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 I want to be numb, disassociated, and asleep. I want to cancel all appointments, lay on my couch and sleep, but I don't have the option. My bank account has $25, and I have yet to pay a single bill this month. All Christmas bs is paid for with minimal financing, but my car is in danger of repo... I'm fucking over it all. 

I hate the days where I'm dragging myself through. I pumped my body full of caffeine and sugar, and nothing. Still numb. I made myself leave my smokes at home, and I wish I had not. I desperately don't want to talk to anyone. I want to hide, and I cannot. There is too much to do - I do not have time for a mental breakdown. 

Even if I stop, I have to circle back. I'm just so tired. 

Being dramatic

 I keep losing the same 5 lbs back and forth... It’s so annoying how many times over the past two years I have hit a weight and then plateaued there, yo-yoing 5lbs less until my body decides it will let me get rid of that weight. It’s been so agonizingly slow to lose. 

I fucked up my metabolism so badly over the years…

But I’m getting there. This week I’ll hit my lowest since 2017. Just a little more after that to go. And hubby said we can get a rowing machine, so I can’t fucking wait. It can go in my bedroom, playas. I’m so psyched. 

I found out the other day one of my meds can cause increased difficulty with weightloss because it suppresses respiration (how fat leaves our body as you sleep) and I’m tapering rn. I reduced to half already. I’m gonna see how half goes for a couple weeks and see if I can drop again and go from there. 

Middle has been a nightmare lately. He’s so defensive and entitled and ignorant. He can never admit wrong and he’s a white dude - it’s so hard not to hate him a little lately. I’m like please grow out of this shit so I don’t have to be disappointed in you *also.* Like all these boys I have devoted so much fucking life force too are exhausting and sub par? That’s my fate? I’m so capable, and this brood makes it look like I can’t do shit right fml.

Hubby has been in a good mood lately except money, but what’s new. I remember the days when we had disposable income. So faintly now. I fucking will off myself if we don’t get back there soon. 

Kombucha is the best shit. I feel like I’m drinking. I wish you could drink more of them a day. Plus my body loves the effects. And lemme tell you the sour diesel delta8 lately is the motherfuckin shit. Like omg it’s been helping me survive lately. Those things and a Xanax every night, and I’m a happier person. 

Sleeptime. Think thin. 

Longing

Contemplated for like 48 hours. Decided against. I win the final forever. I think that’s why it was so hard - because I decided the final forever. 

It’s funny to me that at this juncture in my life, my first love did not make the cut of “wonder if they think of me” like the others. I do wonder, but I think because I block those memories so hard, it’s not the same. I don’t think of that period of my life as anything to remember. Same with my ex husband. 

It’s not even about time period, because Ry ran parallel to ex boyfriend and Chevy ran parallel to ex husband. 

I guess exes are not the same as what could have been. It’s the romanticism of potential that I find intoxicating. The want to be “the one that got away,” over “the one I left/who left me.” I hope my ex boyfriend regrets me. I hope my ex husband doesn’t miss me at all. I hope the others long for me wistfully. 

Why am I so fucked up? 

Basically all Bird

Fever dreams of Bird, throwing up meals on the regular, trying desperately to feel something, anything, from hemp and kombucha... Rehoming the dog is a fucking nightmare mentally... I keep having moments where I question doing it, and then he will do something I can't handle again, and I'm reminded why it's completely necessary at this point. I just don't know what to do about him, and it's making me anxious. I need someone to take him away from me and help me with him. There is no one yet. 

Dreams of Bird... Why? What emotion did I feel? Ashamed. Hurt... 

The moment when he told me I was stupid plays in my head sometimes. IDK why I even told him what I was going through - he and Lolly are the only humans I ever told. I told this blog, as I do everything, but no one else. He called me stupid, because he cared. 

Flashes of that moment and the look on his face the night I was with Gerard and he facetimed, come to me in random moments. They haunt me. I can see his face and hear his voice so clearly. Even though both times I was drunk... It's like an image you've looked at so many times you could almost recreate it. I remember how he looked, sounded, and how I felt. I felt shocked. I felt taken aback by the thought that he might actually care, because I didn't think he did. I thought we were playing the whole time.

My brain will flash to those two moments and say, "See this? You hurt him here. And here. And yes, you were hurting too, but those moments are what made him pull away in the end. If you hadn't acted like a stupid whore, you could have been with him." But he was the whore also... And he never told me flat out what he wanted or expected of me. And I don't think I ever really wanted to be with him. I don't know if I feel like he was a good person deep down like I did with all the others. I don't know if he is. Maybe he was like Trip in "Virgin Suicides..." That seems like a Bird move...

I read back over old blog entries, and I always chose my husband over everyone else. I think Bird was an option I had at one point, but I kept saying no. Not directly, but I was. I wrote that I was. It's weird how time can confuse us. I'm actually quite glad I wrote about all of my transgressions in life. They are painful to read sometimes, and I get the urge to delete the ones that are the most unsavory, but it helps me to organize myself. 

I always chose the man I had passion for, even when a safer option was there. And Bird was not the safest option...

I feel like he could have loved me. I think he did a little. I remember Jen's birthday when he acted aloof all night and then called and texted so much after we left that she was like, "What is happening?" He demanded to talk to me and called her phone to accomplish it. IDK what he wanted or expected that night. She was so shocked, and I was not. I think the fact that I wasn't was telling. 

It's so weird the relationship we had; I never know what to even make of it. He opened up to me so many times. He let me in over and over, and I was too fucked up to see that it was happening. Or maybe it wasn't, and I'm wrong. Or maybe he was the too fucked up one. I know he was a mess, and I know just because he was quicker and louder and more precise than I was at executing things, doesn't mean we weren't on the same page sometimes. 

I wish I could just ask him. I want to ask him. I want to text him and just ask, "Did you ever genuinely care about me?" Not in an accusatory way. Not because I think the answer will fill some void or fix something or tell me what my worth is, or give me closure. I'm just curious. I'm curious if he ever even cared that I left.

He played the game so much, that I always just thought we were playing, but I don't think he was. And I think once I knew all the rules, the game was already over... Once I benched the other player, he had already switched teams on me. 

He told me I was special so many times - maybe he was being honest, or maybe he was full of shit. I don't think I'll ever get to know, and that sucks. I know from all the others... All the others that I got to a level of caring with, I got a direct quote from. 

Chevy said our timing was off.
Ry said you're not the girl for me.
Bogs said you are and always will be special to me.

Adam said I want to take you on a date.

Gerard said all the time that he loved me.

They all told me in a moment of transparency the truth about us. They acknowledged the "us" part, and I'm suddenly crying while I type this, and I'm not sure why... It just hurts. 

I just wanted love so badly and still do, and it's so rare to achieve. I have to cling to this hope that he's one of the few people in the world that knew me for me and loved me anyway. He knew me on a very raw level that almost no one else ever got to with me. I want to know that he valued being there, or if he even did. 

He did say to me, "I would never be able to trust you," but that doesn't count. He said "I want to marry you," but that felt like a game also.They both make me feel like the game was still going on. They don't feel real. I want the real story of us, and I don't think I will ever get it.  He may have been vulnerable all along, but I never thought he was. Only in the two moments that haunt me do I feel like I saw behind the curtain, and both times he was in pain. So if the opposite of love is indifference, and we only feel pain when we care, then clearly he cared. But I want to know in what way and why and how. I wish I had the answer to this.

It makes me want to be crazy and get in my car and drive to Otown to "bump into him." It makes me want to text a period at 4am. Or a "do you want to pick up my shift?" randomly. It makes me want to call and hang up and see if he would reach out. It makes me want to add him on linkedin. As I'm typing this, my heart is racing at just the thought of talking to him. Even if just for a moment. 

I remember once he told me an old GF had reached out to him. He dated her like 7 years prior, and she called, and they saw each other and reminisced, and nothing happened, but he felt good about it and was telling me. I get her. I get what she wanted from it. Maybe she was getting married. Maybe she was questioning her path in life like I do sometimes. I wish I could do what she did. I'm jealous.

I wonder if other people experience this - if they think of old loves and moments and what paths they could have taken and wonder how they got to where they are now. Not because I don't think I picked the right path - I think I did. I just wonder what the others would have been like. 

It feels like time has passed so quickly. One moment it's 2012, and I'm ending my first marriage, and suddenly it's 2023 and I have a 5 year old, my stepkids are grown, and I've spent a decade with the second man I married . It was a messy first 5 years, but the do-over was good. Do other people think about their life like this??

And I especially wonder if any of the boys I listed here ever think about me. Do they shed a tear or sigh deeply or feel a twinge of pain or guilt when they think of me? Do they ever think of me? What things remind them of me? What places, or songs, or images make then think of Cally. And when they do, what memories come up?

Does Chevy think of the moment I pushed him into the walk-in so that I could tell him he hurt my feelings, the night at the bar I accidentally called him my boyfriend's name and clumsily tried to cover it up, when he heard me on the phone apologizing and started acting crazy, the night I told him I loved him as I left forever, the night we all went to dinner and he didn't spend time with me after, the night I ran through the restaurant and jumped into his arms and he held me against himself, the night we sat near the train tracks feeling with our knees touching, the two texts I sent him wanting to reconnect that he rejected?

Does Ry think about our endless AIM conversations, cuddling during scary movies until I would fall asleep, the candid photos he took of me and the ones of us together he never posted, the evening I sadly asked a question that I already knew the answer to and he pretended to be asleep later, or whatever emotion he felt when he got my wedding invitation that made us never speak again? 

