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2112.

2012-01-01T10:18:00.001-05:00

2012, that is. I just added the extra hundred to Rush things up a bit. <3

It is January 1, 2012. It is 9:30 AM, and I am resting comfortably. I've been up since 7, and I wasn't feeling very well- I never do in the mornings, so this isn't unusual- so after two hours of drinking water, stretching, and still not feeling very well, I decided to load up my pipe with the last dregs of what little herbal I had left, and go for a walk.

It's raining outside, but strangely, it feels more like spring than the dead of winter. It's not exactly mild out, but it's certainly not cold. All of the snow has melted, save for the snowman on the front lawn that has since mutated into a twisted spire of white ice. It also wasn't raining all that hard, so although it was... not exactly pleasant, it wasn't exactly unpleasant, either. I just got a new coat and hat, anyway (and purse! remember the gift card?) and they are both warm and wonderful at repelling the rain and wind.

I went to the playground at the schoolyard a block or so away. Even though everyone is still asleep at this time of day, I don't smoke in the yard when C's mom and little brother are upstairs. (I only smoke in the yard if it's literally the middle of the night or they are both out of the house.) To be honest, I like "having" to go for a walk. First of all, you smoke less, which is always good. Second, it really gives you time to think. I don't even take my iPod anymore when I do this (actually, my iPod fell out of my pocket and landed somewhere in the ocean of slush on Adelaide street as I ran across it. R.I.P. :() so... that is, before I lost it, I'd stopped taking it on my toke strolls.

Walking in the rain is never all that good when you have problems with joint pain and such, but at one point in my life (high school) I used to walk to school and back almost every day, unless the weather was very extreme or I was sick or late or something. This included winter time, even when it was -10 or -15 outside; rainy days worse than this; that awful humid summer heat that comes just before they finally turn you loose for the summer (Drink lots of water. Don't question me, just do it! - Mom)... I could walk right on through any of it. And the school was a good 45-minute walk from my house- not horribly long, but decent enough considering that I walked at a very swift pace before my hips got bad- so by doing that twice a day I managed to condition myself to walk in many different types of weather.

So anyway, I've been getting that back a bit, lately. I've had a few epic walks, which have been great but have unfortunately resulted in a lot more pain than usual for me. Everyone hurts more when they start a new exercise regimen, but a) I hurt already, b) I've probably overdone it a few times (Walked home from Dundas and Adelaide on the night of my iPod's demise... *twitch*) and c) I didn't keep up with my normal stretch/resistance band thing over the holidays (my fault) and if I literally do not do that every day I stiffen up. ffs.

So, I was getting to this: lots of pain today. Not joint pain, specifically... just... areas. It's like a sharp, weird uncomfortable pain, mostly in my neck and sort of around my shoulder blades. That weird spot on my lower back hurts a lot and feels a little more swollen than normal. It almost itches, if that makes sense. My knuckles feel swollen. All in all, very unpleasant. I tried to just be patient. Laid in bed a while, then attempted some stretching (too early in the morning; I still didn't feel well) and tried to squeeze out the knots in my own neck. With all of this annoying pain I really didn't have the patience to sit quietly through my daily morning upset stomach, and so I took my pipe and off we went.

(Whenever I tell people "I feel sick/nauseated in the morning", they immediately get concerned. I don't mean lately... I mean always. Even when I was little, sometimes. The healthier I am, the more it improves. I'm not 100% healthy right now. Also, it is important to note that years of fucked-up eating habits have caused this problem to get a million times worse.)

...

Ended up at the playground. Huddled underneath the jungle gym. Silent cursing at the wind. I was well shielded from view, but I had to laugh at the thought of some poor hungover bastard happening to catch a glimpse of me through his window on a morning stumble towards the bathroom... me, in my (faux) fur hat with earflaps and long green coat; skinny black legs, like some kind of bird, maybe; huddled under the jungle gym and struggling to light a pipe.

I would lol.

So now I am back and feeling a little better. The pain has subsided; soon I'm going to take a shower, then stretch, then make tea with my new Teaopia tea set one of my good Welland friends got me. Perhaps not all in that exact order. I am feeling remarkably tranquil for a New Year's Day. I remember that last year was horrible. I only remember bits and pieces- blacked out the rest, I suppose- and I'm glad for that.

I was a bit moody last night, don't get me wrong. I was invited to C and M's, but I didn't go. It was on the other side of town and I would have no way home. I didn't feel like sleeping on the floor or a couch, since I was already sore anyway, and I couldn't afford a taxi. I did hang out with my room mates and their friends a bit, and that was pleasant. I had one Disaronno and Coke, but that was about it. I painted on some mini-canvases with my new paintbrushes and acrylic paints. I chatted online with a few of my friends. T- called me up and told me that he was going to be alone all night, and that he wasn't going to drink anything because he wanted to get work done the next day, and none of his friends were around. Also, he didn't feel well. I considered it, but told him no. There was no way I was hauling my ass out to the bus stop and going all the way over there to comfort him, not after how he fucked me over last year. I didn't rub it in his face, though. I politely said no; explained that I was in a lot of pain and very tired and that a 15 minute walk through the dark and cold to get to the bus stop (plus the wait, the ride, the wade through the slush) was just too much for me. He understood, and instead we just sent each other a "happy new year" over G-chat a little before midnight.

I was so tired that I declined to go across the road with my room mates and their company. I laid on my bed a while, and I don't even remember what I was doing at midnight. I think I was reading Cracked. Anyway, I didn't realize it was midnight until N sent me a message: hugs and kisses and a happy new year. (He is coming back into town today; he was visiting his parents and his best friend over the holidays, and we've texted back and forth the whole time.)

I'm surprised at how much I miss him. It's a little embarrassing, but I'm ridiculously excited for later. He probably won't be back until 4 or 5- if the weather's bad, maybe later, or not until tomorrow- and it's only 10 AM, but I'm still looking forward to it. I'd feel like a derp telling him that, though, so I won't...

