Anorexia @ MindSay 
bulimia
The Epic Post
I apologize in advance for the sheer length of this post. I went off on a few healthy tangents. Don't hate me, please! :)
Yesterday was quite an adventure. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to ask to see Nick. I’d talk to him, but I would give him some space and give myself some space. I find that if I surround myself with a person, I get clingy, bored, or too comfortable. Clinginess is just plain unattractive. Boredom is unacceptable with someone as awesome as Nick. Comfort? I’m already too comfortable with him for my own good. I actually forgot to thank him for doing something (if you know me, you know I’m shuddering in abject horror over this—I’m nothing if not painfully polite to enemies, crushes, and unknowns). Fortunately, I remembered later, thanked him profusely, and apologized for forgetting to do so earlier. He hadn’t really noticed and indeed apologized for forgetting to thank me for letting him stay the night before.
(Side note about politeness—I’m, as I said, unerringly polite with enemies, crushes, and unknowns. I’m more than tolerably polite to almost everyone else—friends, people about whom I don’t care to have an opinion, family, etc. But I don’t expect the same courtesy. At least not to the same extent to which I hold myself. You can forget to thank me for a lot of things and until you piss me off, I’ll never think anything of it. But should I do the same and realize it, I can’t have it. I like being appreciated for what I do, but when I do get a thank you, it’s so unexpected and heart-warming that I’m likely to go into a fit of favors for you—don’t try to work that system, please.)
ANYWAY. If I don’t give myself some space, I’ll let him see the cynical, pessimistic side that I work so hard to overcome. I try to be upbeat and generally positive—aside from my dry humor and cynicism in its light form. But I have a very pessimistic side that I despise. I expect very little of people because I find it easier to trust them to let me down, which is why these last few weeks have surpassed my expectations by miles.
((Side note: my dog is being adorable right now. She started out about five feet away, laying on the ground. She has slowly belly-crawled under the coffee table and is now laying as close to the couch I’m on as humanly—err, caninely possible. She paused about two feet away, looked up at me, and laid her head down like she was done moving. A minute later, she was [what I’m sure she thought was] sneakily crawling closer. She stopped just short of being against the couch (note: she also had to turn about 90 degrees to get up against the couch), looked up, and rolled over against the couch. It was pretty cute.))
ANYWAY. I decided that I was not going to seek Nick out. So I went over to my mom’s house, checked on my kitties, used her internet for a while, grabbed a few more things, and headed back into town. I re-dyed my hair and had just resigned myself to pacing the house all day and not-calling/texting Nick when Natalie came to my rescue.
Instead of me driving myself crazy all day, we went Thrift-Storing. There are about 7 really good thrift stores in our town and the town that’s closest to ours (they’re sister cities: Nevada City and Grass Valley), and so we don’t go thrift-store shopping; we go Thrift-Storing. I got the BEST deals. I got a red tie with white polka-dots (good for interviews if I’m rocking the badass office professional woman, great if I’m just rocking the badass chica, serves in addition as a belt and a hair scarf) for 54 cents; a pair of really cute brown professional heels, a strand of pearls, and some great tea cups with saucers for $14.85; and a dress that usually costs (this was my best find of the day—I’m super proud) about $200 that I got for $19.85. It looks SOOO hot on me. It’s a light turquoise color, about knee-length, and a halter. It’s hot hot hot! I need a reason to wear it now. It’s a little dressy for just wearing, but if we went, oh, I don’ t know…DANCING, it’d be PERFECT. Especially with the gold silk shoes that Natalie found and said I could borrow any time.
Anyway, I actually had a great day. I wasn’t expecting it to be (see? Pessimism in the raw!); honestly, I expected to have to go walk twelve miles with my music on full-blast just to keep myself distracted. And I started to go a bit crazy in the evening, but there was a bathroom to clean. And dishes and laundry to do. I have busy work to keep my hands on something. Away from my phone. Sometimes I wish I could intentionally lose my phone so that I can’t be tempted into connecting with the outside world. (note: in this scenario, The Outside World is mostly just synonymous with Nick)
Another thing that made me really happy was when I weighed myself. I have a rule about weighing myself. I don’t weigh myself more than every two weeks. It’s actually been more like 6 weeks. The last time I was into the doctor. And I was up a few pounds. Made me not too happy with myself.