Does Bogs think of going to raves and watching the walking dead, the night I was too fucked up and just kept kissing him and people from work saw, the night at TJ's pool when someone warned him to stay away from me, the night I gave him my cheek to kiss and he called me a jerk, or the day I canceled our lunch date and he knew I was leaving? 

Does Adam think of the thin pink straps on my shoulders, smoking weed together on his porch, the time I viciously gave him the silent treatment at work for days, hooking up in the back seat of his car in the parking lot of Miller's, the time he came over and complimented my bedroom and I fucked him and he left, the day he told me I was doing too much and I replied he was dead to me, the day he told me he did actually care about me and I told him not to?

Does Gerard think of laying on the pier drunkenly laughing and making out, the moment behind the bar when he said I was giving him the eyes and he took the opportunity to kiss me, the time he called my house and ratted on me to my boyfriend, the nights of chugging wine when we were supposed to be working, the night I spent at his house when I left as soon as he fell asleep, the time I did it again, the evening his car broke down and he missed our date and I didn't give him another chance?

Does Bird think of the two moments I mentioned, the night we drank and laughed on his roof, when I left my purse at his house and had to come back, the nights of punctuation or picking up shifts or DTB's, Jen's birthday, the night with the hotel pool and bottle of white wine when he held me and put gas in my car, the night we made out in his car after work in the rain, the night I sat outside on the phone with him intoxicatedly saying sexy things until he said he wanted to marry me, the night I called him and he wouldn't come rescue me and I said it had to be over?

What do they feel, if anything, about these moments that I live with? Do they ever even think of them? Do they have other moments I have long ago forgotten? What emotions do they live with because I was there? How do they feel about me now? About us? Do I ever even cross their minds?

I hope that I do. I hope they carry a piece of me, because I loved each of them... I really hope they loved me back. 

Lonely

Who do I have to be to be loved?

Pretty, agreeable, lacking needs and definitely lacking wants, mentally stable, hardworking, in a good mood, smiley, nice, pleasant. 

Who can’t I be?

Myself. Can’t be depressed, angry, sad, expectant, needing support, vulnerable, open, communicative. 

Maybe it’s like this for everyone. Maybe you just can’t be yourself. Maybe you have to hide in your room forever with no one truly knowing you and loving you. Maybe every person is dangerous and will use your weaknesses against you. 

Maybe I’m fucking stupid like Bird said. Maybe I’m only special to Bogart, and I left him behind. Maybe I should have followed all the rules, and I would be with Ry. Maybe I should have let Gerard wedge himself in there. 

I wonder what would have happened if I had gone to all those lunches and dinners. If I had gone to his house. If I had stayed where I was. 

Maybe I’m destined to be lonely. Because I always am. I always have been. I had the most soul-crushingly lonely childhood you could imagine. I was lonely the whole time I lived at home, because that’s how my parents structured my life. I was lonely in undergrad, even when surrounded by people, because I knew if I showed who I truly was, I would not be liked or accepted. I would be judged. So I clung to what was easy for me and who told me what to be, and I just did that. With my friends and boyfriend, I faked it. Then he became my first husband, and I faked it even harder. Faked it more and more until someone said one day they would accept me. So I threw all of it away and tried to start over, and I chose a man who saw me but didn’t honor that in the long run. He said he would accept me, but he didn’t know what that promise meant. I had faked it so well for so long that he thought he was accepting something he wasn’t. He doesn’t know me, and when he sees who I really am, he doesn’t like it.

 I let a few people see me for me, and I think some of them might have loved me. Some of them given a chance may have taken away my loneliness. At least a little. But I didn’t want them. I wanted the dream of something that isn’t real. I wanted something that doesn’t exist - a unicorn. And I carved out a huge hole of a place for that unicorn to fit, but since it doesn’t exist, a small little pony showed up to fill its place. And all the extra space is wasted and empty. Because now that I have a pony, I can’t have a horse. And maybe a horse like the one I dream of also doesn’t exist. Maybe all of them just fucking suck. 

No one tells you this, but just because a guy stops hitting you doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop abusing you. He’ll never really love you - he’ll just want to win. Win you and win everything else forevermore. You will always be his victim. 

Rantings

The past week has been good. Yesterday my reminder popped up to weigh myself. I’ve lost. I saw a number I haven’t seen in years. I’m still not there, but I’m much closer. 

I’m going to continue like I’ve been doing and weigh in in another two weeks. I haven’t been super restrictive, but I’m skipping dinner a lot so that my meds are super effective. I have been not drinking caffeine or anything really except water. I have been eating bagel sandwiches which sounds nuts but is so good and helpful. I’ve been eating a snack when I want one. Kombucha is my new bestie. 

I have to get rid of our dog. I can’t handle the stress. 

My husband has not been attentive lately. He doesn’t seem to realize how damaging it is. I’m thinner than I’ve been in 5 years. I’m in a new town. It would be so easy to find attention. So simple… so tempting. I’ve been so good since we got back together in 2017. But I have needs that I know someone else would fill, so he needs to step it up or he can take his baggage and go. Someone else would gladly put up with mine, and if not, I would just get fucked up all the time again… if I’m going to be trapped at home with no attention, I might as well be drunk and high when it’s happening, and this bitch prevents that part for me. Like fuck, I need enjoyment in my life. 

Blah bleh blugh

Being sick the past week has helped me to regroup. Sick and my therapy session… 

I’m trying this week to eat reasonably. Reasonable meals around 300-500 calories each. A day of about 1,200 calories, I guess. I’m trying not to put a number to it, because I will panic and purge. I identified foods that feel both safe and that I like, so I’m sticking to those. Breakfast, lunch, snack, and light dinner so that when I drink my nightly Kombucha, mixed with my meds, it makes me feel drifty. 

It’s been so nice. 

The kombucha. Not the eating. The eating is fucking hard as shit. The kombucha feels like alcohol a bit with the whole experience of it, and it’s so fucking nice.

I don’t know what to do about losing weight, but I know restricting like I try to do ain’t gonna work. I just yo-yo. So we are attempting moderation. We’ll see. 

Todays goal - don’t binge and purge while home alone with babe. 

Meh

I don’t think throwing up dinner and drinking a kombucha instead is the best coping skill, but the past two nights it’s been the remedy. 

I’ve been working a million hours, and it’s good because I’m so broke but bad because I’m so tired. I’m also sick right now.

Throwing up one meal a day feels reasonable compared to what I was doing before, and that’s a crazy thought. 

Whenever I feel overly fully, even if it’s the only meal I ate all day, my body tells me to purge it. My body says it’s too much and I’m too fat and to get rid of it. 

I’m tired. 

Therapy on ED

 I was honest with my therapist. She was helpful. I think I really do want to try to be recovered from my relentless eating disorder. I'm so hesitant to even write that, but I'm so tired of it... I'm so tired of so many things, but especially of feeling badly. 

She says I need to be able to talk about it with people, but I have no idea who "people" could even be. She agreed hubby is not a safe person. She asked if there was anyone, and I told her honestly, no. For so many reasons, but the main one being I don't want to ever show people that side of me. I'm disgusted that that girl exists. I was more open and honest with my therapist this session than I have been in the past with any of them. I don't think she realizes this. I have never given someone the whole picture until her, therapist or otherwise, and my heart is racing right now just even realizing and typing that out... 

I don't think I really want to fully let go of the disorder, and that is hard. I think maybe I can't... I can't imagine not thinking about what I eat, or getting rid of my scale, or not trying to lose the extra weight I have on my body. I know til the day I die, the weight on the scale will matter, and that I will feel better when I see it drop. I just want to be able to shape it to fit my needs. I still want to lose weight, and I hate to admit that that is difficult for me to do that. I can't tell someone I'm bulimic - to be bulimic is to be fat and gross and smelly and disgusting and all the worst things someone can be. And yes, I do objectively think that about the other bulimics. I think Ana girls are fucked up too. I have a notion that you can look thin and beautiful and it be effortless, and THAT is what I want and aspire to. I aspire to moderation with food like it's easy and I've always existed there, and to admit I struggle with it would be a fucking deafening sound. 

She said I'm always the family hero - that I have not put that role down in life, and likely never will, basically can't now - so I'm used to being strong, but when I can't handle things, I get self-destructive. She's right. I want to find moderation with that, and hopefully in doing so can have a body I don't hate living in. I don't need to be skinny or thin - just not overweight. My metabolism is so fucked, and my eating is so weird and extreme... I don't know what to do about it...

I want moderation with all things. I want moderation with my spending, eating, emotions, work.. I don't do well. I told her I'm too extreme - I either work til I burn out or I slam on the breaks. She seems to think an outlet would help, but agreed the anon groups are nauseating. That helped... 

I have a book on eating disorders that I need to read. I'm going to make that a priority... I think a menu would help. Right now I'm just trying not to binge, because I don't want to binge and purge. I'm so fucking sick of being so disordered. I'm too old for this shit. 

I would just like to eat nutritious food. Not food that is junk and not food that is basically air - somewhere in the middle where it's simple and clean, but I actually like it. Does that exist?? I keep putting things in my walmart cart and then removing them, because I don't know what moderation with fucking anything looks like. My brain is so cemented on foods I eat for pleasure and foods I eat for weight loss. Are there other types of food?? 