Anyway, this has been long-winded. Most of what I put into my pipe happened to be kief, so that was a very potent bowl. Good thing, too, because it really did give me some relief from all that achy weirdness. I think I'm going to go do my stretches now before it wears off.

xx.

Red day on blue street.

2011-12-29T00:00:00.001-05:00

Swagger.

Although I generally consider myself to be "one of the guys"- just about as un-girly as it gets- there's still something about getting a nice new outfit that boosts your confidence. And I got a gift card for Christmas for a store that I really like buying clothes from, and it was more than sufficient to buy a few great staple pieces. Right now I'm wearing black tights; this black and charcoal gray (horizontally) striped long-sleeved shirt that goes down to my mid-thighs; a soft, puffy black scarf; this ultraviolet/blue glitter nail polish that I found when cleaning out my room (bought months ago, then never used it, then lost it.) I got some other things too, but this is the most warm and comfortable.

And I'm dead sexy.

(Alright, I'm baked too.)

...

Confidence training. That's all. I am feeling a little better today, because I received some mail that solved the mystery of the $1,700 in my account: I was entitled to overlapping payments for my first month of ODSP. So, yes, that money is mine. I spent some time breaking down all of my expenses earlier and doing some budgeting. It turns out I can afford to settle one of my credit cards, to make a decent payment on the other, and pay... at least some on my OSAP as well. I can also afford my bus pass, groceries, and even put some into my savings account for a rainy day. For the first time in a long time, I can breathe easy about that.

... and when I say "I am feeling a little better today", I mean strictly in the psychological sense. Physically, FFFUUUUUUUU-

I have been trying to keep very active and have been doing a lot of walking. It is getting quite cold here, though, and recently it snowed about four inches (yes I'm Canadian and I measure snow in inches) so that adds a little difficulty to the whole walking experience for me. I don't mean to sound like a pussy, but I haven't been to my chiropractor in about two weeks (actually, longer, because he wasn't there last time and the other one adjusted me. Did a good job, but not the same) and all of the usual places are extremely sore, including my shoulder which I hit on a doorframe whilst mildly tipsy at the family Christmas party. I'm going to go tomorrow, provided they have any appointment space available. If not... going to need more weed. :/

...

Anyway, I am in bed with an elaborate array of pillows behind me and one of those reading cushions with arms propping up my legs. I've managed to wedge myself into everything in such a way that my neck is tractioned out a little bit and the pressure is off my lower back (even just lying on the mattress hurts) so that there is some minimal relief... provided that I don't move too much. Although my fingers are stiff and cold- they always are, nowadays- I have a slight fever from the pain, and my face is flushed. My legs are cramping up just as a reaction to the sharp pain in my hips and lower back, so everything below T12 is just killing me. (I'm too high to explain; again, I direct you to Gray's Anatomy if you really don't know.)

At least, for the most part, I didn't have a lot of pain over the holiday break. I had a great time, as I mentioned, and got to reconnect with some family that I haven't seen in ages. Things went much better, despite all of the comments on my weight. Now that I'm back home, I miss them all even more than I usually do. My mother and I especially have become much closer over these past few years, more so than I ever would have imagined when I was younger and battling with her on a constant basis, and I am very grateful for that. My dad and I are close as well, but as it is much easier for him to travel and also to take time off of work, I see him more often than I see her. We speak on the phone regularly, but it's not enough.

In fact, both my mother and stepfather quit smoking eight weeks ago and surprised me with it just before the holiday break. It was awesome to be able to wake up after spending the night in their house and not be coughing up tobacco-flavoured grossness all the next day. They're using these vaporizer things that give them nicotine in a water vapour form that comes out looking like smoke but smelling like nothing. You reduce the concentration of the nicotine in the liquid you use gradually, therefore slowly weaning yourself off of it. And let me tell you, if my mother and stepfather can quit, anyone can.

It's inspiring. As was the time my dad quit smoking when I told him that's all I wanted for my birthday.

I have awesome parents.

...

Sorry for the ranting, although hey! At least it's positive. I'm not hypomanic at the moment, although I may sound like I am, I'm just trying to get my mind off this pain. I have been trying to walk more today, which I suppose was counterproductive. There is a Shopper's Drug Mart very close by, but I don't even want to use Tylenol 1s anymore. From here on in, the only time I will ever use opiates again is if I have surgery or something like that. I'm not necessarily worried about getting back into them; it's just that I'd prefer not to have them around if I don't need to.

Fucking ouch, though.

And now for something completely different... I made a quesadilla out of a whole wheat soft tortilla, a little bit of marble cheddar, and a lot of tomato. I love tomato. Grilled it in the mini convection oven and put some of J-'s grandpa's crazy hot Italian pepper in it- my family has a similar one- and that is certainly serving well to distract me. I haven't eaten much lately, and when I do, I try to keep it somewhat healthy. In this case, we're very low on groceries and this was the best option. The only fruit was the tomatoes, and there's no veggies (see what I did there) so this is about as healthy as I could manage... lots of tomato.

I think I'm going to try and get some rest, in fact. It's been a long day, and after this food I really just want to slip away from this pain, and what better way than into a nice warm bed? Eating before sleeping is a bad idea, but fuck it. Got lots accomplished today, but there's still tons to do tomorrow. No sleeping past 8. I find it hard to get up in the mornings since moving here, because the only window in my room is actually underneath the back deck. (I'm in the basement.) So no light gets in; it could be noon and it'll still be mostly dark. Usually, if it's past a certain time (9 is my usual lately, unless I get up earlier on my own) I'll turn my bedside light on and just leave it on. It kind of deters me from wanting to sleep anymore, but I could use some real sunlight or maybe one of those light boxes for the S.A.D. people.