I guess you have to know the full story for it to make any sense as to why a few pounds piss me off. I’m not anorexic. I don’t have any other eating disorders. That would have been easy for me to do with my mother, but I’m actually really smart about food. Now. I’m smart about food now. Anyway. I was never…huge. I was about average for most of my life. At least until middle school. I got sick a lot, had a few surgeries, and was just generally inactive. I got up to about 165 by mid-8th grade. Over the summer, I freaked out, went on a soup diet. I actually did have an eating disorder at that point. Freshman year was a rough year. I dropped down to about 115 and still thought I was effing huge. Sophomore year, I went to the other side of the pendulum and gained it all back. By the end of Junior year, I was at an all-time high of 178. I wore it well, but I was pretty chubby.
And then the best thing happened to me. I went to Europe for 10 days, dropped 15 pounds because I was too hot to eat and was walking a good 20+ miles a day. When I got home, I had pneumonia and I couldn’t eat and breathe simultaneously. Between these two things, I got back into a healthy amount of eating. (My mom’s diet is perfectly healthy—except on the portions end of things. Portions for her are almost twice what I eat) So the weight kept dropping. From June to November, I dropped about 25 pounds. It was coming off slowly enough that I was getting a good shape on me. All this was while taking a birth control pill that is notorious for packing about 20 pounds on its victims.
I was actually pretty good at 153, and I got stuck there for a while. Holidays, I suppose, do that to people. But I didn’t gain any of it back, which made me really happy. After Christmas, I started taking Doxycycline and a new birth control pill that worked in conjunction to keep my skin clearer. The other effect was that it jump-started my metabolism at the same time. By March, I was at my then target weight of 145. And I look fantastic at 145. Without any extra effort, I got down to about 140, and decided that 135 might be better just because I’m hippy, and I wanted trimmer thighs. So when I went to the doctor in May, I was back up to 148. I had a mild panic attack, scared that I was going to gain it all back (that’s what happened between freshman and sophomore years), and started eating healthier again.
So I weighed myself yesterday, and I’m back down to 141. I wasn’t really expecting to be. I actually thought I’d gained weight. I actually kind of should have. I’ve been partying three or four days a week and eating like crap. Unless I’m at work. Then all I eat is fruit and a little dairy. But I’m back down, closer to my target weight. Without starving myself. And without crazy work-outs. I’m very pleased with myself. The other thing is, my weight now is more muscle mass than it was before. I’ve got rather toned arms (working at Jamba Juice did that to me—I’ve never had arm muscles before, and now I’ve got bona fide guns. They might be pistols, but they’re still guns) and my legs are actually pretty lean now. And I’ve decided I’m not going to stress about getting down to 135. I look fine where I’m at, and sure, 135 would be nice, but I don’t need to be 135. If I did, there might be a problem. Part of the problem with losing any more weight is my pants. I have long legs, and I wear a little bit less than an 8 in the jeans I like, but only at my waist. I’m more like a 10 in length. I actually wore 10 Longs for a little while. And the 8 Longs work for me, length wise. But if I get down to a 6, the Longs might be a little shorter than I like. It’s quite a conundrum. Not really, but it’s something I think about.
I’m done thinking. This is an extremely long post. I don’t know why I had so much to say today. But I’m done. The Epic Post of Epicness is done.
Yesterday was quite an adventure. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to ask to see Nick. I’d talk to him, but I would give him some space and give myself some space. I find that if I surround myself with a person, I get clingy, bored, or too comfortable. Clinginess is just plain unattractive. Boredom is unacceptable with someone as awesome as Nick. Comfort? I’m already too comfortable with him for my own good. I actually forgot to thank him for doing something (if you know me, you know I’m shuddering in abject horror over this—I’m nothing if not painfully polite to enemies, crushes, and unknowns). Fortunately, I remembered later, thanked him profusely, and apologized for forgetting to do so earlier. He hadn’t really noticed and indeed apologized for forgetting to thank me for letting him stay the night before.
