Fucked neck and mood

The binging and purging of the last several days is over. Today I’m trying to eat “normally,” (whatever that means) and tomorrow I am back to restricting. I tried to restrict today but the number of pills I had to take this morning (11 pills so far today) necessitate food in my stomach if I want the effects of all of them. And I do. Hoping that by tomorrow I will feel physically better so that I can go back to properly restricting. 

I wanted to call out of work today. So badly. But I fucking need the money (nightmares about bank account balance status over here) and I didn’t know what to do about the husbands reaction if I did. 

So I just adjusted my work day to be easier for myself and plowed ahead. Lately it’s just about survival. I feel like I can do it pretty well now even when I’m not at full capacity. So being somewhat sedated is helpful and permissible. 

This morning I showered in emotional agony thinking about what would create the least suffering today. 

“What would you do if you were single?” 

“Call out.” 

“What would you do if your husband could choose?” 

“Work all day.”

“What’s in the middle?”

“Appearing like I’m working all day, but don’t…?” 

So I figured out a way to accomplish that. 

Right now I’m resting. This day has been bearable. 

It’s tragic to me that I have to walk on eggshells with him. I don’t necessarily have to, but it’s just so much easier that that’s the path I often take - least resistance. 

Huh, I don’t think I realized really what that meant before now. 

Anyway nap time. Think thin. 

Escape

Forgot to take my birth control for several days. I don’t know if it’s contributing to the current bullshit I feel, but I think it might be. 

I feel so drained. Suicidal. Exhausted. So so tired. Tired for years now. 

I want to close my eyes and sleep for days. A week solid. I don’t know if I’ll ever catch up on sleep. I don’t even know how I would achieve that. 

I pulled my neck. This always happens when I don’t get enough rest.

I wish I could just sleep and dream. The dreams would start terrible, but they would get better in a few days of enough rest.

I remember this from the worst depressive episodes - once you’re not tired anymore and your subconscious cleans itself up, you get nicer dreams. When you force yourself to sleep because sleeping is better than being awake, your mind gives you some pleasant ones. 

I’m having escape fantasies. I just wish I could sleep. 

And then, The Ditty: “A binge and a purge, and alls right with the world.”

It is still true after all these years. When it’s good, it’s so good. I’ll never understand people that have a fear of vomiting. They don’t know what they’re missing out on.

Uncomfortable

The self-hatred today is fierce. Binge, purge, eat shit. I try on 5 bras before I can get out of the house - feeling suffocated by every one. I finally manage with invisible socks to get there. 

Then I see her. She has got to be seriously uncomfortable. All the time. No matter where she is or what she’s doing. 

I breathe, but it’s labored. 

Not as labored as hers.

I don’t know what to do with myself when I just don’t have the cognitive capacity to do things. I can’t decide what to do, what to eat, what to think about, what to let myself get into.

Idk if it was the cough medicine or nah. Can’t figure that out for a few days now. 

Fuck everything. 

Jumble

Last night I overdid it. My body was kind. Today I did well until 3pm. Then a binge and purge happened. 

I feel good right now. I’ve been feeling good lately. My body feels stronger and not so weighed down. I think I’ve built more muscle over the past couple weeks being more active also. 

I need to be thin. I was thinking of the past driving around and wearing a bikini in the summer in the sun. I want that again. My age doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to dress like I should. I just need to be thin. I hate myself right now. 

I go to the park and compare. I’m not the worst. There’s cellulite worse than mine. Hair worse than mine. More rolls. Worse clothing. Butterfaces. Wonder how they criticize me in their heads. I know that the women here are not representative of the people I want to be around. I want to be a beautiful person. 

I want to be thin. 

Fuck you body

Today was a rough day. 

My body is fighting me. It has been nauseous from hunger the past two days. 

It’s survivable. 

I wait as long as I can to feed myself and I’m very selective. This afternoon my coffee wasn’t sitting well and my blood sugar was low. 

Solution = throw up. 

Acid gone, nausea lessens. I eat something small. Next wave, I have an edible. It makes me too relaxed for work.

I won’t do that again. Work is supreme over all. 

But I feel capable of being able to fuel myself just enough to get through my responsibilities and then collapse. I just need my body to realign. I know it will. It will shrink a bit and recognize that it can’t bully me into feeding it more than I want to. 

Today’s eats:

B: coffee

L: Chex mix - 220 cals 

D: chicken and broccoli - 300 calsish

Livable. 

I’m hungry now but I like to go to bed this way. I remember when I was my thinnest I would cup my hip bones in my hands and fall asleep like that. 

I miss it.

I don’t even care what my body looks like as much as I do the way it feels. I just want to feel good in it again. And the only way that happens is when it feels a little bad. 

Sleep now. Elliptical 6am. Think thin. 

Pushing past the limit

I don’t know why I pretend like sometimes I can step away from my eating disorder. I don’t think fighting it even works. I’m so disordered, and I don’t even care. I think everyone is like this. So I want to just allow myself the shit.

If there is misery with Ana and Mia, and misery without them, then I just have to choose what misery I can live with. And a fat body is not a life I can live.

I don’t want to be my mom. It’s always this, isn’t it?

I recognize being thin will not solve it all. I might still end up like her. I think her life is terrible, and I’m horrified that it will be mine one day - to just feel unhappy constantly. I would hate to never feel happy like she never does. 

And being fat is one of the few unhappys in my life that I can do something about.

I’m trying not to eat. 

Not the “trying not to eat bad stuff,” or “trying to only eat a certain number or calories,” bullshit. I’m just trying NOT to eat. When hunger arises, I check in with when the last time I ate was and when the next time I’m expected to publicly eat and what that will be to make a determination if I have the permission to eat or not. 