Alright, time for bed.

xx.

It's been a long, long time. Hasn't it?

2011-12-27T03:19:00.002-05:00

Yes, it has.

I am alone in the house because C and J have gone to Sarnia to see J's family for Christmas and they are staying overnight. Normally, me being alone and stricken with insomnia at 2:15 AM during the holiday season would be a recipe for disaster. Especially considering that I got a full bottle of Amaretto from my aunt and uncle for Christmas. (Italians, you know. Also, Disaronno rocks.)

However, I'm not bothered by this empty house. I am not tempted by anything. This is the first year in... several, at least... that I have not been depressed.

It's funny, a little, because I'm not used to enjoying the holidays quite so much. I mean, I do... but there is usually that veil of apathy that just sort of hangs over me for months. Nothing is enjoyable, nobody is interesting. Winter was always when I tended to fuck around with painkillers and booze the most. And my family, as much as I do adore them, usually drives me insane with all of their questioning. (I can't blame them, of course... I was very visibly fucked up all the time.)

This year, there was no tension. I smiled and laughed with everyone. I had a ridiculously great time.

...

I've been trying. Did I say that already, in previous entries? I've been trying. Things are holding steady. I have become perhaps a bit too comfortable with eating and have gained a few pounds- I am up to 108- but I am trying to take that in stride. + the workouts, + the protein, and - the carbs. I do not have to resort to drastic measures. This all said, I still look scrawny and awful, and because I am at my lowest weight since high school, I had everyone breathing down my neck during meals.

I didn't let it bother me, and although I have had zero appetite for the past week or so, I still managed to eat a sensibly healthy amount of food- not too little and not too much.

So there's that. What else?

I have been talking to T less and less nowadays. I almost never physically go over there, but we sometimes chat on MSN. He can't seem to refrain from talking about drinking for more than fifteen minutes at a time, even though I have told him on numerous occasions that I have no interest in hearing him talk about alcohol in any way shape or form; that it makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't matter, because as soon as booze is mentioned on TV (the TV is on constantly at the apartment now, he likes to have it on for background noise I suppose), it sets him off. Beer commercials, a comically drunk person in a sitcom, it doesn't matter. His face lights right up, and he just can't contain himself.

I've just fucking had it with his insensitivity. He knows that his drinking- and that excessive, scary drinking in general- bothers me a great deal, but because drinking is his absolute favourite thing in the world (I'm not joking, he has said this to me) he can't help but talk about it. He says this as if it is a fact of life, that there is no changing it, and he doesn't see why it bothers me.

It's too bad, really. I've maintained quite good friendships with two of my former boyfriends (not I-the-asshole, of course) and I was hoping that the same would happen in this case, especially since, once upon a time, T and I connected quite well. We had some fantastic conversations, and some good times- enough to build a friendship on, at least- and although there's no way I would ever even consider dating him again, I didn't resent him or anything like that... we were only friends at one point, so I didn't see why we couldn't be again.

That is in the process of going right out the window.

...

Enough about that, because it irks me. A funny thing happened to me this evening; I was walking back home from the store when I decided to duck into the bank to check my balance (and to get warm). My ODSP begins this month, so I had been vaguely wondering for the past few days whether or not the direct deposit worked.

I stuck my card in the ATM and selected balance inquiry.

$1,705.00.

...

So I took out twenty bucks and carefully put the receipt in my wallet with my other important stuff. I immediately wrote an email to my case worker upon arriving home, titled: suddenly, dollars! A thousand of them! I said I assumed that I'd been overpaid, and that I just wanted to give them a heads up about it and was awaiting instructions. Also, I told her I took out the twenty bucks- I am 99.8% sure that at least a portion of that money is legitimately mine- for good measure. I won't touch it again until I find out what the problem is; there is no way in hell that I should be getting $1,700 a month. I feel like the scum of the earth accepting $572 a month from the government, let alone more.

That's the other big thing in my life right now, I guess. Now I'm on ODSP. Now I'm on disability. I read the paperwork when it came in; upon review of the paperwork completed by your physician, we find that you qualify as disabled and, as such, currently unable to work. Your review date is such-and-such month, 2013.

Two years.

I am having another existential crisis, I guess. I have spoken about this to both of my doctors (did I mention? I finally got a regular physician, who seems to be extremely competent) and their opinions are the same: I shouldn't be working right now. I have gotten myself to the point where I have become completely unable to handle stress or to indeed live a normal life. I don't like to think of myself that way, but I'm probably in denial. Who am I kidding? I don't even understand income tax. Fucked up my credit. 25 years old and just barely scraping by... perhaps they're right.

I am very unhealthy, as I have been saying quite often in here lately. I suppose I am just trying to hammer it into my own head. I have gotten myself into this situation, and now I'm paying for it. That said, I can certainly get myself out. I can improve my physical condition, although that might take a while. I have improved leaps and bounds, psychologically speaking, although because of my history I am considered a high-risk patient, which is part of why- despite the fact that I am doing better that way- they do not want me working.

It is very hard for me to explain this to anybody; I do not seem disabled, obviously, unless I am having an episode or some unusually bad pain. It is in fact the bipolar disorder that qualifies me as disabled, not my pain. This sucks, really badly, because as we all know (or you should, if you read this blog), bipolar individuals can go asymptomatic for long amounts of time. When you are asymptomatic, you feel pretty normal... and you start feeling restless. You know you are, at that time, capable of working... except, there's your extensive history of substance abuse, self-harm, anorexia and bulimia, and suicide attempts. Even if you never, ever do any of these things ever again, you're flagged for life. High risk. Because of that, the doctors- and later, the government people- opt to play it safe: here you go. Your bills will be paid. You can rest. You can focus solely on your own health and well-being until you are able to enter the real world again. No worries.

(but it is so so so so embarrassing.)