(Side note about politeness—I’m, as I said, unerringly polite with enemies, crushes, and unknowns. I’m more than tolerably polite to almost everyone else—friends, people about whom I don’t care to have an opinion, family, etc. But I don’t expect the same courtesy. At least not to the same extent to which I hold myself. You can forget to thank me for a lot of things and until you piss me off, I’ll never think anything of it. But should I do the same and realize it, I can’t have it. I like being appreciated for what I do, but when I do get a thank you, it’s so unexpected and heart-warming that I’m likely to go into a fit of favors for you—don’t try to work that system, please.)
ANYWAY. If I don’t give myself some space, I’ll let him see the cynical, pessimistic side that I work so hard to overcome. I try to be upbeat and generally positive—aside from my dry humor and cynicism in its light form. But I have a very pessimistic side that I despise. I expect very little of people because I find it easier to trust them to let me down, which is why these last few weeks have surpassed my expectations by miles.
((Side note: my dog is being adorable right now. She started out about five feet away, laying on the ground. She has slowly belly-crawled under the coffee table and is now laying as close to the couch I’m on as humanly—err, caninely possible. She paused about two feet away, looked up at me, and laid her head down like she was done moving. A minute later, she was [what I’m sure she thought was] sneakily crawling closer. She stopped just short of being against the couch (note: she also had to turn about 90 degrees to get up against the couch), looked up, and rolled over against the couch. It was pretty cute.))
ANYWAY. I decided that I was not going to seek Nick out. So I went over to my mom’s house, checked on my kitties, used her internet for a while, grabbed a few more things, and headed back into town. I re-dyed my hair and had just resigned myself to pacing the house all day and not-calling/texting Nick when Natalie came to my rescue.
Instead of me driving myself crazy all day, we went Thrift-Storing. There are about 7 really good thrift stores in our town and the town that’s closest to ours (they’re sister cities: Nevada City and Grass Valley), and so we don’t go thrift-store shopping; we go Thrift-Storing. I got the BEST deals. I got a red tie with white polka-dots (good for interviews if I’m rocking the badass office professional woman, great if I’m just rocking the badass chica, serves in addition as a belt and a hair scarf) for 54 cents; a pair of really cute brown professional heels, a strand of pearls, and some great tea cups with saucers for $14.85; and a dress that usually costs (this was my best find of the day—I’m super proud) about $200 that I got for $19.85. It looks SOOO hot on me. It’s a light turquoise color, about knee-length, and a halter. It’s hot hot hot! I need a reason to wear it now. It’s a little dressy for just wearing, but if we went, oh, I don’ t know…DANCING, it’d be PERFECT. Especially with the gold silk shoes that Natalie found and said I could borrow any time.
Anyway, I actually had a great day. I wasn’t expecting it to be (see? Pessimism in the raw!); honestly, I expected to have to go walk twelve miles with my music on full-blast just to keep myself distracted. And I started to go a bit crazy in the evening, but there was a bathroom to clean. And dishes and laundry to do. I have busy work to keep my hands on something. Away from my phone. Sometimes I wish I could intentionally lose my phone so that I can’t be tempted into connecting with the outside world. (note: in this scenario, The Outside World is mostly just synonymous with Nick)
Another thing that made me really happy was when I weighed myself. I have a rule about weighing myself. I don’t weigh myself more than every two weeks. It’s actually been more like 6 weeks. The last time I was into the doctor. And I was up a few pounds. Made me not too happy with myself.
I guess you have to know the full story for it to make any sense as to why a few pounds piss me off. I’m not anorexic. I don’t have any other eating disorders. That would have been easy for me to do with my mother, but I’m actually really smart about food. Now. I’m smart about food now. Anyway. I was never…huge. I was about average for most of my life. At least until middle school. I got sick a lot, had a few surgeries, and was just generally inactive. I got up to about 165 by mid-8th grade. Over the summer, I freaked out, went on a soup diet. I actually did have an eating disorder at that point. Freshman year was a rough year. I dropped down to about 115 and still thought I was effing huge. Sophomore year, I went to the other side of the pendulum and gained it all back. By the end of Junior year, I was at an all-time high of 178. I wore it well, but I was pretty chubby.
And then the best thing happened to me. I went to Europe for 10 days, dropped 15 pounds because I was too hot to eat and was walking a good 20+ miles a day. When I got home, I had pneumonia and I couldn’t eat and breathe simultaneously. Between these two things, I got back into a healthy amount of eating. (My mom’s diet is perfectly healthy—except on the portions end of things. Portions for her are almost twice what I eat) So the weight kept dropping. From June to November, I dropped about 25 pounds. It was coming off slowly enough that I was getting a good shape on me. All this was while taking a birth control pill that is notorious for packing about 20 pounds on its victims.
