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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Sunday, September 8, 2013
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!
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!
Saturday, August 17, 2013
"So you need to talk to me more"
So, my mom wonders why I don't talk to her. Well, here's a perfect example why I don't like talking to you.
You recently complained (more like bitched) about me not talking to you. As a people-pleaser, I'm now putting an effort to talk to make you happy. I just spent three hours working on my chainmail shirt, and I figured to talk to you about it since I'm really excited and passionate about it.
What do you do? you frown, look worried, and give vibes of discomfort. You tell me how I should make my shirt when those suggestions are impractical for the chainmail function and requirements. As I try to explain it to you, you go on a bunch of tangents, ask me multiple questions, and interrupts me with ignorant comments and suggestions that WOULD have been prevented IF I finished talking.
When I say "no" to your suggestions, you appear offended. You tell me I should look "feminine" with my armor, but that won't work. You think I'm sword fighting to find a boyfriend/husband, but that is NOT true. Nearly all the people in the club are older than me by at least 10 years, and I DON'T want to date any of them.
You freak out about me needing armor. I don't want to tell you that yes, the people will hit hard, and yes, I have a chance of bruising (like an entire black thigh). But that's WHY I'm putting a lot of effort in good armor. I worry that if I tell you, you'll tell me to stop.
And the worst thing: you're ALWAYS psycho-analyzing EVERYONE. Including me. You're trying to find meaning to EVERYTHING people do, and you form generalizations and conclusions that infuriate me. Especially that you basically called my a lesbian, bisexual, transvestite, or transgender because of my sport. Just. No. Quit being a homophobe. I am a straight girl, and just because I do masculine activities does not make me otherwise.
So, I thank you in making me feel like crap in the 15 minutes we conversed. It was a LOVELY conversation. Can't wait to starve myself to death.
 | |
| An example of chainmail |
You recently complained (more like bitched) about me not talking to you. As a people-pleaser, I'm now putting an effort to talk to make you happy. I just spent three hours working on my chainmail shirt, and I figured to talk to you about it since I'm really excited and passionate about it.
What do you do? you frown, look worried, and give vibes of discomfort. You tell me how I should make my shirt when those suggestions are impractical for the chainmail function and requirements. As I try to explain it to you, you go on a bunch of tangents, ask me multiple questions, and interrupts me with ignorant comments and suggestions that WOULD have been prevented IF I finished talking.
When I say "no" to your suggestions, you appear offended. You tell me I should look "feminine" with my armor, but that won't work. You think I'm sword fighting to find a boyfriend/husband, but that is NOT true. Nearly all the people in the club are older than me by at least 10 years, and I DON'T want to date any of them.
You freak out about me needing armor. I don't want to tell you that yes, the people will hit hard, and yes, I have a chance of bruising (like an entire black thigh). But that's WHY I'm putting a lot of effort in good armor. I worry that if I tell you, you'll tell me to stop.
And the worst thing: you're ALWAYS psycho-analyzing EVERYONE. Including me. You're trying to find meaning to EVERYTHING people do, and you form generalizations and conclusions that infuriate me. Especially that you basically called my a lesbian, bisexual, transvestite, or transgender because of my sport. Just. No. Quit being a homophobe. I am a straight girl, and just because I do masculine activities does not make me otherwise.
So, I thank you in making me feel like crap in the 15 minutes we conversed. It was a LOVELY conversation. Can't wait to starve myself to death.
Monday, August 12, 2013
Back from Vacation
I went to visit family in Switzerland, and I fell in love with the country. It's so beautiful with the mountains, lakes, and architecture, oh, did I forget to mention the abundance of hot guys?
The food was delicious, and I could tell that the Europeans take much more pride in their culinary arts than the Americans. Everything I ate even felt "cleaner" to me, but I'm not sure if it's due to the lack of additives and preservatives, or if I developed a bias towards European food.
The unfortunate thing is that I ended up gaining weight on the trip (big, sarcastic gasp!). It's only two pounds, but that put me back on my plateau weight that I worked heard to break through. All well. Two weeks in Europe is worth two pounds. (I'd draw the line at six pounds, and I feel pathetic about that).
And now my big concern is the next year of college. I move in on the 29th, meaning I have 17 days (including today) to drop as much weight as I can. I dream of dropping 6lbs by then, but that seems unrealistic for me.
Food plan: Avoid all sweets and simple carbs for the next two weeks and exercise as much as I can. If I have two weeks to kick my ass into shape, NOW is the time.