I haven't made my parents aware of that part of my situation. I tell them I do odd jobs and work fairly regularly at the clinic, which is technically true... but it doesn't happen near as often as I've told them. I hate lying to them, but I am through with being a disappointment. And so I've dug myself into a rut on that one. The other issue is N. I haven't told him. I think I told him I was on EI, and I was very vague about my employment history. I did mention to him that I was having medical problems, and that my doctor had me on medical leave for a while and would be reviewing everything soon, and that's what was happening. Semi-true, but not true enough. Again, it sickens me to be dishonest, but then again, I did not expect things to go so well between us. I figured it would be irrelevant; that I'd never have a reason to get into explicit detail about my employment situation with him. Now we're pretty close, and I care about and respect him a great deal... I'm just scared of what he might think of me, I guess.

He must be thinking by now that I am extremely unmotivated. He asks me quite often about jobs I have applied to, and sends me links or points out good ones on the job board at the library. I do apply to some of them, but under doctors' orders- and due to ODSP restrictions- I can only work very limited part-time. I want, more than anything, to work 40 fucking hours a week! But I can't! And of course, I haven't explained all of this to him because he doesn't know I am on ODSP and that the "medical issues" are considered that serious despite how decent I feel.

I am trying very hard not to feel useless.

But yes. I need to find a way to tell him all of this. I might write it, I already told him that I'm better at sharing difficult things in writing, and he seems cool with that. I don't know. Let me figure out where the hell the $1,705 in my chequing account came from first, maybe.

Anyway, it is now 3:15 AM and I am finally getting sleepy. Ran out of steam there, sort of. I need to get some rest, because I want to have a productive day tomorrow if I can.

xx.

And you could have it all.

2011-12-10T09:06:00.001-05:00

I went to visit T last night, mostly because I am still trying to get him to sign the papers he needs to sign in order to get the lease under his name solely, but also because I haven't seen him in a while and we do still like to hang out and smoke a j occasionally. I've been going over there less and less lately, and every time I do, it seems to turn out the same way.

Naturally, he was drinking. In fact, my predictions were right: he has switched to drinking hard liquor, and he drinks it several days a week. In fact, he had a 26er of scotch whisky (full) when I arrived, and he managed to drink all of it by the time I left a few hours later.

I'm not sure why I torture myself, yet I found that I was doing the exact same thing as I had to do every OTHER Friday night for the past year and a half- sat there and patiently listened to his drunken droning. Maybe I am a masochist. Or, maybe I NEEDED to see it again. I needed to remind myself where I could be right now, and how much worse things could have been.

He didn't eat the entire time I was there, and in fact had no food in the house. When I first arrived, he was polite and friendly and happily showed me around the apartment- see? I fixed this, moved this, cleaned this- but after a few drinks, that was over. (As usual.)

(I don't know why I even went there. It was a Friday night, so what did I expect?)

So, yes. I was on one end of the massive couch, he was on the other. When he drinks, he talks in a solid stream of words- duckspeak comes to mind, if you've ever read 1984- and his voice gets steadily louder. He interrupts everything you say. It is extremely tedious and aggravating trying to hold a conversation with him when he is this way. The last time I'd been over there, I confronted him (for the millionth time) about how much hearing his drinking stories (and hearing him talk about drinking in general) bothered me, and how it hurt my feelings to know that he literally didn't give a shit about the fact that it DID bother me so much. This time, while I was there, that was literally all he talked about. Every single thing I tried to say, he brought it back to alcohol. We sat on the couch, and he talked about alcohol (while drinking alcohol) and I listened. When I had enough and started cutting him off and telling him to change the subject, I don't want to hear it, he turned it around on me and made me feel like a hypersensitive bitch. I finally got fed up and left around 7:30- in tears, like always- and went home.

This is good for me.

I hated all of this before, of course. You've read my numerous entries about T's drinking. But ever since I've started spending so much time with N, I have become painfully aware of just how much I've been missing out on in every single relationship I've ever been in- this last one especially- and it's really making me think. I'm not just talking about how he treats me, which is very well, but simply the contrast in health and lifestyle.

Now, none of the guys I've ever dated have been all that healthy. My first two boyfriends were both as skinny as me, and extremely neurotic; the third (I-, whom I was with when I started this blog in 07) had a normal build and was technically neither under nor overweight, but never exercised and ate carbs constantly, so he had low muscle tone and was flabby. Instead of doing anything about it, he would just bitch about getting fat and take his insecurities out on me; T had probably the nicest body of all the guys I've dated, and he also has a handsome face, but once we moved in together (he lived with his parents while finishing his Masters prior to that, so he'd been behaving himself somewhat) he started drinking so much heavier and doing so many more drugs that by the time the relationship ended, he looked absolutely horrible. He still does- skinny and pale, bad skin, sunken eyes- and, it's not just the looks that matter, of course; he literally has no interest in anything but drinking anymore.

It's no longer my problem.

Being around N so much has also made me very aware of just how much damage I've done to myself and how extremely sick I've become. I've spent the past ten years of my life depriving myself of nutrition, and it has caused a lot of muscle atrophy. The twisting and rumbling and bloating that grips my guts after every meal is not normal, but I've lived with it for so long that I've just sort of gotten used to the fact that my food no longer digests properly. I am a mess, a complete train wreck.

He, on the other hand, is far and away the healthiest guy I've ever been with. We haven't exactly defined our relationship, so I am not going to refer to him as the new Boy, but you know what I mean. He is energetic, highly motivated, and extremely bright. He still cooks amazing delicious healthy food, and lately I've been pitching in to help (I need to learn to cook better, so the lessons are great.) He is exactly what I wish I could be like, and I feel very strange walking beside him when we are out somewhere... he always looks so put-together, dresses nicely, never looks haggard or tired, even if he IS having an off-day. I always look ill, and people in fact comment on my appearance very frequently nowadays. My hair, no matter what I do with it, is dull and stringy. My face is still broken out from stress, and my lips are permanently chapped. I haven't bought new clothes for god knows how long, and so everything I wear is old, worn, shabby, or ill-fitting. I have gotten past much of my I am fucking hideous complex; I don't think I'm hideous anymore, maybe just a bit plain, but I do look ugly right now. Anyone in my situation would.