We discussed alternatives to binging. I don't think her suggestions are within my means of ability, but I got the general vein, and I'm going to try to implement some things I wrote down. I'm not buying that I need to tell others. I can't. I don't want to. So maybe I get better so that I don't have to. I haven't tried to get better on my own like this. I have always just wanted to be disordered. So maybe we try that approach, and if I can't get better alone, then I will involve others. 

Too depressed and disordered

I hate my clients and job and body and relationship and life. I hate the nightmares I have all the time. I hate myself. I am completely not functioning lately.

Yesterday I didn't work. I didn't tell my husband, but I just canceled everyone. I couldn't do it. I laid in bed and binged and purged and binged and spent money I don't have on food.

My bulimia has been completely out of control for days now. 

This morning my tumblr was terminated. Which I'm fucking sad about. I was spiraling already, and now that sense of community, my progress, and the things I needed to safely keep there are all gone. IDK what I should do... make another one immediately and be more careful? Give it up? Try to be Ana without it? Let myself stop trying in the first place with my weight? Try to be normal a while and then get another one and back it up from now on? IDK... 

I'm all over the goddam place. I'm not giving a fuck about work, except I need money. I wish I could make it more easily. I skipped breakfast, purged lunch, ate candy. 

I should probably talk to my therapist about my eating, but I'm honestly scared to. What do I say?? I'm bad at eating disorders, but it's back? I'm so depressed I can barely get out of bed? I feel like she will judge me or I won't be able to express how bad I have actually been lately, and that's stressful in this. I'll schedule an appointment, but then by the time it comes around, I always seem to be doing better magically. I sent her a message, so I'm going to wait for a reply, but fuck...

I'm just at a loss lately... Why am I so fucking depressed? I moved. Into a nice house. I've lost a lot of weight - not as much as I need or want to, but I'm not a fucking whale anymore. I have my kids doing well.

I think it's money stress... I want to be able to shop, plan a trip, splurge on stuff... I can't. I'm barely scraping by with my income. I accidentally spend $100 on a subscription that I need for work, and I panic for hours. Then can't use the money for things my house needs. Then I have to calculate when and where that money will come from. It's exhausting. 

Why is everything in my life taking so fucking long? That's what I really want to know. The past 3 years have been an endless fat, poor, stunted boring mess. No vacations, no progress with my son, no newness... Three YEARS. I'm so fucking over it, and I keep being told by everyone to wait.

I think that's why I don't really think scheduling with my therapist will help. Last time she said wait. She knows I'm not stupid. She knows I've done therapy a lot. She said wait. She pep-talked me, which you wouldn't be able to tell by my blog, but I'm actually quite good at doing for myself. Like it rarely ever even helps. I leave feeling mildly better, but not enough to warrant squeezing it in. I get super low, schedule something, by the time it rolls around, I'm ok... Whatever I complain about, they don't actually know what to tell me to do.

I'm over all this shit. 

Skin

158 this morning. Not a horrendous number, but a horrendous number.

I need it to be 157. I need it to be 155. I need it to be 150. I need it to be 140. I need it to be 130.

I'm tired of this body and life. I wish I could stop existing. Existing is just so hard... 

I'm going to try to eat healthy, moderately, and just enough for the next 5 days and see what my body does. I'm going to try to get some exercise. I'm going to try not to throw my whole ass ED away, but also not give in to it so much. Almost did well yesterday... Did ok in the end, but I could have done better. 

I'm trying to lifestyle shift. I'm trying to just do differently so I don't binge. If I binge, I have to purge. Or I have to be fat. I don't want either.

I just want to feel ok in my own skin for once in my fucking life. 

Not fitting anything

I don’t think I fit in. I don’t think I know how to make friends. I don’t know what’s socially acceptable or not. I don’t know if my life choices have been good. I don’t know how much I really need or want to fit in. I just know it hurts a lot when the bleak reality that I am awkward and unlikable in many ways sets in. 

Somehow I ended up with a spouse. Two actually. And I have dragged friends with me who also over share and embody flakiness. 

I think when you’re young, some behaviors are appealing that when you’re very young are not, and when you’re older are not. These behaviors I embody. So when I was very young, I didn’t fit in. When I was a young woman, I suddenly appealed to people. I knew how to seduce a specific segment of the population. Now as an older person, I am yet again unappealing. 

I never knew how to seduce the rich ones. I don’t fit in in higher society. I didn’t even at my prime. I was awkward and had to fling my body and sexuality so hard into the wind to find a place to fit in that I compromised my sense of self, I think. Maybe I enjoyed it. In a way it was manipulation. I made a significant power move, and I won. But ultimately I was rejected. Sexuality only takes you so far. And now that aspect is gone - I am old and fat and not single. How would I find footing now? Does an education take you that far? Does a job with prestige? Does being a know it all help? I’ve had very few moments of being able to test if I would fit again, and I know they were failed moments. 

I would not be able to find someone who liked me outside of a certain type of person. I can’t imagine friends I go on vacation or trips with. Even when someone likes me, their counterparts don’t. Or my husband doesn’t fit. Or my child doesn’t.  

I see it with Dave and Mike and people online. Meg accepts me because she loves me for some insane reason. Mary accepts me for the same and her husband because he grew up in similar places. They are anomalies. The general consensus is that I am awkward and unlikeable and unattractive. I am annoying. I am bad at the games they play because I have never had the resources to play them. You can look at me and know I don’t belong. 

I only connect with those in the gutter who haven’t left the mentality of the gutter. I don’t connect with those who have never been there. I don’t connect with those who have forgotten they came from there. I connect with those who are still there or who remember very intimately what it is like. 

I look poor. I look dumb. I am those things… and I get to hide behind an absolute sham of a job pretending I have answers and feeding my ego. It must look so prestigious from the outside. I understand politics to a certain level, but then I am lost. 

And I need to understand it better. Because I need money to fit in. I need money to get clients with money. I need to project wealth to get it, but it takes a little of it to get there. 

I wish this migraine would go away. I wish I was thin. How do I lose weight more easily? I’m so stuck and I hate it. 

Anxious as shit

Sometimes when my anxiety is high I wander around the house in the night. Since I was little; as long as I can remember. 

Tonight I’m in such a panic; I can’t stop. Hurricanes and eating disorders and being broke and friend apps and lack of real friends and imposter syndrome and emails from the shit job you hate but are trying very hard not to hate because it’s the sole income for your household. Yeah, those things are adding up. 

Fuck, I need pills. And I need them to kick in. My kitty is here to visit me. She’s purring and she never is. Love cats. Hate life, but love cats. 

Constant intrusive suicidal thoughts for hours now. Days. All night last night and into this morning. I slept like shit. My body hurts. My brain is confused and unfocused. I feel like I’m cracking up. I used to get this way as a teenager. I don’t remember it happening for so long now. I don’t know why it’s here or what to do about it. I want to rip my own skin off. I want to smoke a fuck-ton of weed so I can calm down. I can’t calm down. 

Cancel the world. I can’t do it today. 

Family shit

I've been dreaming of my parents a lot. Almost nightly. Most of the dreams are conflict - with them or with extended family. I think I've always associated them with conflict. I think I've always associated the word "family" with "conflict."

I read online that if you dream about someone a lot, it's because there is unresolved shit there. Clearly there is, and I know that. I'm not sure why it's all coming up now - I think the move and changes have been triggering. I think texting my brother about them and getting no response has been triggering.Taking the actual step to block my mom has been triggering. I wish she would have just left me alone.

The hard part is I know that she's hurting over this, but I don't particularly care. I was forced to care about her feelings so much that I don't have any of it left. When I think of my childhood, so many moments flood my mind about the things she did. Events like when she caught me watching Maury, the ipecac syrup, the walking trail, when I asked if she was jealous of me, when she barged in my room when I was talking to my boyfriend, when she made me tell my new friends I had never been on a date, when she got up in my face and screamed at me... I can hear the sounds of her wailing sobs. I can hear the disdain when she would be critical of me. I can remember the thousands of rules that I had to follow and how little freedom I got. I would fantasize about the smallest of abilities to have a normal life. I was so devastated when I didn't get to go to prom, and I'm sure they would not have really let me anyway. All I wanted was a couple friends. I wanted a little freedom. I wanted to feel normal. Maybe I wouldn't have actually felt that way, but I wanted the chance.

My mom acted crazy. Literally crazy. And because she wasn't wailing on us every moment, it was considered "better," but she must have known, right? When I'm a bad mom, I know. I feel it. I know it's happening. She must have felt that. She just always cut off everything that made her feel uncomfortable. She would push it away and reject it - a thought, an experience, her own child. I still feel panic about crowded public spaces because of how she reacted - not even because of my own discomfort. 

Do I have guilt about her? I don't really know... I think you always feel guilt about not living up to what someone else wants or expects. I think you always have guilt when you don't fulfill a role you're told is important to fulfill. But I know my mom should have created her own life. She could have. She was on the precipice of it for years, and then holed up in the house as soon as she had the chance in life. She chose to be lazy. She should not have been selfish and had kids. She knew she was a mess. She knew she had issues - she had to have known. She struggled to have kids, and she forced it. She stayed home to be a mom and then did a shitty job. She fed us crap, she didn't raise us to be active physically, she was sedentary and depressed, and justified every terrible decision and action. She made me do everything all the time. 

