess. His anxiety is through the roof, he blows up over small things, and he’s extremely difficult to live with. I’m trying to be understanding of his mental health, and not berate him too much, but I’m so TIRED of working and worrying while he gets to be home with the baby I fought so hard to make healthy and ruined by body to have. He constantly freaks out about money and nags me about every dollar I spend when I’m the only one making anything. It’s completely not fair, and I hate it. I’m trying not to hate him and to realize this is just a phase, but I need him to find some inner strength and stop being such an anal prick about stupid things and then somehow complacent over major things. Lately I find it hard to care about his feelings because they’re just ALWAYS hurt or negative in some way, and I don’t have the energy to determine what’s a valid complaint and what’s him just wallowing in self-pity.
So here I sit legitimately needing the Xanax for my new phase of panic attacks, but he basically relapsed and was stealing all of them from me non stop, so I’m basically out. I had 180 pills prescribed to me in October, which would have lasted me months, and he ate ALL of them unsavory 8 weeks aside from a few that I hid. It’s hasn’t been long enough to warrant going to a doctor for a refill. It’s too soon, and I know they wouldn’t because I can’t explain why I don’t have any left. I have about 4 pills that I have been stretching to make last. It’s not enough, so most days I just sit through my panic attacks angry at him and wanting to run away from my entire life.
We are so poor it’s disgusting. Somehow things keep happening to finically take care of us, but every month we’ve been short about $600, and our plan to move out of this shitty house and town is our off indefinitely. The baby is getting to the point where he needs his own room, but we don’t have the space. The credit card was just paid off via a personal loan that I have to start paying back, but it’s now back up to nearly 3 grand. I thought our tax return would cover it, but because my husband’s two fucking jobs both didn’t take out taxes properly, he owed almost 3 grand this year. Even though I told him about fifty times while he was working there that he needed to handle it and this would happen. Basically the baby bonus on taxes was null and void, and the money we’re getting back won’t even cover all of the credit card debt. And there’s no end to using it in sight because he doesn’t have a fucking job. I am about to have to get tough, and I don’t want to have to do that... I don’t want to be like “don’t come home until you have a job” but I’m almost to that breaking point. I’m about to get to the point with him that I was at with the ex, and as much as I am understanding of his issues, they need to be fixed.
I hate my job lately. My husband tells me every fight we get into that I can’t possbly be good at it because I’m so crazy, so it makes it that much harder to get up and go to work every day. My boss is terrible, my workload is staggeringly large, and my coworkers are pieces or shit who constantly slack off. I am starting to loathe it and doing things like leaving early and calling out. I already called out for tomorrow because I’m legitimately SO sick today. I have had a fever and stomach ache and a terrible cold for almost 3 weeks and I feel worse instead of better, so I’m going to the doctor tomorrow. Not that I can afford it.
I came home today and there was no dinner, dirty house, and he’s spending his energy making a grow box for weed. I am about to start hating him.
I’m back on the Ana kick. I’ve missed her. She’s always there for me, and I need to remember that. I almost broke today and ate a snack cake, but as soon as I took the first little bite, the neighbors dog started howling, baby woke up, his pacifier slipped and got stuck sideways in his mouth and he started screaming. I told my husband to run into our room which he didn’t do well and got an attitude with me, and I got one back. I took my things and went to the bedroom leaving the snack cake in the living room. He tried to give it to me when I went back out to get cough drops, and I closed the door in his face.
I don’t want to hate him. But it’s getting harder every moment.
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