(I don't want to look or feel like this anymore. I am so tired of it all. I am tired of being crazy, and sick, and all of that shit. I don't want to be a troubled girl, or have "baggage", or be the typical "bipolar chick". I'm getting a taste of what a normal life is like, and I want it so badly.)

I'm learning, though. I have gained three pounds, but that is okay. My focus just has to be on making sure that those pounds I'm gaining are muscle, not fat. My posture is 1000x better since receiving chiropractic, but I am learning to stand taller. If I am hunched over or acting guarded when I'm standing, N will gently (but firmly) put one hand on the small of my back, the other over my chest, and push me up straight. If we are out in public, he'll still put his hand on my back, but whisper in my ear instead: tall! proud!

He doesn't let me get away with avoiding anything. I have a habit of immediately withdrawing into myself if someone challenges or intimidates me, even if they aren't doing it with rude intentions or on purpose. If we are walking past a crowd of skinny, hot club girls, he will put his arm around my waist and hold me upright, since otherwise I immediately lower my eyes and move aside for people like that. He doesn't let me walk behind him or act submissive. He asks for my opinions.

To put it bluntly, he actually gives a shit. Unlike most.

I can feel it all sinking in. Slowly, but it's getting there. I never would have thought that, at twenty-five, I would look back on the past decade of my life and know that I never grew up, never became normal. All of these things N is teaching me now, I should have known before. I could have been like him if things had been different, but there's no point in dwelling on that now.

...

I want to get better.

xx.

Synchronicity.

2011-11-24T22:51:00.001-05:00

I don't want to be sick, you know? I mean, I've been sick for a good long time now, and I've had enough. The stupidest part is that by "sick", I don't mean getting sick from germs- if anything, my immune system has improved by leaps and bounds ever since I quit smoking cigarettes- I mean being completely malnourished.

Whenever I stand up now, I get tunnel vision. Every single time. My ears ring and I can feel my pulse beating in my lips. I have learned to mask it pretty well- only a faint fluttering of the eyelids- as long as I don't move too quickly, but it still makes me nervous. My hair falls out even worse now, and I often have to rip entire handfuls of shed hair out of my hairbrush after using it. My knees are stained with bruises where the bones knock together, and I have to sleep with a pillow between them because otherwise it just hurts too much. Even just lying on a mattress- even a soft mattress- is enough to bruise my skin where the tips of my bones poke out. My skin is horribly pale and my face is blotchy and gaunt. Even though I haven't been purging, my lips still look oddly swollen, probably because my cheeks are more hollow.

I like to be skinny. I like being able to fold my limbs under myself like some weird kind of spider; I like it when other girls squeal like oh my god J you're so tiiii-nyyyyy and wrap their fingers all the way around my bony wrists; I like feeling dainty, and slim, and tidy and compact.

I do not like looking sick. I do not like the pity, the sympathy, the concerned looks on the faces of those few people I happen to know who actually give a shit. I don't know which is worse; having people think that I might have cancer, or HIV, or some sort of other awful disease like that, or actually knowing the truth about why I look the way I do. Either way, it isn't good.

...

N is still hanging out with me, patient as ever. I do not know why he is so fond of me, or why he likes to have me around so much. The more I get to know him, the more fascinated I am by him... and the more intimidated I become. He is well established; he keeps all of his important paperwork, receipts and invoices meticulously filed; he has done so many things with his life. I am a mess, and my past is horrendous, and my credit is destroyed. I don't know what I could possibly have to offer him that he couldn't get from someone far better.

I think he knows this, and yet he seems to overlook it. At least, for now. He's asked me a number of questions about various things, all of which I've answered truthfully... he is aware that I've abused pharmaceuticals, and he is (of course) aware that I have an eating disorder, and he is also aware of (some aspects of) my financial situation. (The collections calls I get 10+ times a day don't help matters.) All of these things are red flags, aren't they? Or maybe the fact that I genuinely WANT to change is what keeps him sticking around. I'm not sure. I don't want to push things, because again... I don't need to jump right into another relationship right now, but still.

We've been spending almost every day together, except a few times when we've had other things to do and we've gone our separate ways. He always picks me up a tea if I'm meeting him at the library. He takes me out shopping with him. He asks my opinions about the layout and decor of his apartment, because he wants to move some things around and perhaps buy a new TV stand. He takes what I say seriously, and I am still not used to it. There are not many people who have ever treated me with this much respect, or who have listened so carefully to what I say.

...

He's really helping me get my shit together for now, but that gets old fast. Who wants someone with a broken brain and the joints of an 80 year old? Who wants to have to deal with the aftermath of having racked up over $20k in debt? Why would someone like him want to be with someone like me- someone who has spent the past ten years of her life in limbo, trapped somewhere between child and adulthood? I just can't see it happening.

(It shouldn't matter. Why do you care? Que sera, sera; whatever will be, will be. Right?)

...

(yeah.)

Anyway, enough of this ranting about N. He's just been on my mind a lot lately- well, I've been with him all the time- and it's just so confusing and overwhelming. It's almost painful, being treated like this. Sounds weird, I know, but it's true... I'm so used to being ignored that this is just... so very different. I just want to hang onto it for as long as I can.

Ugh. I'm still sounding incoherent and rambly... I am out of my meds and can't get more until I receive my cheque, so I am not at my mental best at this moment in time. Also, my room mates are fighting and it's very distracting. I should get some rest anyway; I'm working with Dr. F tomorrow afternoon for a few hours at the Salvation Army clinic, then I'm meeting N at either the library or his place. Long day, and I'm very tired.