Sometimes in restaurants there will be someone who is just like BAD at it. They're a server for like a million years, and somehow they never get any better. They're not good with people, they don't make a lot of money, they call out a lot or give up a lot of shifts, they have a bad work ethic, they aren't a part of the team, but they're ok enough that they don't get fired. I think of my mom and motherhood like this. She did a passable job in that child protective would never be involved, but she wasn't good at it, and she should not have been doing it alone like she was. Once I heard a server say something to the effect of, "I have a basic crappy job, and I'm not even good at doing it." That's my mom. Being a mom is basic. It's not rocket science. It's how humanity continues. It's not the hardest job, and maybe she wasn't the worst at it, because she wouldn't get fired, but she wasn't good at it. She wasn't good at a pretty easy thing, but she made it her whole life. She made herself our whole lives. How incredibly selfish. 

I feel badly about telling my dad the things I did. I think I only feel badly because I know I was supposed to take the secrets to my grave. I have seen my own behavior in the past where I would say or act like I was a better mom in some moment to my husband, knowing my child couldn't tell on me. Yeah, we went to the park, but we didn't. I would rush to clean or change his clothes at the last minute before my husband got home. I would say I'm doing things I'm not. But with her, it was constant. Daily. She pretended that we were taken care of every single day. We weren't. I wanted my dad to see the reality, but he didn't. I just made myself look like a bad person. I just outed her, and now she gets to play the victim more. I'm ungrateful and rebellious eternally. I cemented that narrative. Do I regret that? I don't think so. It happened. I think things happen as they are supposed to, genuinely. I think there were a couple moments in the conversation when he grasped things at least a little. I know there were a lot of moments he rejected. I think he doesn't grasp how hard it was to say those things. He thinks I said them to be selfish. I didn't. I didn't want to expose the secrets, but he wouldn't leave me alone. If he hadn't asked why, I would not have had to answer. If he would have kept his head in the sand where he buried it, I would not have had to force him to choose. I pushed the narrative and set a standard I know neither of them can reach. Don't even apply for this job - you don't meet the qualifications. It feels cruel, but I don't see another path out. If someone keeps coming to the office and applying, but you know you'll never hire them, don't you just tell them at some point to stop wasting their energy? At least now he stopped calling. He realizes it's dangerous to the narrative to talk to me. His house of cards will blow away in the breeze of my words. 

I know my dad must be sad. He worked his whole life to build a family. And it didn't work. He thought it was working. He thought he was doing a good job. I think in my own experiences, I have learned from this. Yes, I am giving everything I can to my family in life, but I'm not going to force anything that isn't working. If my kids don't want anything to do with me, or if my marriage starts to go south, or if things blow up financially, I will just let it be. If I end up alone, so be it. If I can't do any of the things I want to do, I will find other things to do. My parents forced things. They should have gotten divorced so many times. They should not have had kids. They should not have taken on so much of the responsibility of raising us alone without any qualifications to do so. You listened to my first grade teacher? The one who was morbidly obese to the point she could only wear mumus who lived in a trailer with a shit marriage and an anxious daughter who worked at a shit-ass little private school? The woman with a bachelor's degree that for some reason had such bad boundaries that I remember going to her house? You listened to her because she said what you wanted to hear. She gave you an option for a life where you got to function less instead of pushing yourself to function more. You were involved at my school. You drove a car daily. You went places and let me go places. 4 years later, that had been completely erased. You stopped pushing yourself and let yourself sit in a pile of your own shit. You were miserable and kept telling yourself the experts didn't know anything. My dad scoffing at what I said about my mom shows their attitude. There are no experts if the expert says something you don't agree with. Bury your head if you hear something you don't like the sound of. Say no and walk away. 

To acknowledge that I am NOT the bad guy, my dad would have to acknowledge that he made bad choices. But isn't that his MO? Isn't that the narrative of his life? He makes bad choices "except mom," but that's not even true. He just makes bad choices. Do I make good ones, I wonder? I wonder if my dad is happy. I wonder if he ever has been. I know things don't make you happy. But I can't imagine ever just living in a trailer in the middle of nowhere with no friends or hobbies or family or anything except your wife who criticizes you makes him happy. He's had so many chances to pick something other than her and never did. It's a little crazy, to be honest. He couldn't see that she was fucking up? He had to have. In the ipecac moment, he knew. In several moments I can remember, he would know the situation was fucked up, but he would allow it. He wouldn't take his power. He would never say no. He might gently push back, but he would even sound powerless in those moments. To communicate disagreement was a sin punishable by tantrum. It's weird, because from my outside perspective, I could see that when he pushed back, it did sink in. She might act crazy in the moment, but he would have gotten his way in the end. We weren't forced to drink the syrup... But he wasn't aware of this power. He would choose every single time to allow it. To ignore. To avoid the blow-up. If you're sitting in the passenger seat, and the car starts to veer off the road, isn't it your instinct to grab the wheel?

The memory I have of my dad putting my mom in a choke-hold until she coughed up blood makes more sense as an adult. He wanted to show her in that moment that she didn't have all the power. He could fuck her up if he really wanted to. But he didn't express it properly. It should not have been a choke hold. It should have been a fucking boundary about something - money, time, decision-making. If he had chosen a better way of communicating things, it would have put her in the position of the bad guy she really was. The choke hold made her the victim. He again made a bad choice. Then he has to grovel and beg and she gets to threaten to leave. Also, why the fuck were we around for all that? We were almost forced to be involved. I remember the next day all of us sitting on the couch together processing the DV. Like, what the fuck... Why did it happen with me in the room at the age of 11 in the first place, and why was I forced to be involved in the aftermath conversation? What was I supposed to learn or gain? Didn't they realize this kind of trauma is what hurt them in their own families? Why didn't they want to protect me from it? Instead there was a "we don't hide things from our kids" mantra. WHY NOT? They hid us from the real world - the thing we actually needed to be able to handle - instead? It makes no sense. 

I don't think I'm resentful of the big things. But I have some small resentments still - nothing major, but there are moments. I want my toys. I want my dolls and happy meal toys and things that she made me leave at home. I want my wedding dress. When she said she was going to drop things off, I was so excited, and it was all just garbage. It was so disappointing. I wanted my things. MY things. Now no one knows my address, and no one will be able to give them to me anyway. I contemplate all the time buying new toys online - bitsy bears and polly pockets and the like. I feel like it's frivolous and unnecessary. I tell myself I'll get the things back in the end anyway. They can't live forever. 

But my grandmother seems to be living forever. She's another one I have guilt about. I wonder what it will be like when she does die. I don't think I can go to her funeral. I think I'm the bad guy if I do and the bad guy if I don't, so why bother putting myself through it? Plus my emotional reaction is going to be, "good riddance," so I wouldn't want someone like that at my funeral. I don't think I could go to my brother's wedding if he had one at this point either. I don't think I can be a part of that family in any way. I really don't want to. 

I wish I had the money to just send to my grandmother. I know when she showed up at my house, it came from a selfish place. I know her letter came from a selfish place. I keep thinking about her, "I think you can send me at least $100 a month." Ironically, I don't have that much. I could if I scraped and saved, but I don't want to do that. I want to spend $80 on my husband and not worry. I know it's bad not to have paid her. I honestly thought I would be in a different financial position by now. I thought maybe she would have died by now. I know it's something I want to do, but I can't bring myself to make it a priority - it seems like it would be a luxury to be able to send her the money. It's always on my long-term list, but life has made me poor since birth. Who knows if that list will ever happen. I wish I could say she never did anything for me. I wish I had known then what I know now about money and credit and the strings. I wish I would have known that her "gifts" in undergrad were not that. I would not have chosen this. And the most annoying part is I think I was talked into it by my parents more than anything. It was never that my grandmother discussed these things with me - it was always that I got a call from my dad. In trying to do what they wanted me to do in life, I got some shit deals. The financial stuff with grandma, the Pontiac, the major in undergrad, the entire Ag experience, student newspaper... The things they told me would be good for me that should have been my choice but weren't and actually made me miserable is a pretty long list. When I listened to myself in life, I was always happier, but I had to fight for that to be the case every time. 

Do I have guilt about Clara? No. I really don't. I think she's a dumb bitch. All she cares about is herself and feeding her own ego. She's the same as my grandmother, only she never did literally anything for me in life. Her or her husband. Even when directly asked. I asked Charles for two things in life - to play the piano for me and to compliment my hair as a kid. He didn't do either. He's a fucking asshole. They think ego and alcoholism are personalities. 

Ok I think that's good for now. 

Sick of it

I’m sick of it. 

I’m sick of being the only one who is capable, has money, understands the world, doesn’t freak out every single fucking second, has people skills and friends, isn’t a fucking asshole... I’m sick of working for others’ benefit. I’m sick of being the only one who does things, or they just don’t get done. And I’m sick of being treated like I’m the problem and being unable to point out I’m not the problem without some little bitch stealing my feel bad. I’m sick of the self-pity. I’m sick of every single good mood I’m in being ruined by some dark angry cloud hanging over my life. I’m sick of coping with food, because I can’t even fucking drink or smoke because of his fucking issues and his fucking moods. My life is so restricted by being “supportive,” and I wouldn’t care if it was reciprocated. 

I don’t even have my fucking noodle, because this controlling ass fucking idiot made me leave it hundreds of miles away for no fucking real reason. 

I hate him. 

Lame update

 The past month has been a homeless penniless shit-show.

We're in our place now. It's so nice, it's intimidating. I'm so scared of this life not working. I want to run. I want to escape. I want to lay in bed disassociated. I want to take a day off. 

I need new clothes. I need a new body. I need money. I need time. I need rest. I need exercise. I need to eat less. I need to lose weight. I need to starve. I need to unpack. I need to organize. I need to buy things. I need to clean. 