Todays eats:

B: coffee

L: 1 slice cheese pizza, brownie

D: Xanax 

When hungry, just drink water, take caffeine, smoke or eat an edible or pop a xan all day long… then be careful with that night time munchies. 

Last night munchies got me. I was too hungry, and when I smoked, I got too relaxed. I think no weed past 9 needs to be a thing. Like last time I can smoke in the evening is before baby bath.

Rules (don’t we live for them?):

-Wake your ass up at 6.

-Take your meds and a green tea pill.

-Work the fuck out. 

-Shower.

-Brew coffee. 

-Go to work. 

-Slowly sip coffee for several hours. 

-Drink alotsa water. 

-Lunch: 1-200 calories and as much neg cal foods as possible. 

-More caffeine if needed until 2pm. 

-Get off work. 

-Smoke. 

-Cook & eat a meal that’s 2-300 calories. 

-Smoke, edible, smoke, smoke.

-Stop smoking 8:30pm

-Theraflu or w/e to fall asleep. 

-Asleep by 10:30. 

I can’t waste my life hiding and eating in secret anymore. 

I need to get some theraflu. Tomorrow I am going to exercise ffs. By 6:30am my ass needs to be on the elliptical. 

Think thin. 

Introspection sucks

Hit in the brain with… idk.

Two things:

I never had nurture in my life, and made choices that will lead to likely never having it. 

I rejected it in the past when I experienced it, because I felt I was not deserving.

Expansion on the themes:

I don’t get nurture in my life. 

Fucking. At all. 

No one babies me. No one has for a very long time. I am now the babier, and I don’t really like it. It actually makes me quite unhappy. I do find value in doing it for all my boys, but it’s mostly pretty thankless and definitely sacrificing in nature. Not only am I the babier, who never gets babied, but I also don’t get a lot of gratitude 

As discussed previously. Let’s not rehash it.

Moving on with this theme. 

I always thought you were supposed to have someone in your life who babies you for your whole life. But maybe that’s not true. Or maybe I just never will because of the events of my life and choices that I made. I had options to get babying from 3 sources in life- boys, parents, and others. 

Expansion on this…

I used to have my parents. I used to be able to - every once in a while - ask for nurturing, and get it, if I pleased them. Now, I don’t have that option. I don’t miss the experience specifically from them. It just used to give me hope when they did it that one day, someone out there would do it better. Do it right. 

But no one ever did. 

Every relationship I have ever had involved me taking care of the other person more. It was always me who was leaned on. 

The first man I married was nurturing in the same way as my parents - only when you kept him happy. 

BUT. 

He was good when I shit-tested him. And boy did I ever. I feel bad for him that he had to deal with it for 4 years at its worse, and I wonder if he really contributed to my terrible sense of self as much as I have insisted in the past that he did, or if it was just me all along. I wish I could watch footage of the past like a movie. I know my memory is not reliable by many accounts. I wish I could know the objective truth. 

Anyway. He knew enough to recognize in those moments of my deepest insecurity tantrums that all he had to do was say, “you’re beautiful,” and it would erase the issue. 

Disgustingly enough. 

All I ever want even now is to be told that. I’m old and not beautiful anymore, and I want my partner to treat me like he did when I was 22. Maybe that’s a completely unrealistic expectation. Maybe all men at some point stop babying their wives. 

The “you’re beautiful,” becomes, “shut up, please, you know you’re beautiful,” and then just, “shut up.” 

So I don’t know what’s really realistic, but I do know that I chose an un-nurturing man to marry. When I tantrum, he explodes. 

I stopped trying long ago to get him to react with babying. I even tried telling him flat out what to say and do, but it never stuck. It’s been 10 years, and the two recent tests just had the same exact outcome as all the ones from the younger days. He just doesn’t get it. 

But now, even when I need just basic empathy, it’s not available. It’s not his fault. He was viciously abused. He was never taught to be empathetic - just to defend himself. And he can’t stop. He can’t stop defending himself, even when there is no attack and no enemy. His defenses rise to the heavens at a moments notice. I know he tries. But I also know him increasing his empathy is my goal for him, and not necessarily his goal for him. And I can’t force it. I love him and chose to be with him knowing this limitation - that was my choice.

And babies. I don’t get it from them. The step kids aren’t mine. It’s not really comfortable or appropriate for me to get any kind of nurturing (not babying - just affection and attention) from them. 

And my own little one just isn’t that, and may never really be it. He gives me small moments that keep me going enough to mommy him, but that’s about it. I enter and leave the experiences with my tank no more or less full - breaking even on the daily. 

Second thought:

When I experienced true nurturing from boys in the past, it would always strike me as a little… annoying. It made me look down on them. I thought they were pathetic when they were nice. It actually made me feel extremely uncomfortable. 

I think this is because I never had it before from anyone healthy. I always experienced it from people whom I had to prove my worth to to get it. I had to earn it in some way, and it was used to guilt me or manipulate me. 

“But look how much I love you - I baby you when you act right.” 

But then I could never continue to please them, so I felt it unachievable, and therefore strayed away from it. Why would I accept nurturing when nurturing meant I had to keep someone happy? When someone’s a fuck head then I know where we stand. 

Is that better or worse? 

Is it better to be flat out told how someone is feeling and handle the gut punch in one foul swoop, or to feel it gradually - ache creeping in like fog and deflating you slowly like a balloon with a pinhole in it. Sometimes, if you’re still enough, it won’t even let out some of the air for a second, and you can pretend you still have a perfectly good balloon. 

I don’t know what is better, but I know what I chose.