The food was delicious, and I could tell that the Europeans take much more pride in their culinary arts than the Americans. Everything I ate even felt "cleaner" to me, but I'm not sure if it's due to the lack of additives and preservatives, or if I developed a bias towards European food.
The unfortunate thing is that I ended up gaining weight on the trip (big, sarcastic gasp!). It's only two pounds, but that put me back on my plateau weight that I worked heard to break through. All well. Two weeks in Europe is worth two pounds. (I'd draw the line at six pounds, and I feel pathetic about that).
And now my big concern is the next year of college. I move in on the 29th, meaning I have 17 days (including today) to drop as much weight as I can. I dream of dropping 6lbs by then, but that seems unrealistic for me.
Food plan: Avoid all sweets and simple carbs for the next two weeks and exercise as much as I can. If I have two weeks to kick my ass into shape, NOW is the time.
Friday, July 12, 2013
ED Dreams
Well, I've entered the phase where all I want to do is exercise all day. I haven't yet built the stamina for that, and my body is making sure that I'm aware of it.
I love to run. The sights, the smells, the sense of travel. It's so euphoric. But I've been cursed with horrible shins--every cross country season, I've ended up with a few stress fractures. I'm trying to slowly build up my bone strength by running a pathetic 1 mile every other day. But my shins still hurt. And I've only ran for about a week.
And then I found the elliptical machine at the gym. That baby feels like I'm running through water. Slow and sluggish, but surprisingly pain-free and fun. Today, I swore to myself that I wasn't leaving the gym until I burn 500 Calories. I did this with about 1 mile of running (treadmill) for a little more than 100 Cal, 3 miles of elliptical for about 320Cal, and then biked until I spent about 100Cal. I felt dizzy during the end of the elliptical, and my vision started to fade. I told myself "Breathe! Breathe! Get that O2 to the head!" I might have subconsciously slowed down a little, but it was enough to not completely black out.
When I returned home, I was feeling alright. My Calf muscles were sore, but nothing too bad. The only bad thing was the dream during my nap shortly after settling down on my bed. I don't remember much about the dream, only that I was binging on GIANT marshmallows, running through the neighborhood around the gym and purging in a bunch of trashcans throughout. The strange part was explaining why I was throwing up to my friends as they wandered around the neighborhood.
By the time I awoke, I felt like I actually did binge/purge a bunch of marshmallows. I felt like I still had a giant lump of them in my stomach. It killed my appetite for a few hours. I can't stand how marshmallows feel in the stomach. They taste disgusting to me.
I love to run. The sights, the smells, the sense of travel. It's so euphoric. But I've been cursed with horrible shins--every cross country season, I've ended up with a few stress fractures. I'm trying to slowly build up my bone strength by running a pathetic 1 mile every other day. But my shins still hurt. And I've only ran for about a week.
And then I found the elliptical machine at the gym. That baby feels like I'm running through water. Slow and sluggish, but surprisingly pain-free and fun. Today, I swore to myself that I wasn't leaving the gym until I burn 500 Calories. I did this with about 1 mile of running (treadmill) for a little more than 100 Cal, 3 miles of elliptical for about 320Cal, and then biked until I spent about 100Cal. I felt dizzy during the end of the elliptical, and my vision started to fade. I told myself "Breathe! Breathe! Get that O2 to the head!" I might have subconsciously slowed down a little, but it was enough to not completely black out.
When I returned home, I was feeling alright. My Calf muscles were sore, but nothing too bad. The only bad thing was the dream during my nap shortly after settling down on my bed. I don't remember much about the dream, only that I was binging on GIANT marshmallows, running through the neighborhood around the gym and purging in a bunch of trashcans throughout. The strange part was explaining why I was throwing up to my friends as they wandered around the neighborhood.
By the time I awoke, I felt like I actually did binge/purge a bunch of marshmallows. I felt like I still had a giant lump of them in my stomach. It killed my appetite for a few hours. I can't stand how marshmallows feel in the stomach. They taste disgusting to me.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
I was tricked
...into eating food. My mother came to me and asked, "hey, I've created a new diet recipe. Do you want to try it?"
"Sure."
Soon enough, my mom called me to the kitchen to hand me a mini tortilla smothered in guacamole and huge strips of melted string cheese. She eagerly watched me, waiting for me to try her creation.
After a bite and politely saying how delicious it was, my mind went into full panic mode. I mentally calculated 500 Calories in the damn thing, (although it's probably more like 330-350), and I nearly purged the whole thing right back onto the plate. I couldn't handle the thought of that thing sitting in my stomach. It made me feel unusually fat and disgusting.
