"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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.

Accurate representation of me

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.

I ate a forbidden food

And didn't feel guilty! (sort of) It was one of those long John donuts my dad brought from work. I haven't eaten a donut in over a year.

Earlier that day, I ran several miles, didn't eat lunch, and had a light supper. I was feeling hungry, and I calculated my calorie intake to be half of my daily allotment. When the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it as another stupid craving. But then I thought, why not? I have probably exercised more than what it contained, and so I could afford it.

I grabbed that sucker off the dining table and sprinted to my bedroom. My heart racing from the feel of danger, I took my first bite. And swallowed. And repeated.

Half way through, dread kicked in. I started thinking that this will undo all my effort. Guilt plagued my mind; my jaws stopped chewing. I felt like purging. I almost did, too, but then I remembered that night that I binged on two entire pizzas plus a shit-ton of other foods, purged in tubberware containers, and shook for several hours afterwards--the night that I vowed to be my last purge episode.

With newly found determination, I took a deep breath and scarfed down the rest of that bastard. Chocolate goodness and all. All 420 Calories of it, gone, in my stomach.

I thought it was over then, but oh no. Right before I left the house to hang out with friends, my mom called me over to the living room. She stared at me, told me to turn around, and then asked, "Have you lost weight?"

Sheepishly, I nodded. "yeah."

"Well, it shows. Your jawline looks tighter."

WTF? I barely lost any weight, and she says she can see results? She lies. Or she's been watching me like a hawk and has a better sense of my body perception than I do (which is probably true). But I doubt it's noticeable. She probably just said that since I said I lost weight. It might be her form of encouragement. I don't want encouragement, but I acknowledge her effort at trying to be supportive (in an ironic sort of way).

As I turned around, my dad remarked, "How about that donut?" He knew I ate it (by process of elimination), but my mom then tensed up and started asking him a bunch of questions. He realized what he did, so I thank him for the sacrifice: he said that he ate the donut. My mom probably lectured him about bringing donuts, so I can only imagine. I owe him one, though.

So, do I have regrets? No. It was nothing more than just another experience. It had both positive effects and negative effects. But it was a decision I'm glad I did.

PS: Even after this ordeal, I felt like I was heavy. but the scale said otherwise. I claim that the scale is lying, too.

Well, That Was Triggering.

So, my mom is now starting to diet and exercise. I say good for her, especially since she has many weight-related health issues that may disappear after losing some weight. The only problem is that she is going overboard about talking about her diet.

She's pretty much the only person who cooks dinner in the house, so everyone in the house now has to follow her dinner diet plan. I at first was thrilled because now dinners are foods I consider "safe," like chicken, fish, and lots of vegetables and salads. However, she's now starting to preach to everyone in the house about dieting, exercising, and how to lose weight. I already KNOW all that stuff, and can even explain the biological mechanisms involved. I don't want someone to constantly be spewing out dieting tips and tricks ten times a day. It's very triggering, and I DON'T want to think about that stuff any more than I already do.

The worse thing is that she is now telling me that I should lose weight ("You don't say?!"). I already think that. You don't have to tell me every other day, pinching my arm fat IN PUBLIC while saying that. I used to actually like how my arms look, but after that, I absolutely HATE THEM. Thank you, mother. Thank you very much. You're not helping me with my self loathing, especially when telling everyone in the family, "We've joined forces in our dieting efforts."

And asking me a bunch of food or diet related questions was the most painful experience. "What's your food weakness?" "What was your heaviest weight?" "How much do you weigh?" "How long since you've last exercised?" Every single question brought up feelings of shame, guilt, and inadequacy. I just want to be left alone, left to my own devices with food. Since the end of the spring semester, I've not binged/purged at all. I've actually been able to eat "forbidden" food like cereal without guilt. But because of your words, mother, I've mentally beaten myself up and resorted to hard-core restricting.

The crazy part of me is thankful, because I now have the strength and determination to follow a 500-Cal or less per day plan. But the sane part of me (lol I have a sane part?) is cursing you for instigating unhealthy behaviors again.