Money. Really need money. 

I'm terrified about baby starting pre-k. I know he's going to be shocked by the shift. I'm not sure how they will manage him. I'm scared for him. I'm scared for his safety and how he feels. I'm scared of being exhausted by all of it. I hope he is ready, I am ready, hubby... 

I'm just exhausted. I have no plan atm, and I don't do well like this. 

Food and fucking annoyed

The number on the scale this morning was lower than I’ve seen since god knows when. Maybe years. 

I’ve been super restricting. The ville rules are back. I’ve been staying under 600 cals per day except one day like 9 days ago, and that was a “normal” day. The past two nights I exceeded my allotment at dinner time and purged dinner. I don’t even care. 

Tonight the urge to binge is so high. I had a fucking emotionally and mentally exhausting day. I didn’t get a break. I didn’t get to space my sparse food properly. I am in a bad fucking mood and just want to stuff my face. 

I had a jello cup and rice cake for 80 cals instead. 

Things I would eat right now if I could:

• McDonald’s cheeseburger
• Chicken nuggets with sweet and sour sauce 
• Donuts
• Loaded cheese fries 
• Nachos 
• Chips and dip
• Almond snickers  
• Fruit by the foot
• Orange soda
• Pop tarts 
• Sub sandwich 
• Deep dish pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and onion 
• Garlic knots with marinara 
• Cinnamon rolls
• Soft pretzels and lemonade 
• Cheese sticks with ranch and pizza sauce 
• Fried calamari and peppers with marinara 
• Roast beef sandwich and jalapeño poppers
• Crunchwrap 
• All the beer  

I am so tired, and my body hurts. Baby has been sick and I didn’t get paid today. Tomorrow I order groceries that look nothing like this. 

In 8 more pounds I will weigh what I did when I got pregnant. In 3 more pounds I will have lost 30lbs. Albeit slowly. Better than never I guess. 

I hate myself.  

Excited for once. Nothing healthy.

My weight is dropping. I have been starving. I asked for zofran and got some. It helps when my blood sugar is low to stop the nausea. It helps to balance out all these medications. 

My body feels so much better when I’m medicated. When I’m numbed. When I’m hungry. 

Because it’s not hunger. It’s victory. 

Wednesday 6/7 - 800 cals
Thursday 6/8 - 250
Friday 6/9 - 250
Saturday 6/10 - around 1,400 (fuck me)
Sunday 6/11 - 500
Monday 6/12 - 600
Tuesday 6/13 - 450
Wednesday 6/14 - 525

This averages out to 600 cals a day. With that bad day factored in. 

Y’all, I am killing it. My weight is dropping. I’m popping pills like it’s my job. I’m chugging water like a motherfucking fish. Im weighing in daily, and the number is dropping. 

I can’t fucking wait. 

Here fishie fishie

I’m back at it again. It feels good. But I have a headache. 

Landlord and moving shit has been intense. I’ve pushed all that aside to focus on making money and starving. 

In other news. I present, for your horrific pleasure, my pill regimen:

Breakfast:

Wellbutrin 

Birth control

Allergy meds

Gerd meds

Beta blocker 

Lyrica

Caffeine pill or coffee

Lunch: 

Beta blocker 

Dinner:

Beta blocker

Xanax

Cbd gummy

Lyrica (prn)

Magnesium 

Often Tylenol 

I’m glued together by pharmaceuticals. Is it effective? Yes. This has been a long road to get to this place of having it all working in harmony and working well. It just feels like a lot sometimes. 

But I don’t really care. 

I just wasn’t supposed to live this long. That’s the real problem here. 

Again.

My hormones definitely affect my ability to manage food.

It’s like the day my period starts, I can ignore the entire existence of food. But the week before that, I can’t ignore the urge to binge. 

Idk wtf to do about that... it’s the most annoying and disheartening cycle to lose weight over the course of 3 weeks, and then in one, get this “fuck it” mentality and gain most of it back. 

Like FUCK me. 

Definitely feeling like it’s easy not to eat the past couple days... I have been having a strong ass coffee in the morning and working all day with maybe a snack or two. Some nights I have dinner, and some nights I just avoid it. 

I’m done with all the planning. I’m done with a higher allotment. I’m done with breaking my own rules. I’m done with doing this journey alone. 

I realize I might be the oldest, most disordered bitch on the planet. I don’t care. Give me all the tips, notes, hacks, and inspiration. I need it all. 

I NEED to be thin. 

What the fuck ever

My weight hasn't budged in days. Major setbacks. Fucked chemical trip. Exhausted. Nauseated. I hate my fucking landlord, and hope she dies in a car accident in her big ass stupid fucking truck. 

Robin sent me photos from the past. 17yo me. I wish I had more mementos of my life at that age. I wish I remembered more about it. I wish I could re-live those times sometimes. I was on the cusp of happiness. I was engaging in life and the world and having great experiences. I was blowing minds. I was blossoming. I was finding me. I had to hide the entire process, so it's not documented well. I hate my stupid fucking ex boyfriend that thought he knew things about computers. 

I miss my collar bones. Hip bones. Feeling pretty. I literally hate old photos of myself, because I was pretty. I didn't know how pretty. I had a general clue, but I didn't know how much power I had.

Now, I am powerless and fat.

Off to cook a dinner I'm not allowed to eat. 

Foods allowed this week:

Oatmeal
Fiber cereal
Turkey and pickles
Cabbage
Egg whites

Doable. Play on tumblr, no food after work, make yourself pretty again, you stupid bitch. 

4 days of restricting down, 60 more to go

The manic panic of the impending move is kicking in. I’m so tired already. I can’t think straight half the time. I feel tense and disconnected. Just now I found myself gritting my teeth like 3 times, realizing, and relaxing my jaw. It hurts. Everything hurts. I push myself to do anything I have to do and keep pushing back the reminders on my phone. Today I worked a full day, managed to clean the bathroom and bathe the dog and cook dinner make beds and take Baby on a drive. I’m poooped. 

I’m praying for the July I want. Like please, Lord. I just want to be at home with my baby before he goes off to school forever. I want to be in a nice new home in a beautiful new town and spend time at the beach. I want the life I’ve been waiting for for so long before I’m too old and tired and worn out to fully enjoy it. 

My scale does too much math for me. I know its calculations are not true, but it makes me want to strive for intense things. I remember when I lived in the ville that I lost 30lbs in a month at first. I had a lot to lose, and I was young. I don’t think my body is capable of that now, even if I did everything the same exact way I did before, but I can at least lose 10. If I really stick to 600 average calories a day I can definitely lose 10lbs a month. I want to lose 20lbs from where I am right now. That would put me at before baby weight. Idk if my body is even capable of it with all my health issues, but two months is nothing. So let’s try, bitch. 

And if I want to fit in in the boujie places I want to live and work, I need a better body. 

I can’t be a Tricia. 

I’ve been eating 500-700 calories the past week-ish. I think I had one bad day in there and maybe a purge or so. But definitely the past 4 days I have been restricting really well. And the past two weeks overall have been an improvement. The rules are the rules. Same as they ever were. I know how to do this - I just need to stick with it a little bit here. 

And then maintain the rest of my life. Fuck this fat life I need my life back. 

More meds on the weekends

About 600 calories today. 

2.5 mg xanax throughout the day (days off are often higher because the boys SUCK lately). 

4 days until hubby’s birthday. 

I’ve surfaced from the pit but I’m trying to still relax. My fibromyalgia lately has been a cunt to deal with. I feel so fucking stiff all the time. Wearing a shirt hurts. My knees hurt. I can’t get my hands to cooperate when I’m trying to use my phone sometimes. I fucking hate this shit. 

I casually mentioned to my husband that I think I have a mood disorder. I didn’t say bipolar. He responded well. He agreed with the processed thoughts I presented, and, shockingly, didn’t argue about any of it it or say anything offensive. I was floored. It’s nice. We’ll see if it lasts. 

Logged my weight. Had a nice surprise. 

Gotta go. Xanax kicking in. Think thin. 

Purging, parents, pathetic ikr

“Ikr” someone ended up in my title while writing this, so I left it. Seems fitting. 

First things first. 

Whatever 4 souls are out there viewing this garbage I spew… I hope y’all are doing alright… Just know I am sending love your way through the universe. Because if you’re reading this, I can’t imagine what your life might be like…? Like reading because it’s relatable, or because it’s like watching a train wreck? No one deserves for this shit to be relatable. So, whatever your motivation, hope you’re ok in the world. 

I am not ok... Have I ever been? 

I tried therapy. I really did. I really gave this a shot, and no one has answers. Everyone disappoints. No one knows what to do with me, and I can tell. 

I’m not sure I want to get any better. I think I DO fully know what the path to “getting better” looks like - it’s not some elusive mystery what recovery would look like for me - I could probably write out a step by step plan at this point to put myself in the recovered category. But I don’t think I want to walk down the path. At least not yet. I have until July 17th… The new one seems ok. She might have a god complex if she agreed to me…. Seems likely… But I don’t really want it, and I’m not curious enough to waste any more of my time. 

But this is me, so who knows how I’ll even feel tomorrow. 

But one thing about Cally remains consistent, regardless of all other ambivalence. 

I still crave being thin.

I don’t know how to satiate that craving without just feeding it. I don’t want to be better - I want to taste the bitter satisfaction of the number dropping. I want to be in control of my body. I want, more than anything on earth, to be thin again. Not a stick like before. Just thinner. 