So I decided it was time to get out of the house. I hopped immediately onto my bicycle, pointed it in a random direction, and just started biking. I ended up at a friend's house 6-7 miles away, and was offered a lovely glass of water, too. I went back and did a few loops around random blocks through town before I finally decided to head back home. It was a little over an hour of biking in total, roughly 350 Calories burned. I was hoping for 500, but oh well. I'll just make it two hours next time.
"Sure."
Soon enough, my mom called me to the kitchen to hand me a mini tortilla smothered in guacamole and huge strips of melted string cheese. She eagerly watched me, waiting for me to try her creation.
After a bite and politely saying how delicious it was, my mind went into full panic mode. I mentally calculated 500 Calories in the damn thing, (although it's probably more like 330-350), and I nearly purged the whole thing right back onto the plate. I couldn't handle the thought of that thing sitting in my stomach. It made me feel unusually fat and disgusting.
So I decided it was time to get out of the house. I hopped immediately onto my bicycle, pointed it in a random direction, and just started biking. I ended up at a friend's house 6-7 miles away, and was offered a lovely glass of water, too. I went back and did a few loops around random blocks through town before I finally decided to head back home. It was a little over an hour of biking in total, roughly 350 Calories burned. I was hoping for 500, but oh well. I'll just make it two hours next time.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
I Feel Like A Dwarf
When I woke up today, I was thinking, "hey! I should create an actual exercise routine instead of just blindly running and weight lifting when I feel like it." So I hopped onto the internet and googled exercises for women, and the first link took me to a website that provided different exercise routines based on body type. I wasn't sure what body type I had, so I did google search upon google search until I did practically every type of body-related quiz or calculator out there.
My results: pear-shaped, thick-framed, endomorph. My interpretation: fat-assed, stocky, lazy body. Like a plump, thick, fluffy abomination of human flesh. And since I'm short, I feel like some ugly dwarf or garden gnome. Plus, all of these traits are basically considered "genetic," meaning no matter WHAT I do, I can't fix it. I'm stuck as a butt-ugly dwarf.
I mean, as a short person, I like to be compared to things like a "pixie" or "fairy." They're given feminine qualities, a delicate feel. They're described as mysterious, magical, and playful (sometimes even devious). Something that I want to be. Something that I want to identify with. Not this war-crazed, dirty, earthly dwarf. I don't want to be associated with a creature that hides away underground, happily digging tunnels and mining ore.
The other two, pear-shaped body and endomorph, I don't care as much. I've already concluded that I'll never be able to eat a cheeseburger without it going straight to my thighs. I'm used to being hungry, so having a "slow metabolism" feels like an inconvenience to me attaining my goal. And I don't give a sh!t about my fat distribution. It could be all on my ass, stomach, or boobs and I'd still want it all gone. And I know that with enough starving, it eventually will.
I'm trying to comfort myself by thinking of the positives of being "big boned." With thick bones, I can probably take more of a beating than other girls my size while sword fighting. Or that I'll look skinnier or bonier at a higher weight. But I don't care about seeming "skinny" or "bony." I just want to physically have less mass, have the stupid scale read the beautiful number "89lbs". And my stupid bones are getting in the way of that dream.
 |
| Accurate representation of me |
I mean, as a short person, I like to be compared to things like a "pixie" or "fairy." They're given feminine qualities, a delicate feel. They're described as mysterious, magical, and playful (sometimes even devious). Something that I want to be. Something that I want to identify with. Not this war-crazed, dirty, earthly dwarf. I don't want to be associated with a creature that hides away underground, happily digging tunnels and mining ore.
The other two, pear-shaped body and endomorph, I don't care as much. I've already concluded that I'll never be able to eat a cheeseburger without it going straight to my thighs. I'm used to being hungry, so having a "slow metabolism" feels like an inconvenience to me attaining my goal. And I don't give a sh!t about my fat distribution. It could be all on my ass, stomach, or boobs and I'd still want it all gone. And I know that with enough starving, it eventually will.
I'm trying to comfort myself by thinking of the positives of being "big boned." With thick bones, I can probably take more of a beating than other girls my size while sword fighting. Or that I'll look skinnier or bonier at a higher weight. But I don't care about seeming "skinny" or "bony." I just want to physically have less mass, have the stupid scale read the beautiful number "89lbs". And my stupid bones are getting in the way of that dream.
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