... maybe I'll eat some soup before bed.

xx.

IQ.

2011-11-12T15:51:00.001-05:00

I had an interesting evening.

It started the day before yesterday. See, I have this friend who lives in town- we'll call her C, my goodness do I have a lot of C friends- with her boyfriend M. I knew her from high school, so we go back a ways. Anyway, every Friday, C and M hold a "Games Night" where they invite some friends over to play board games, have a few drinks and eat some dinner. I've been invited to every single one, for MONTHS now... and I never went. One of the main reasons for this was simply that I didn't feel comfortable leaving T alone in the apartment on Friday nights out of fear that he'd drink himself to death unsupervised; the other was that their apartment is on the other side of town and takes forever to get to on a bus.

I decided that, long-ass bus ride or not, I should really go to the Games Night this week. I'm not sure why, maybe I'm just finally comfortable with going out again. Also, I missed C, because we haven't hung out in a while. Anyway, I responded on Facebook and clicked "maybe attending" on the event.

That evening, G sent me a message on FB chat. If you don't remember G, he's the guy I knew from high school that I never talked to until recently and then had dinner with the last time I was in Niagara. He, like me, is always invited (he knows C too) but never goes. (In his case, it's understandable, as it IS almost a two-hour drive to London.)

Anyway, we got to talking, and I asked him what he was doing this weekend. He said he was thinking of going to the Games Night, which surprised me. I even entertained the notion that he might be considering it only because he saw that *I* might be going... but whatever. I told him it would be nice to see him, and he said he would do his best to make it. Of course, I was all giggly and excited and nervous all the next day. I was also incredibly self-conscious because right now, I have a horrible, swollen, bruised welt on my left cheek- a reaction to the makeup I was wearing at my cousin's wedding the other day- and I spent at least an hour styling my hair so that it hid at least part of that side of my face.

My room mate ended up driving me over to C and M's place around 5, which was great because if I'd taken the bus I'd have probably been in VERY rough shape by the time I got there. When I first arrived, there were only 3 people there: C and M, and C's friend N.

I introduced myself to M and N, said hi to C, and then sat down. We started a game of Risk, which I'd never played before. C pulled me aside and said: I don't know if you looked at the event, but guess who might be coming tonight? I laughed and shook my head. Yeah right, I said. He won't come, I guarantee it. There's no way I'd really be that lucky. We laughed a bit. I said all of this right in front of N, by the way, but at the time I didn't stop to think about it. I figured G wouldn't come anyway, because it always happens to me- I go somewhere expecting to see someone, and that one person I wanted to be there the most doesn't make it and I wind up disappointed and lonely- and so I wasn't expecting much. Of course, I was really hoping I was wrong, but I kept it to myself.

Within 15 minutes of my arrival, though, I started hitting it off very well with N. We sat next to each other during Risk, and once I got the hang of the game (enough to conquer Europe and put everyone else in jeopardy :3) he would attack me mercilessly (I respect a guy who doesn't go easy on me or let me win things just because I'm a girl). He was very easy to talk to, and we kept lapsing into conversation between turns. C and M were extremely patient about this, even though it held up the game a few times.

We somehow got on the topic of Europe, then of absinthe, and C announced that they still had some left over from a bottle some friends brought back from Europe. Not the hallucinogenic old-school kind, of course, but still hella strong, bro. C poured the last two shots out, each in a separate glass. She put a sugar cube in one, and left the other plain, so that we could try it both ways. The stuff was ridiculously bitter and strong, and the colour alone was enough to convince you that you might just be drinking antifreeze, even with the sugar. My ears became much warmer afterwards, that's for sure.

N and I both managed to catch a buzz off the absinthe- he doesn't seem like a big drinker, he's a health and fitness type- and started talking even more. I really couldn't believe the things coming out of this guy's mouth. I've had a LOT of guys say they're into something just to impress me, and then later it turns out they were bullshitting all along. More commonly, they pretend to be super intelligent, and then once I actually talk to them I discover that they're really nowhere near as smart as they're pretending to be. I understand that people will sometimes bring out the better sides of themselves when they're courting someone, but honestly. Guys will usually ask me questions about what I like and like to do, and then when I answer, they say "oh yeah, me too!"

Eye roll.

No, he beat me to the punch. I don't think I've ever heard a guy prefix a sentence with "I was watching this documentary-" in my life until then... but it's something I say all the time (and, subsequently, blush about when everyone laughs at me for being a nerd). He talked about playing guitar and liking classic rock before I said anything, which lets me know that he's not just saying this stuff to get on my good side. And when I said that I would rather go to the AGO or the ROM than out to a club or a bar any day, his face instantly lit up.

Oh, this must sound so nerdy. And it is.

The game (shit, I lost) continued. I leaned back in my chair and one of the wooden rungs hit me square in the sore spot I have right above my left SI. I think I've mentioned it before, if not, it's a very tender, swollen spot right above where the bone sticks out (strangely, not on the bone itself) and although it isn't actually a bruise, it feels like a bad one. Anyway, the wood hit my sore spot and I suddenly jerked forward. I didn't yelp or anything, I held it back, but holy shit it hurt. N was immediately concerned and asked me if I was okay. I said yes, just a sore back. Waved it off. He tried to question me more, but the confusion of the continuing game of Risk made it easy for me to elude his questions. I really didn't feel like explaining my pain to N, especially since- aside from the sore spot which is always sore- my pain wasn't all that bad at that moment in time. Also, I was starting to sort of like him, and so the last thing I wanted to talk about was one of the myriad of health problems I have. He still seemed concerned, but he let it go.

Anyway, after Europe fell to M's red pieces (I held my own extremely well for being a first-timer, and got a round of high-fives for my efforts), I was sitting there watching M and N battle it out when I got a text message. It was G.