I was actually pretty good at 153, and I got stuck there for a while. Holidays, I suppose, do that to people. But I didn’t gain any of it back, which made me really happy. After Christmas, I started taking Doxycycline and a new birth control pill that worked in conjunction to keep my skin clearer. The other effect was that it jump-started my metabolism at the same time. By March, I was at my then target weight of 145. And I look fantastic at 145. Without any extra effort, I got down to about 140, and decided that 135 might be better just because I’m hippy, and I wanted trimmer thighs. So when I went to the doctor in May, I was back up to 148. I had a mild panic attack, scared that I was going to gain it all back (that’s what happened between freshman and sophomore years), and started eating healthier again.
So I weighed myself yesterday, and I’m back down to 141. I wasn’t really expecting to be. I actually thought I’d gained weight. I actually kind of should have. I’ve been partying three or four days a week and eating like crap. Unless I’m at work. Then all I eat is fruit and a little dairy. But I’m back down, closer to my target weight. Without starving myself. And without crazy work-outs. I’m very pleased with myself. The other thing is, my weight now is more muscle mass than it was before. I’ve got rather toned arms (working at Jamba Juice did that to me—I’ve never had arm muscles before, and now I’ve got bona fide guns. They might be pistols, but they’re still guns) and my legs are actually pretty lean now. And I’ve decided I’m not going to stress about getting down to 135. I look fine where I’m at, and sure, 135 would be nice, but I don’t need to be 135. If I did, there might be a problem. Part of the problem with losing any more weight is my pants. I have long legs, and I wear a little bit less than an 8 in the jeans I like, but only at my waist. I’m more like a 10 in length. I actually wore 10 Longs for a little while. And the 8 Longs work for me, length wise. But if I get down to a 6, the Longs might be a little shorter than I like. It’s quite a conundrum. Not really, but it’s something I think about.
I’m done thinking. This is an extremely long post. I don’t know why I had so much to say today. But I’m done. The Epic Post of Epicness is done.
Weight
I have always been big boned. I have big muscles without doing anything for them. I have thick arms and thighs. They give me a brawny look, allowing my tummy to have a few extra inches without looking fat.
So I don’t really care about what I eat. I just eat. But through the last months, eating has been sort of an escape for unstable emotions or unavailable support. I lack the motivation to do exercise and honestly, I think my usually “normal” few extra pounds are growing too large.
Now I feel fat. And having a girlfriend who can eat a bull everyday, and still look like a top model, it doesn’t help me to feel better about myself.
In the last days I have tried to make me throw up. But it doesn’t work. I just gag - no reflux. The only thing left to try is ipecac. But I don’t want to use it since I hate the feeling of being nauseous.
And I’m glad I not going bulimic. Binge eating followed by forced vomiting looks way too desperate and out of control.
I watched a documentary today about girls who went through anorexia nervosa. And there was this girl who explained: “At that time, my self-esteem was so low, that everything in my life was out of control. And deciding to starve, being able to control my impulse to eat, had a huge meaning to me. At last I had control over something in my life”
And I am feeling like that girl. I have some experience with starvation. I tried it in the past, and I know that it feels good. I want to try it again.
I know it won’t be easy: my girlfriend likes to control my meals, but I’ll try to skip as many meals as possible. I know it starts to feel better after the beginning. And the motivation, the self-esteem boost, the energy that I get, they’re well worth that discomfort in the stomach.
And I’ll hit it back on the abdominals and push-ups again. I want to do this. I need to do this. I CAN do this.
So I don’t really care about what I eat. I just eat. But through the last months, eating has been sort of an escape for unstable emotions or unavailable support. I lack the motivation to do exercise and honestly, I think my usually “normal” few extra pounds are growing too large.
Now I feel fat. And having a girlfriend who can eat a bull everyday, and still look like a top model, it doesn’t help me to feel better about myself.
In the last days I have tried to make me throw up. But it doesn’t work. I just gag - no reflux. The only thing left to try is ipecac. But I don’t want to use it since I hate the feeling of being nauseous.