Today I consumed about 1/4 cup rice, 6oz salmon, some carrots. I had creamer in my coffee. These are the days I feel good. My stomach is empty and growling, and I can ignore that right now. I can find satisfaction in that fact. 

I have been purging a lottttt lately. I took a bunch of laxatives. I have been so fucking self destructive. With smoking, with pills, with food. These are the days I don’t feel good. 

Purging will always make me feel better, but to not have to need to in the first place makes me feel amazing. Ana is like this amazing girlfriend who gives you the life you want. Mia is the bitch that abuses you that you keep going back to. 

I’m fucked in the head. I know that. 

I need to read the book that has changed my husband somehow. I know that. I told him that this summer, I cannot, but that I will once I’m not working 6 days a week. I meant it. I also know that by then, I should be a little thinner. So whatever it does for me or to me, that is already established. And if it somehow makes that even better, great. And if it leaves me where I am at that point, I’ll be ok with it. 

But I’m sick of moderation being everyone’s answer. Because I don’t fucking do it. I don’t think I can. And I’m sure that’s what the book’s answer is also. 

I’ve been chewing off my nails and picking and fidgeting all day. I just got off a spiral of three solid days of debilitating depression. I currently cannot sleep. I was super productive yesterday, and know I will be tomorrow. 

I keep trying to act like my mom had bipolar, and I got away scot-free, but I don’t think that’s actually the case. I think she is severe, like diagnosable type 2 at least... But I think that I also probably have cyclothymic issues. I don’t think what I experience is normal. I’ve been told it’s not. And it’s with or without the marijuana. It’s with or without lifestyle factors. It’s with or without medication. This journal is a testament to it. All of my prior journals have been as well since teen years. Medication helps, and I’m not willing to be on anything heavier, so I think that’s in a good place. But it’s a place I have to recognize I am in. 

I don’t think I can chalk this up to learned behavior anymore. I think I need to face the facts. 

And that is one I will have to, unfortunately, face alone. My husband can’t handle that true revelation. That will just become ammunition. And maybe that’s sad, but it’s also just reality. It’s a reality that I’ll just have to live. It’s his own ignorance and fear, but ignorance and fear are often a recipe for hate. I can’t emotionally handle that fallout. I’ve been through enough with him. So I’m allowed this privacy, just as I was allowed the privacy I took before our marriage. I don’t feel badly about it. It’s necessary for survival. 

And my mood issue is not so bad that it’s murdering our life. I am still the one carrying the large majority of our life. It’s about a week max of me dragging myself through life, with a very dark span of no more than 3 days on average, and then 2-3 days where I am a freight train at full speed handling everything that being productive requires, and then some. I don’t just get caught up - I get ahead. 

I’ve learned how to direct the mania, for the most part. It’s just the depression that gets me binging and spending. If I could spend more, in physical stores and not online, I would binge less and spend less. I know this from past experience. So, maybe the plan of action is to just allow some spending as soon as it’s actually an option. Covid is suppressed. I legit need clothes. I can manage a budget once my income is not in the negative each month. 

I need to accommodate it better, and not just deny it. 

And yeah, spending is still a little self-destructive... But it beats the alternative. When I have time alone in public with money, I’m just a happier person. I can get back to that soon. In the meantime I’m begging Ana to hang out with me as much as possible and trying to ignore Mia’s calls. 

When I have more personal time, I can mask it more easily also. My routine is not as thrown off when I have enough time to do my cover-ups and outings in secret. I maintain better. This 6 day work week is interfering with the coverups a bit. BUT I can easily contribute ANY obvious issue to the 6 day work week as well, even if I know that’s it’s not entirely true. 

Does all this shit make me like my mom???

Maybe. Maybe coverups are just always a part of bipolar, because there’s no possible way someone could understand this head unless they lived in it. No possible way this type of behavior could truly be accepted in the world we live in. 

But I will give myself credit that I am so much better than my mom. I don’t say that with arrogance - I’m referring to health. 

This fucking bitch should never have had kids. I guess I shouldn’t have either, but I think I suspected that, while my husband was just GOING to want more, and wasn’t going to listen to or see anything different. So, I did it for him. I don’t regret it for me, but I worry for Baby… However, Baby is giggling right now, while I write this at 3am, so it didn’t turn out all bad. I love the shit out of that kid, even if he made life harder upon arrival, and I know his own life will be hard. 

But my mom…? She didn’t acknowledge any of her shit to anyone ever. She didn’t work on fixing it. I do. I have. Maybe I’m not there 100%, but the image I give my husband is more accurate. It may be a little blurry, but you can still make out what the image is. 

She had to have known the picture she was painting my dad was just bullshit smeared on a canvas. She had two miscarriages before me and an abortion. But then you make me. And then my brother. And then you fall apart. And this man is still looking at the canvas, 30 years later, still confused as shit as to what he’s looking at. He still believes the bullshit. He wants to. 

But at least I spoke it… And even if I DID just use that call to make myself feel better (which I don’t think is even true, and wasn’t my intent), I’m fucking allowed that. I’m owed it, quite frankly. I painted the actual image. You decide which one you want hanging on your wall. 

Bro, just like FUCK my parents… I want my fucking stuff back…

But anyway, back to the recent symptomology…

I had to sit myself down and tell myself to chill the fuck out before I get caught. I’ve been being fucking reckless, and I cannot afford that. My relationship and lifestyle are held together by the threads of a spiderweb, and I need to keep out of my own sticky parts. 

Empty stomach, clear mind, right? Just work and save money. That’s it right now. We can starve a little while we do it. We can still do it all on an empty stomach. The thought that you can’t, is a myth. I’ve proven it wrong. The very existence of Caitlin proves it wrong. 

I think back to my interview, when I went with the group answer, even though I didn’t agree. 

They were wrong. 

I was right. 

They discussed an impossible and artificial reality. I saw it for 3 years in my program. No one had their shit together. They all just knew information and liked their jobs. I already knew the truth then, but gave theirs a chance. It was false. All men are fallible. 

I think knowledge and experience IS enough. 

You can, in fact, do something for someone else that you’re not currently doing for yourself. As long as you have the map to give them. You have to have visited to be a tour guide. But you don’t have to have lived there forever, or currently be living there. You have enough info to give them so that they know how to move there themselves. That’s ok. That’s good enough. That is still effective - probably more. 

I’m over the god complexes. We all have our demons. 

I need to remember this… I need to remember that I’m allowed to be whatever the fuck I want, and whoever the fuck, and as fake or as genuine as I want. I need to realize no one else has any fucking answers. They all just spew bullshit. 

The only productive exercise in all of this history of bullshit was my email with the man I formerly idolized. He said get on meds. I did. Then he showed me his ugly, and yet again proved people who don’t have their shit together can still do extremely well. And be helpful. Getting on meds was helpful, and not something I would have likely done without a push. 

But the ugly and crazy? 

It’s. ALWAYS. There. 

In every single person. 

So, what I do is good enough. Many say I’m actually very good at it. “The best.” I know I am upper level talent. I see the outcomes. I know I’m well-liked, and well-received, and well-informed. I sell it. I’ve seen the market first hand. So I don’t need to carry so much doubt. My 70% is everyone else’s 100%. Thems just the facts. I’m good at my job. 

I’m choosing all of it. I’m choosing my husband. I’m choosing not to have my parents in my life. I’m choosing to get my body back to a place I want it to be in whatever way I want. 

And now I’m choosing sleep. 

Think thin. 

People

I found a new one. I told her I’m a shit show. She said she’s down for it. She said it’s often about timing. She means it’s about willingness to change. So far I like her. We’ll see Monday when I meet her.  

The last two days I’ve been around 800 calories. It’s been easy because I’ve been so fucking busy. Evenings are hard. Right now I want to eat half a pizza, but I won’t.  

I’m trying very hard not to abuse Xanax. I think I need a couple days without it. It just feels so good to shut off. I need to. My life won’t let me live any other way. Shut off or suffer and worry. Old me would have popped all the pills. New me has a baby to worry about. I don’t care if I live or die at any given moment except for how much it would hurt my husband and kids. I only function for them.

Why am I so easily able to get people to like me? You’d think that would be enough. But no. I hate me. I guess I just think all people are dumb. They fall for my bullshit, so they must be. I put on a face, string together some sweet words, kiss a little ass, and the little birds peck seeds from the palm of my outstretched hand. It’s almost sickening. I know what to do and say in any moment to manipulate a person. I could have used my night to win over SB if I wanted to. I didn’t - hate him. But I know I could have. 

I even got fucking Desiree to like me. She hated that she did, but in the end she liked me. 

I’m tired of people. 

But getting called hot tonight was pretty chill. Adorable really. Like I do still have it I guess. 

The plan

Coffee and fiber for breakfast. 

Salad for lunch. 

Apple for snack.

Meat and veg for dinner. 

Under 1,000 calories a day, right, Ms Gunter? 

Xanax as needed. 

Fuck my body. I hate it, and it’s time to punish it until I don’t. 

I can’t seem to find a good therapist. One last try. Halfassed. I just can’t do it anymore….

I know more than them. 

Summer

I’m sad about leaving here. It’s one of the places I’ve lived the longest. I haven’t had consistency in my life for so many years. I had it here. I’m sad it won’t be that for me anymore. 

But I also hate it here. There have been terrible moments here. 

So, there’s just no option without pain. So I’ll let myself fucking create it.

