Blood Drive

My campus had a blood drive today. I was hesitant at first on whether I should donate or not, but then I realized I would feel ashamed of myself if I backed out--I've already been consistent with donating every 8 weeks, and there won't be another drive for a while. So I signed up for a 4:45pm appointment. After a lunch (hummus, lettuce, tomato, feta cheese sandwich) and some fat-free Greek yogurt, I walked in to donate.

It went much better than last time. Last time, I was dehydrated (it was an extremely hot week, and I was outside a lot). I had barely enough blood iron (12.6), and it took me 11:40-something to donate. This time, I had 13.7 for iron and 5:24 for donation time.

Even though the main campaign for blood donations focuses on making people feel good about themselves with things like "donating a pint of blood can save up to 3 lives," it doesn't have that effect on me. It's more that I hate my body so much I might as well give some of it to people who would want it.

When I was younger, I was scared to donate blood. The thought about having someone stick a needle in me or drawing blood frightened me. But now, I have a masochist enjoyment of donating. The pricks when they test the iron and when they place the needle are not much different than if I SI myself. Feeling the blood draining from my arm and the lightheaded sensation after was euphoric. One of the blood tubes rested against my arm, and I could feel the warmth against my skin as it exited my body.

Even afterwards, I can feel my heartbeat not only in my chest, but throughout my legs and arms. It's like an awareness that I am indeed alive. And though I may feel exhausted walking, I can still push myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Unless, of course, it's thundering outside, and my laptop is in my backpack. Then I get the smart idea to run back to my dorm.

I now understand why they say don't do exercise for the rest of the day. Although during the run, I felt perfectly fine. I had good rhythm, good posture (at least as good as you can with a backpack), and excellent breathing. It's afterwards that my legs suffered. It was like a 5 minute jog, yet it felt like I ran a 10k race.

And the effect didn't hit the moment I stopped running. 10 minutes after reaching my dorm, my quads felt like stiff metal bars, refusing to contract or extend. I was in the middle of going back up to my room from the basement, and I had to stop on the floor before me and rest several minutes in their den before I had enough energy to make the last flight and into my room.

Regardless of what people say, I'm still going to keep donating just for the side effects to my body. I'm fat enough to fit the criteria, so I'm going to keep doing so until I can't "over estimate" my weight being 110.

The Fear

I really, really hate my ED right now. I'm scared to eat meals during the day, but then I lose control at night and splurge on binge food. This is a complete repeat of last year. COMPLETE repeat. I swore to myself that I'm going to be better, that "this is the year I'm going to fuckin' do it!"

But I think I fail to restrict because I'm afraid. I fear what will happen if I faint while walking to class, or while exercising. I fear every time I stand up and have to take a few breaths to stop the dizziness. I fear what will happen when I start eating after a long fast because of all the re-feeding horror stories about binging or stomach pains. I fear what will happen if other people notice me not eating. Most of all--I fear my emotions.

I notice I binge-eat when I'm stressed. It's my stupid coping mechanism when faced with deadlines and expectations. Food numbs me. Without food, I'm going to turn into a short-fused demon who will shy away from people and snap at anyone who approaches. I'll feel euphoric for half an hour, and then curl up in a fetal position crying the next. It's the same as when I refuse to sleep. It's my cover slipping off and revealing the insanity within me.

Why is it so easy for me to go 30-60 hours without sleep, yet can't even make 24 hours without food? I think it's because it's more socially acceptable to be an insomniac than having an eating disorder. People just say, "Oh, you can take sleeping pills," and shrug off the topic. There's no shame involved with insomnia as opposed to an ED. There's no fear with insomnia.

I need to accept my fears and dismiss them. It's my own punishment. I can endure it. 36 hours--only water, tea, and gum. That simple. 2pm Wednesday.

PS: For those who read my last post--I'm doing fine. I've talked to several people, and they've helped me. I'm not going to lie, though: I still feel suicidal, but to a less degree. I relax at the thought of doing it, but I don't feel the need to act it. Thanks for your concerns, though.

Ah, the Insanity!

Oh, how I embrace it with open arms!

Here's my situation: I'm currently attending a tough, (and expensive) university, and somehow received a scholarship for free tuition for up to four years. But that scholarship comes with a catch - I need to keep a GPA above a 3.0. My first semester, I took a tough class and ended up with 2.8 as my GPA. The program coordinators decided to allow me a second shot. What happened? I got extremely depressed and ended up with a 2.867 as my GPA.

Now I have to meet with my scholarship program coordinators again and convince them to give me a third chance. Haha, yeah, I'm so certain that I'm going to accomplish that [sarcasm]. I haven't told anyone about my situation, and my family believes I'm getting good grades and everything is going all peachy. They even took me on a vacation to freak'n' Switzerland over the summer. The entire time, a voice in my head kept saying, "you don't deserve this. They don't know. the money spent on this vacation should have gone towards your tuition since now you'll need it."

So, I've been having random panic episodes. Crying on the floor of my dormitory's den for an hour at 3am kind of episodes. My eating habits are all over the place: I've starved myself for two weeks, binged for a few days, done stuff to make me nauseous/purge, exercised like crazy, avoid exercise like the plague...everything.

I'm completely depressed right now. Suicidal, even. I've already planned how and when, but I'm worried it might not be high enough to actually kill. Don't worry, though - it is an if/then sort of suicide. If I get a third shot, then I get to live. Otherwise, I'm going to jump from the building's roof after I get the final verdict, which will be sometime near the end of September. I don't care if I'll hurt the people who "care" about me. Maybe they should sample some of the pain I experience. And I don't care what happens after death, even if it's torture in the depths of hell. It's not like it'd be any different from what I go through every day.

For the few who read this, have a nice day!