"Are you at C's house right now?"

I replied that, yes, I was. I asked if he was in London and he said he was still in Hamilton, but he could leave right now. He just wanted to know if it was still worth it to come, he said.

I responded that it was up to him, that the Games Night would probably go quite late so he could easily have a few hours here, but it depended mostly on how late he wanted to be driving back.

He said that he didn't really want to be driving back so late. I said, well, there's always next time. Smiley face. Would I have offered to let G stay over if I hadn't met N? Maybe. He probably would have declined, but the point is... G wasn't coming.

Somehow, I was less disappointed about this than I expected to be.

Towards the end of Risk, a few more of C and M's friends showed up- two sets of couples- and we all sat and played a bit of cards. Between games, N and I stood beside each other and looked through one of the books that C had had lying around. One was a big coffee table book about this history of chocolate, and there were some incredible pieces of artwork inside- vintage advertisements from the 1950's all the way back to the 1800's, old woodcuttings, paintings, pictures of the Mayan pyramids- in addition to the written content of the book itself. It turned out that he could speed-read, just like me, and also that he enjoyed fine art and vintage advertisements, just like me.

I could read with him all day.

After we finished the book, we talked more. (Of course. :3) He seemed to love looking at me, and always directly in the eye at that. He has amazing blue eyes. He said that it was funny, he was so used to having to dumb things down or explain everything whenever he would talk to some of his other friends, but somehow I could easily keep up with him, even though we'd just met. I knew exactly how he felt, because I felt the same way. I usually just keep quiet around most of my friends because a lot of what I say either goes right over their heads or strikes them as "too nerdy". Yet with him, I could say anything... and he was right there with me on it. Genuinely smart.

He sat or stood next to me the whole time. When he sat in the comfy recliner, I perched on the arm of it. When I left the room and came back, he had vacated the recliner and was sitting in another chair he'd pulled up beside it. I was extremely thankful for this, because my spine and rear end are very bruised from sitting on hard chairs, and I was also scared of hitting my sore spot again. When everyone was playing a card game around the coffee table, he pulled the recliner closer to the table for me... while I was still in it. Haha.

He'd offered me a ride home earlier in the evening, which was awesome because otherwise I'd have wound up sleeping on C and M's couch. We walked out to the parking lot in the still, cold night after saying our goodbyes, just shortly after midnight. We talked non-stop the entire way home. I asked him what he does, and he told me he's a kinesiologist, which is how he originally met C (she works in the field as well). I told him I've worked as a chiropractic assistant, which he thought was very cool, and he even asked me which chiropractors I've met and worked with. When we pulled into my driveway, I had the urge to ask him if he felt like going for a drive, but I didn't. It was late.

He asked if he could have my number, and I gave it to him. He gave me his. He asked if it would be okay for him to call me sometime, and perhaps we could have a coffee or go to the AGO or something. I said absolutely, any time. We said goodnight and hugged each other. He waited by the end of the driveway and flashed his lights when I waved to him from the gate.

It's almost 4:00 the next day. I'm extremely tempted to send him a text message, or something. I don't know. I want to ask him if he'll go for a walk with me. Nobody ever takes walks with me, so if he says yes... then maybe we're on to something...

...

... alright, so he's out of town visiting his parents for the rest of the day. When he comes back into London tomorrow afternoon, we are going to hang out and go for a walk. Wow, imagine that? :)

xx.

Fool's Gold.

2011-11-09T21:29:00.003-05:00

Just as I am getting settled in my new place,
I get a call that throws everything back into disarray.
...
t (my best friend) and C (her boyfriend-now-soon-to-be-fiance) just signed the lease on a gorgeous house by the waterfront in Port Dalhousie.
The entire downstairs is finished, and apparently huge.
Hardwood floors and all that.
Room for an art/music studio.
Separate entrance.
They want me to go live with them. They've started a business together, a flooring business, and so I can do some work for them
(not the flooring, of course... but I can do the appointment booking and whatnot.)
They'd let me practice driving their vehicles so I can get my license renewed.
I would be closer to Niagara, but in the nice part of it...
Close enough to see my family much more often... but not living in the bad areas anymore.
It is perfect, of course. I mean, don't get me wrong... I like living with C and J where I am right now... but I have one room to myself,
and I'm a fifteen minute walk from the closest bus route that I would need to use,
And wouldn't you know it?
I am absolutely distraught at the thought of moving again, even though they said they'd take care of everything.