I’m decreeing this the “summer of survival.” 

This means all behavioral rules are null and void. Toxic and self destructive are just allowed to exist. Just for the summer. Food, Xanax, whatever. I’m staying loyal, and I’ll go to therapy, because those are the things that make it seem like I’m ok to anyone who knows me, but I’m not really going to try.

No one can help me. 

They either push me to do something else, or they just have no answers. Literally no one has given me any help. So, fuck it. I’ll waste two months bitching about my life to whoever is too stupid to keep me but interesting enough to keep me interested. Maybe I’ll do that cycle twice. And I’ll let Mia and Ana play whenever and wherever they want. I’ll skip breakfast. I’ll chug caffeine. I’ll take laxatives when I eat. I’ll let Ana rule the grocery store. I don’t fucking care anymore. 

It doesn’t matter how hard you try. Nothing ever gets better. So, why try?? 

He’ll get to work soon enough, and then I’ll focus. I’ll buy clothes and get physically active. But the next few months, I’m going to tear myself apart. 

I’m going to fake it till I make it with the rich girl food rules. Fuck the fucking fat bitch family I come from. 

Fuck her for letting me get this way. I wonder if my doctor will give me adderall… or if a psych would. 

Hm. 

Fucking tired bro

Things that are pissing me the fuck off:

Brother
Husband

Husbands bitch ass tantrums 
Son number 2

Baby momma 
Yvonne and Missy
Parents 
Lack of free time
Sheer volume of new clients
No one to dump to 
Therapist can’t handle me 
Knowing she can’t handle me 
Having no answers

Dumb dogs 
The eternal debate over every meal internally 
Broke as shit
Don’t want to move
Don’t want to stay
Don’t want to handle all of it myself 
Terrible body
Headache
Cloudy mind
Tired as shit
Bored 
Missing summer 2015 
Lack of social life
Lack of wardrobe 

Intrusive memories of childhood  

Things that aren’t:

Xanax 

Unloved

Binge purge binge purge binge purge binge purge. 

Hate self. Hate life. Feel anxious and depressed. Wish you’d married someone else. Wish you had a different job. Wish you had an easier kid. Wish you had a decent friend. 

I don’t think it’s possible to ever really have a person who knows all of you and loves you right. All people know parts. No one knows all. No one. Except me. And that’s why I hate myself. 

Who could love this?

My husband acts like he can’t stand the sound of my voice. He acts like he doesn’t even like me. He acts like I’m a huge inconvenience. He acts uninterested and annoyed when I speak. 

No one fucking loves me. And they shouldn’t. 

Fucked week

New meds adjusted. New job in the works. New insight with hubby in couples going well. New therapist. She seems good. Hope she can help, because my eating has been out of control. Binging and purging so much. Multiple times a day. Anytime left alone. Anytime triggered. 

At least in this exact moment, things feel good with my little one. Like headed in a good direction. Consistent timelines all over. 

What’s not consistent or good is this fucking week. 

Talked to dad. Pretty sure my relationship with my parents is over for life. Our couples therapist offered to facilitate something. I don’t want it. It’s just like I felt with the ex. I really don’t end something until I’m really really done. And now I’m done. My pity or empathy or whatever for my dad is exhausted now. I tried. I gave him all I had. I didn’t even have to give that. 

She asked how I would feel if the chance to repair it were gone. I said if they died tomorrow I don’t think I’d feel any regret. I feel neutral. She said that’s a good thing. When I told her what my mom texted on my birthday, her eyebrows went up. They never do that. 

Our landlord is making us move out. I get it. We have not been paying our rent well lately. But idk what that’s supposed to look like now. Idk what I can even afford. I’m going to call places tomorrow. Maybe in the long run it’s a good thing. In the short run I’ve been panicked all day long.

Fuck my life I need weed. 

Hate

I’m just binging and purging like insane amounts lately. Idk why even. I’m just so fucking stressed. 

I know why I’m stressed. It’s because I’m so fucking broke all the time. I had to take an hard look at our finances today and be honest with myself and my husband. I just hope I can pick up enough work to make this work. 

Money makes me stressed, and stress makes my eating disorder and fibromyalgia flare up. Today I binged and purged and then ate dinner and purged. I’m making myself dehydrated. I’m running out of food to eat. I’m absent from the things I need to do and feeling defeated. I’m not sleeping well. 

I hate my fucking life and self. 

Another wave

 Moments come back like waves. At the worst times. At the most inopportune times. Memories of my childhood that I had buried are recently resurfacing like a deceased person floating to the surface of the water - bloated and misshapen and sad and dead. 

I remember when I would get back scoring for a project book - how my mom would react. Or scoring for my presentations or debates or speeches... If I was scored harshly or badly, I honestly didn't give a fuck. But she did. She would rant and rave for hours, days, weeks, years over some of them. She kept every single one of those books. Books I was supposed to have done to document my own projects and time in the programs. 

Literally none of it was me. Books of lies. This goes beyond when a parent helps a kid with a science fair project. She literally did all of it, not only without my input, but also arguing with me to get her way. I wasn't allowed to have an opinion - I just had to comply to whatever she said and wanted. I think it's even worse than pageant moms. I literally never got a say, and I feel like they do sometimes. 

She controlled every aspect. She decided what project I would do. She decided what the photos would be, wrote the whole thing, designed the posters, everything. 

I was just the puppet. 

I would sit and type it out line by line. Her words. When I tried to re-word it, it got shot down. When I tried to have input, it got shot down. Hours of her sitting over my shoulder, smelling her greasy hair and unwashed body, her voice and breath in my ear forcing me to use my hands to do her projects. She made me pretend that I agreed, or else she would start to act cruel. Like I was stupid. So it was easier to just pretend I agreed. I was a mouthpiece for whatever she wanted me to do and be. I did projects I didn't even like. I turned in things I didn't do myself. She cared about the scores, because they were HER scores. 

I remember at districts one year, I did my presentation that I had zero interest in, and I guess it showed. They both yelled at me. Apparently I had looked out the window while I was presenting and not at the judges enough. I was distracted. I have fucking ADHD and didn't give a fuck about whatever I was talking about. I remember I was so taken aback by the yelling that day, because I still had the notion that I was doing this for my own enjoyment. That it was fun for me. But that day I realized it didn't matter if it was fun for me - it was about winning for her. If I didn't win, perform, pretend to care, there would be consequences. 

I had boxes of ribbons for things, and I don't care about them. She used to have tons of ribbons up on the wall of our house, and I used to just think it was stupid. They were meaningless. I have two trophies that I have on my wall at home. The trophies are for forestry. That was my thing, and only mine. She couldn't influence the process in any way - I had to learn things and apply the knowledge, and I liked it, so learning it was fun and easy for me. My coach told her how good I was, and she just left me alone. I studied it on my own. That's why I cared about those trophies and took them with me when I moved out. I let her keep all the other shit, because it was never mine anyway. 

That's why I liked photography also. Yeah, she may have chosen what shots to compete with and how to frame them, etc. But they were my shots. She never got to tell me what to take photos of. I was connected to my art without her. 

I wonder what my life would have been like if I was allowed to just be myself. If I had been allowed to have interests and opinions and things I liked and did. 

Why did she want a child void of personality? She had to re-do her childhood because it sucked so badly, and in doing so, she ruined mine. I have made effort to let my kids just have theirs. I have doubled up on adulthood to give them a childhood. 

I fucking hate her. I want her to die so I can get my things back. I'm going to burn every single one of those books. Fucking witch. 

Rapunzel reflections

I’m so mother fucking depressed. 

Days of anger and sadness endlessly and abruptly bursting into tears. No suicidal thoughts; just a horrible mood. I think the lack of sleep and money are the biggest contributors. I don’t care about my body right now because my head is so fucked. It’s like impossible to drag myself through each day without having mental breakdowns. I cry over the past. I relive things I shouldn’t. I feel like raw nerves on fire. 

I don’t know what to even do about it. 

My parents robbed me. They robbed me of friends, parties, boyfriends, independence, confidence, abilities. They robbed me of normalcy. 

They made me feel like an outsider. Yeah, I never got any of the bad things from my peers. But I never got any of the good things either. And I got the bad things from my own fucking family. They weren’t a safe place, and I never got to leave, so I just never had a safe place.

Even the environments they let me enter were not safe. All I had for years and years were frenemies and half-ass time wasters - I can name so many, starting in 1st grade and going all through high school. They ripped me away from the “bad kids,” who were legitimately good friends to me, and kept me with kids who treated me like I was their last choice. Who treated me like shit. Even the good ones hid me when it came down to moments of pressure. I was taboo. I get it. I just wish I had had other options. 

I was never anyone’s first choice until Niki. She was the first real best friend I ever had. She loved me, and she saved my life. 

They put me in shitty situations with shitty kids over and over, seeing how unsafe these girls were. Telling themselves that I was safe, when I wasn’t. And I was so desperate to be away from them, that I accepted any chance, regardless of how shitty I knew it would be. What must the other parents have thought? That I would be a good influence? Did they pity me?

They forced me into society ill-prepared and wearing the uniform of an outcast. And not a cool outcast; just a poor one with crazy parents. You could take one look at me and see that I didn’t know what I was doing, and that my parents forced me to do what they wanted me to do. That I didn’t have any choice, because no one would choose what I did or had. I was forced to wear things and act like I didn’t want to. What the fuck is wrong with letting me cut my hair and put magazine pages on my bedroom walls? Why couldn’t I show my legs? Why did I have to be so different from everyone else? Why wasn’t I allowed to just blend in? Or be myself? Why couldn’t I listen to music? Wear makeup? Watch MTV? Why wasn’t I allowed to be a part of my own generation, except for in secret or from afar? Why was being pretty something I was discouraged from doing? 