And I’m glad I not going bulimic. Binge eating followed by forced vomiting looks way too desperate and out of control.
I watched a documentary today about girls who went through anorexia nervosa. And there was this girl who explained: “At that time, my self-esteem was so low, that everything in my life was out of control. And deciding to starve, being able to control my impulse to eat, had a huge meaning to me. At last I had control over something in my life”
And I am feeling like that girl. I have some experience with starvation. I tried it in the past, and I know that it feels good. I want to try it again.
I know it won’t be easy: my girlfriend likes to control my meals, but I’ll try to skip as many meals as possible. I know it starts to feel better after the beginning. And the motivation, the self-esteem boost, the energy that I get, they’re well worth that discomfort in the stomach.
And I’ll hit it back on the abdominals and push-ups again. I want to do this. I need to do this. I CAN do this.
My Life As A Anorexic
Well, right now I'm 16 and have had anorexia in and off for about 3 years. It started when I was 13, and needed to lose weight. I lost it, and then couldn't stop losing more. I would have lost a lot more, my thinking was that if I looked thin at 89 lbs, I would look a whole lot thinner( and better) at 80 lbs, but my weight loss plans were put to a stop by my mom deviating with the doctor. It ended with me fainting on the doctors floor..
And then I went through a terrible year where I gained everything back. I couldn't lose it, and I couldn't stop eating. I felt completely out of control. But that ended last year, with me losing it all again. But then I just recetly gained it back..I feel terrible about myself. I just want my fat to go away. My friends say I look fine..but I don't believe them.
So here is my blog of my new life. I'm starting it over again. Excercising; counting calories; going to bed with that familiar hungry feeling; hiding the fact that I don't eat; bring it on.
I know I have a eating disorder; I tried to make myself throw up today, but then caught myself by saying I just wouldn't eat anything else today. But I don't care.
" Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"
That is so true..I'm not eating anything else today..
And then I went through a terrible year where I gained everything back. I couldn't lose it, and I couldn't stop eating. I felt completely out of control. But that ended last year, with me losing it all again. But then I just recetly gained it back..I feel terrible about myself. I just want my fat to go away. My friends say I look fine..but I don't believe them.
So here is my blog of my new life. I'm starting it over again. Excercising; counting calories; going to bed with that familiar hungry feeling; hiding the fact that I don't eat; bring it on.
I know I have a eating disorder; I tried to make myself throw up today, but then caught myself by saying I just wouldn't eat anything else today. But I don't care.
" Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels"
That is so true..I'm not eating anything else today..
American Idol, God of Small Things, Thinkfast at Binghamton, & no more smoking.
I decided that, as I sat here and absorbed yet another episode of American Idol with my suite-mates, I would update here in my dear, stress-relieving blog. The last time I posted was Friday, but a lot of things have happened. Life at Binghamton seems to sit in the fast-lane; something is always happening here, something that tries the soul mentally, physically, or emotionally. I went home this past weekend and I feel I was hit on a dual front: home presented fights with my family, while back at school, I would have been presented with fights among my floor-mates and worries about one of my suite-mates (though those have been discussed tonight as well). I suppose I ought to start at the beginning, like always. This post may be long.
First things first: I've created a four-point to-do list for the rest of the semester. I was trying to think of some interesting and witty away message for AIM, and failing to do so left me with a list of what I'd like to accomplish this semester.
The weekend home was... fraught with arguing. I'm pretty sure my dad didn't take his pills Sunday as he was in a ridiculously foul mood and found fault in nearly everything I did. I'm used to the niceties and freedom of school now, so when Dad says something horrible to me now, I don't bite my lip anymore. Now I fly off the handle and downright yell at him. In that case, 50% of all the fights we have are my fault, but I feel that my anger is deserved. He instigates so much and yet, after having raised me not to take any nonsense from anyone, he expects me to lay down and take everything he says and then run off to fix whatever it is that's wrong with myself. That will not and never will happened. The fault of instigation does not lie with me but with him.
Ah... point of importance: The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy is a really confusing and all-around badly written book. It has joined Volker Berghahn's Imperial Germany in its rank as the bane of my existence.