I never got to grow up, until I already was an adult. But emotionally, I had to grow up way too fast. 

Trapped. I was always trapped. 

No wonder I became a black widow. I had years of making up to do. I didn’t get to do it like a normal person. Instead I did it fast and hard with reckless abandonment way too late in life. I did it like I’d done it all my life. I fooled them all. I got pretty and then I got smart and then I stomped on hearts. Suddenly, I wasn’t picked last at sports at camp. I wasn’t praying for Jimmy to kiss me and being socially awkward anymore. I had figured it all out. I was picked first for all the drunk dialing a woman could want. I left, and they cared. I needed them to love me to make up for all rejection I was pushed into. 

I wish I had my journal from back then. I wish I would have told D to fuck off. I wish I hadn’t been so desperate for a boy that I let in THAT boy. I wish I had done so many things differently. I just had no idea what I was doing. 

I dream of them often lately. Nightly. And the themes are all the same. I’m trapped, in conflict, justifying myself, annoyed. A prisoner. They made me feel like a prisoner all the time. 

There are such huge chunks of my childhood that I don’t recall. Endless years of sitting in that trailer with day after day ticking by, and nothing but endless boredom. I did my chores, watched tv, read books, felt soul-crushingly lonely, and fantasized about a different life. She felt safe there; he got to leave every day; I had to be captive. They raised me to be non-functional. To be sedentary and depressed and emotionally unregulated. They raised me to be a loser just like them. They raise me to struggle with all of the things I struggle with - depression, anxiety, unchecked adhd, hating myself, eating disorders, and codependency. They raised me to be poor and miserable and fat. I’m trying so hard not to be those things, but I feel haunted by all of it. I feel haunted by them. 

I feel like sometimes I miss my dad, though. I miss the moments when he treated me like I was just the most amazing thing he’d ever seen. I miss our heart to hearts. I miss when I truly let him in for a glimpse of who I was and he made me feel like what he saw was perfect. I truly wonder if he knows how shitty of a mom his wife really was. I wonder if I’ll ever get to have a relationship with him again. 

But he’s a fucking mess, and he was controlling and critical as well… he was so hard on me all the time, and would get so angry. And he always broke all his promises... 

There are a few good memories that stand out, because he actually acted like a good dad and person - when he caught me reading by the light of the door, the speeding ticket, the ipecac moment... He hid things for me and defended me once or twice in my life. But he should have yelled at the top of a mountain for me instead. He should have taken us and left the hell we were in. He was miserable; didn’t he realize we were miserable too? Maybe I just think I miss him because he was the lesser of two evils. Maybe I just want a dad. Maybe it’s just because I know I can win his approval sometimes, but I can never win my mom’s. 

It’s ironic that I wasn’t allowed to cut my hair - I literally was Rapunzel. 

Bulimia

I’m not good when he leaves town. I can’t handle myself alone with no accountability. I tell myself I’ll relax, but I just self destruct instead. 

Three massive hinges and purges. $55 worth of food. What the FUCK is wrong with me?? And I can’t even get help with it right now, because my shift in therapy means my therapist is for couples, because that domain will self destruct if I don’t attend to it. I can’t give out some information in this process and hope for it to remain a secret.

And it has to stay a secret forever.

I need help. I need to figure out how to eat like a normal person. My meds help but my impulses are a bitch. And any stress makes me blow up. And lately it’s all stress. 

Today I felt redeemed. I ate rice cakes and granola and vegetables and a light lunch. I cleaned my house and did errands. I did well overall. I bought salads for the week. I’m gonna grill a but-load of chicken.

I’m so tired of struggling with my body. I need something that works for me. I hate this. 

Songs for boys

In progress….

Where are you now - Ry

Circles - Adam

Dead boy in my room - Bogs 

Delicate - Bird

Chevy? TBD 

Blah blah binge purge

My binging and purging is definitely related to my anxiety. When it peaks, I can’t stop binging. When I start binging, I relentlessly purge. It wasn’t just weed. I’m just fucking mentally ill and eating disordered. 

Lovely. 

The pills help tho. Recently it’s beta blocker in the morning, lyrica couple times a day, benzo at night. I was trying to stick to halves. I’m going to discuss a higher dose when I meet with my NP. Today as soon as it all kicked in I was able to break the cycle. I was able to go outside even. I was able to make myself go to work and finish the work day. I need this to continue to be the case. 

The b and p’s also have nothing to do with where my husband is. It’s all hearsay. My ED doesn’t give a fuck what day of the week it is, who’s where, or what my schedule is. It just pops up and says, “fuck you,” and then I have to pay attention to it all day. It’s my addiction. Fucking disgusting addiction. 

I want a new swimsuit, but that prospect makes me anxious as well. Because idk what size or color or print or cut to go for, and I’m broke as a joke. 

Reasonable eats is the goal tomorrow. 

Breakfast: English muffin and eggs maybe. 

Lunch: pepper and cheese wraps with chicken.

Dinner: HelloFresh 

Total: 1200ish

I need to get myself under control. I hate this shit. 

In other news, I googled Chevy. A year locked up for multiple DUIs. I wish he didn’t hurt so bad. I bet he has no idea how many tears I have shed for him. I wonder if he ever looks me up or thinks of me. He’s the worst unfinished business of my entire life. 

Pills and thoughts

Lots of things have been stressful lately. Many of which I can do absolutely nothing about. So I haven’t been worrying about them. Is it denial? Maybe…

The amount of money I owe is slowly creeping upward, and my income is not. Court didn’t happen well. We need a lawyer. It’s all too much, so I’ve been taking things one day at a time. Moderation and slowly paying my bills late and ignoring some of them altogether. Idk what else to do. Once baby is in his program, I can hustle and catch up. Until then, it’s a little hustle and a lot of empty bank account days. 

My weight is slowly declining. I’m not over analyzing anything - I just have had a low appetite since I started meds, and it’s kinda hard to find something that sounds good to eat, so it’s easy not to. I have been having about two meals a day and letting it be wherever I want. I find often, I don’t finish it. Toward the end of the meal, I don’t even find what I find appetizing appetizing any longer. I’m not complaining, honestly. I think that part of my brain has been broken for so long. Idk what has made it better - maybe just less anxiety… I emotional ear like a motherfucker.  

My med changes are great. It’s not perfect, and I still had a terrible migraine today, but it was better than it usually is. It came on at 1pm, and by 7, it was over. That never happens. Even the cloud that I usually sit in after I have one for about 24 hours is gone right now. Normally it is a 48 hour process, but right now I feel fine and it’s midnight. I’ll take 12 hours over 48, thanks. 

I smoked once since I started all of this, and it was fucking terrible. Not the high, but my eating. I binged so hard and purged so hard as well… it’s like I’m a fucking junkie in those moments. I’ll spend my last dollar on junk food and inhale it and throw it back up. It’s fucking terrible. I won’t be smoking again for a long while.  

I think a life of pooping pills every day is better than smoking. I’m glued together with wellbutrin, propanalol, lyrica, and clonazepam. I don’t miss the weed, because I’m able to calm down. I didn’t realize how bad my anxiety actually was. I haven’t felt paralyzed since my doctors appointment, now that I think about it. And the lyrica makes my body cooperate. I’ve been having some side effects, but I think it might just be anxiety actually.

And I’m giving it til my appointment to make a judgement call. I think things are going well, but I scare myself overthinking everything as per fucking usual. 

It’s really fucking annoying to be like “I have fibromyalgia,” but like, I really do… I guess I never really realized my body was different than others. My husband is trying to get it. I’m trying to navigate it. It’s all very new and hard to mentally organize or understand.  

I hate this body. For so many reasons, I hate it. Why do some people get to be born into a good one? 

It’s not fair. 

But no ever said it would be. Off to find a yoga video to start doing nightly. 

Ran away

What the fuck is Cally doing? She’s in a hotel right now. Paid for by gay bff. After an evening of being treated like crap. After weeks of being treated like crap. Years at this point. 

She took pills and a shower and won’t eat for a while. 

I don’t care anymore. He needs to wake up. I need more. I need a partner and not another child. I need him to get that he can’t treat me however he wants. So I’m making a point. 

Will it backfire? Will it give him a taste of his own medicine? Will it be the end of us? Will it fix something?

I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. I just know I can’t live like this anymore and I need him to realize I have options. I might not have a family, but I have options. There are people right now who I could be with. People who would give me the world. I could take my baby and leave and never come back and I would be happy. 

I don’t feel the same way about my husband anymore. Because he’s killing it. I wish he would stop. I really am trying to hold on. I really am trying to be ok and help him. He’s determined to be miserable. And I can’t do shit about that.  

I can’t live my whole life miserable and trying to make him happy. Trust me it doesn’t work. He’s about to get whatever I feel like giving and not an ounce of effort more. If that’s enough for him, cool, and if not then he can leave. 

I’m done being treated like I’m not good enough. I won’t take it from my parents, husband, anyone. Fuck off, world. Cally doesn’t have any fucks left to give. 

I just realized I don’t even have to rush home tomorrow… I have to work and check out at 12:30 but I don’t have anywhere I’m supposed to be really and I have $29 because of bestie.

Pills now. Nighty night.