Went to slash participated in the Thinkfast competition in the Union tonight. It was fun, and really interesting. My one teammate was... kind of quiet at first, and didn't seem very friendly, but then things turned out all right. We didn't win anything, but the effort was fun. Ally and Theodora (two of the girls I met at Orientation) came with me to watch, and they ended up contributing to the team effort quite nicely. They saved our asses more than a few times.
Another point of importance: my parents traded in the truck for a new car, a blue 2008 Dodge Avenger. It's a gorgeous car, though I wonder if it was as smart a financial move as my parents claim. Somehow, I fear it isn't.
I've got WHRW meetings and classes out the ass this week. I've got a department meeting Thursday, the Student Association Debates to observe (for four hours), and an apprentice class for two hours on Friday. Binghamton's St. Patrick's Day Parade is this weekend, but everyone in my suite is leaving to go home. I feel like maybe I want to go home too, but I can't and I won't because I need to foster a life of my own at school. I can't keep clinging to home like I have been, especially considering how much my dad and I fight when I'm there. I'm a sucker for punishment.
There's also been a lot of worry about one of my suite-mates; she hasn't been eating properly when she's in our company, and everyone's really scared she's not eating at all when she's not around us. I don't know what to make of it, but I have noticed a big change in her since I moved in. I've tried to help the girls think of things they can do to help her without imposing on her or ganging up on her, but the list is limited. I know they'll figure out what to do; they know her well enough, and she's a good girl. They'll think of something.
Now that I've wasted even more of my valuable time, I am going to go and try to read, though I highly doubt that will happen. God help me; I'm going to die this week. There's so much to do and so little time in which to do it. Fucking aye...
--Snyder
P.S. My mom makes the most ridiculously yummy chocolate chip pancake's in the world. Better than Ever's, the chef down in Iroquois. Fuckin' amazing.
First things first: I've created a four-point to-do list for the rest of the semester. I was trying to think of some interesting and witty away message for AIM, and failing to do so left me with a list of what I'd like to accomplish this semester.
- Quit smoking - it's already been a couple days and I know that's a drop in the hat compared to my lifetime, but I'm determined this time around. Since I moved to Binghamton, my smoking has gone down by 75%, or so I'd say. Not many people here smoke, and the people I've met so far (my friends and roommates) are all either non-smokers or very light, occaisional smokers, so my pack-a-day routine has become about half-a-pack a week, if that. I bought a carton of cigarettes two weeks ago when I was home and in Pennsylvania and since ten, I've managed to smoke maybe a whole pack, but not before the cigarettes when utterly stale. I've always known how bad it is for my health but just didn't care to quit before. I don't particularly care to quit now, but I figure that, since I've already been weaned down to such a small amount of nicotine, there's no reason I can't wean myself completely off it. No time like the present, they say, and I feel my approach to this is logical as well as healthy. I've become indifferent to smoking, so I might as well be indifferent, a non-smoker, and healthy than indifferent, a smoker, and risking emphysema.
- Catch up on all my reading - the first week of school, I diligently read every word on every page of every book by the time it was due. Needless to say now, a month into the semester, I've stopped doing this. Up until last week, I was at least keeping up, even if I was skimming every now and again. Now, I've failed to keep up and am behind in my reading in all my classes. It wouldn't be such a big deal, but reading is absolutely instrumental in my Legacies of (Post)Colonialism class (we read, we analyze, we discuss), I have a test in psychology next Tuesday that I will have to study for (especially considering my last quiz grade was a 50%), and I have to do the reading for my German History discussion or my TA will know that I've been slacking (she's not really a Nazi about it [pardon the pun], but I really like her and I want to impress her and actually prove I'm capable of keeping up). All in all, I'm failing at this one so far, but I'm determined. If I can get back into the groove of reading instead of playing on my computer, I'll be all right. I've got about 70 pages to read in my novel by Wednesday and I've definitely got to read my psychology textbook before the test (at least the appropriate chapters). I'll have to do some magazine reading for that, too, and watch a few videos on the book's CD. Then... oh God, German History reading. I don't want to think about it. I suppose it's good I'm not going home again until Easter. I don't do work when I'm home.
- Make the important phone calls I've been neglecting - I have to call my doctor's office back home to work out paying off my bill (or else bad credit report for moi!) and I have to call my community college back home so I can talk to someone about consolidating my loan there into my loans here. Otherwise, I'll have to start paying on that loan this summer, and I can't afford to do that right now. If it turns out that's what I have to do, I'll have to take out extra money for my loan in the fall to do that. I'm living very cheaply right now, with $450 to last me until May, and I can't afford any budget slip-ups. Having to repay that loan at this point in my life definitely constitutes a budget slip-up. Dear dear...
- Sleep as much as possible - I've actually done very well at this, considering how much I have to do, but not for long. As soon as Daylight Savings Time goes into effect, I will officially die and never sleep again, at least not until the end of the semester.
The weekend home was... fraught with arguing. I'm pretty sure my dad didn't take his pills Sunday as he was in a ridiculously foul mood and found fault in nearly everything I did. I'm used to the niceties and freedom of school now, so when Dad says something horrible to me now, I don't bite my lip anymore. Now I fly off the handle and downright yell at him. In that case, 50% of all the fights we have are my fault, but I feel that my anger is deserved. He instigates so much and yet, after having raised me not to take any nonsense from anyone, he expects me to lay down and take everything he says and then run off to fix whatever it is that's wrong with myself. That will not and never will happened. The fault of instigation does not lie with me but with him.
Ah... point of importance: The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy is a really confusing and all-around badly written book. It has joined Volker Berghahn's Imperial Germany in its rank as the bane of my existence.
Went to slash participated in the Thinkfast competition in the Union tonight. It was fun, and really interesting. My one teammate was... kind of quiet at first, and didn't seem very friendly, but then things turned out all right. We didn't win anything, but the effort was fun. Ally and Theodora (two of the girls I met at Orientation) came with me to watch, and they ended up contributing to the team effort quite nicely. They saved our asses more than a few times.
Another point of importance: my parents traded in the truck for a new car, a blue 2008 Dodge Avenger. It's a gorgeous car, though I wonder if it was as smart a financial move as my parents claim. Somehow, I fear it isn't.
I've got WHRW meetings and classes out the ass this week. I've got a department meeting Thursday, the Student Association Debates to observe (for four hours), and an apprentice class for two hours on Friday. Binghamton's St. Patrick's Day Parade is this weekend, but everyone in my suite is leaving to go home. I feel like maybe I want to go home too, but I can't and I won't because I need to foster a life of my own at school. I can't keep clinging to home like I have been, especially considering how much my dad and I fight when I'm there. I'm a sucker for punishment.
There's also been a lot of worry about one of my suite-mates; she hasn't been eating properly when she's in our company, and everyone's really scared she's not eating at all when she's not around us. I don't know what to make of it, but I have noticed a big change in her since I moved in. I've tried to help the girls think of things they can do to help her without imposing on her or ganging up on her, but the list is limited. I know they'll figure out what to do; they know her well enough, and she's a good girl. They'll think of something.
Now that I've wasted even more of my valuable time, I am going to go and try to read, though I highly doubt that will happen. God help me; I'm going to die this week. There's so much to do and so little time in which to do it. Fucking aye...
--Snyder
P.S. My mom makes the most ridiculously yummy chocolate chip pancake's in the world. Better than Ever's, the chef down in Iroquois. Fuckin' amazing.
Anorexia
Dear Diary,
Another day. Yes, it was pretty much the same. Breakfast? Wow. I wouldn't dare! I took about 5 pills today, you know, the ones that are supposed to make you skinny. Worse was when Mum forced me to eat lunch. I had to vomit it out in the bathroom when she was in teh living room. I mean, what do you excpect me to do?? I'm 163 cm tall and i way 45 KG!!! 45!! 45!...
i don't believe teh stupid friends and family that tell em I'm skinny enough. They just want me to stay fat so that no guys like me - worse, so that NOBODY likes me! And what the hell?! I'm not sick! I'll stop right away when I get a bit skinnier. When I get that flab off my legs and my arms and ugh. I'm so fat.
All the models, singers, actresses... God! They are so friggin pretty! You know why? Cuz they're skinny! They have nice hip bones and you can see their shoulder bones.. If I was liek them, life would've been beautiful! Sometimes, I cannot look in teh colourful magazines anymore, comparing them to myself... But one day, I'll have those beautiful sticking-out-bones too and then it will al be perfect. Someday.
This was made up. But girls, trust me, it really is like that. Don't let anorexia suck you in and spit your life out.
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