...
I know what I have to do. I have such an amazing opportunity in front of me.
It would be a new start for everybody. That is what t and C are looking for, and that's why they got the house.
They say I deserve a fresh start, too,
and that living here need only be temporary.
Another month or two, tops.
...
but
(i just can't stand the thought of moving again.)
...
My other excuse for not wanting to leave is that I know I will never find another chiropractor like Dr. F.
Yes, that's important to me since a) his adjustments have always worked the best, and b) he's just so cool.
I would miss him too. Isn't that funny?
Probably the coolest London friend I've made.
...
(It would be a mistake. I know it would. I've started putting roots down here
and
the last thing I need is to go and uproot myself again.)
...
so... word has spread fast, apparently, that things between T and I are over.
The very first person to "swoop in", so to speak- and I kid you not- is actually a sportscaster on The Score.
I've been talking to him here and there for a while now on Facebook
(and he has spent the last four days trying to convince me to go to his condo in downtown Toronto
and stay the night with him,
not being at all shy about telling me what his intentions are.)
Of course, I'm sure he'll tire of me soon,
so I don't take it very seriously.
...
I have another friend, though
and, same thing. He's obsessed with me, all of a sudden.
I mean, he's a nice guy. Good looking, early thirties. Professional photographer, does mostly weddings.
Oh. And he's married.
...
He's always been a little flirty. I've known him since last summer,
when I was living with t at her parents' house.
He was a few weeks away from his own wedding when we first met, and was very up front about it, so I always considered him harmless.
Lately though, he is absolutely insistent upon driving to London to spend the day with me,
and he wants to spend it at a hotel.
...
I don't want to do anything with him. If he were single and I wasn't just coming out of a relationship, maybe.
Between the two of them, I don't know what to think.
This isn't isolated, either. There is another guy from Toronto (and who is also a TV host) who wants the same thing
and although he isn't married, he does have a girlfriend.
...
I'll admit it. I'm very, very lonely right now.
I've felt unloved for a very long time, and now I'm single.
(this is good for you! fight it! fight it!)
but...
I can't bring myself to do that. I have too much respect for... well, I don't have much respect for myself
but
I'm not getting in the way of a marriage or a relationship of any kind.
The sportscaster guy, A... he's single. But still, I don't know. That seems a little trashy, doesn't it?
(he's actually really charming and extremely intelligent. he's even on the board of directors for the Brampton Symphony Orchestra.)
In other words... definitely attractive to me. I adore smart guys.
but...
just because he's that kind of guy
it wouldn't make my spending the night with him any less trashy.
...
I'm torn into a million pieces.
I have too many choices, too many decisions to make
and I do not always make the best decisions.
I'm so tense and edgy lately that I am in constant pain, and it feels as if my joints are rusted.
I am empty and alone. Fragile and hollow.
I want to be alone, but I don't.
I want someone here with me, and I don't know who, just someone who wouldn't care if I cried.
Should I move again, one more time?
Should I try to survive in London another year?
Should I just say "fuck morals" for once, and spend the night with A if it would make me happy?
Should I bother trying at all?

xx

Call me when you're sober.

2011-11-04T22:29:00.000-04:00

I never ended up writing about this: I finally ended it with T a little while ago.

I went over to the apartment around five that particular day, just for a visit because we hadn't hung out in a week. He was already drinking when I got there, and I was not in the most pleasant of moods. I was very stiff and silent for the first little while, and he was cheerfully buzzed.

We were sitting on the couch when I asked him: tell me honestly. Where do you see this going?

He knew what I was getting at.

It went very amicably. He was completely understanding about it, but he did cry. Quite openly, in fact. I've never seen him be this emotional about anything in all the time I've known him. We both cried, actually, for a good solid hour before I left to go home.

I almost want to cry again now.

I'm happy it's over, really. I'm relieved. It still hurts, but now I can finally move past this. I can't be with someone who wants to destroy himself...

We are still friends. People criticize me for this, but I don't care. He and I are tight, and we always will be. He is a good person who happens to be an addict, and I refuse to expose myself to any part of that anymore. That said, he has never abused me, or been disrespectful (aside from when very drunk, of course) or anything like that. He has not hurt me in any way, at least not intentionally- the thing that hurts me most is how little regard he has for his own health and safety- and so I don't really care what other people say, I am not cutting him out of my life or tossing him away.

...

So now I'm single.

xx

300.

2011-10-27T17:30:00.001-04:00

That's right. This is Sparta, and tonight we dine in Hell.

Oops. That's every night for me.

No, this is my three hundredth post. I suppose I could have waited until I had more important things to write about, but feh.

I'm watching Earth 2100. It's a documentary that was on ABC back in 2009. It's extremely creepy, and follows the life of a fictional girl who was "born" in 2009 and who witnesses the devastating effects of climate change; a collapsing economy; disease; the Earth's population reaching 15 billion; massive immigration of refugees from countries that become uninhabitable. Now, of course, scientists have called "global warming" into serious question... but even if you ignore that part of it, this documentary is scary as hell. And although this may indeed make me a hippie, I don't see anything wrong with wanting to care for the environment anyway... and that is exactly what this documentary makes me want to do.

...

Enough rambling. I feel slightly hypomanic again, but perhaps that is just the thrill of anticipation: I move out this weekend. I am so ridiculously excited to spend a weekend putting together my own room, and then relaxing with my friends (and also by myself) without worrying about a drunken Boy breaking or vomiting on any of my things. Or bothering me at all, for that matter. I told him that I do not want him contacting me when intoxicated- ever- whether it be by phone, Facebook, or other. He already spent last weekend (my final full weekend in the apartment here) drunk. And yes, that includes Friday night, which was the night before I had to get up early and work at the clinic. I had asked him specifically not to drink that night, but he did anyway. And yes, I was much more tired the next day than I should have been. I was very nervous about doing a perfect job- I don't have a lot of confidence in myself as it is- and being tired doesn't help with my concentration. He didn't care. I was angry, but decided not to bother with it. I'm proving my point well enough by leaving, I think.

...

It is cold out, but refreshingly so. Classic fall weather. It was cold, gray, and rainy earlier, but the sky is clear blue now. I think I will go for a walk later; alone, of course, since T isn't really into going for walks.

...

I have been eating more lately, and I feel disgusting. I am still under 110 pounds, but that is no comfort to me; I want to be one hundred again because, hey, I was before. Recently, even. So there's no reason why I shouldn't stay that way.

I am a hedonist. I indulge, in every way imaginable; I (used to) do drugs, I spend compulsively (not anymore, of course), I binge eat... I don't do these things because I am spoiled or selfish, I do them to comfort myself. The only way to stop this is to go in the opposite direction: starve myself. When I force myself to focus solely on food, calories, weight, and exercise, everything else just seems so much more... simple. My mood swings even out. My anxiety is smoothed over; a dark, flattened specimen under glass. I don't giggle obnoxiously or act like an awkward doof in public. I smile politely and remain quiet, like a mature, intellectual woman should.

Like now. I am hypomanic, or at least pseudo-hypomanic, and I am ashamed to tell you that I may or may not have eaten chocolate today. And a pumpkin spice muffin. And leftover macaroni and cheese. And, to top it off, a vanilla caramel cappuccino. I binge like crazy when I am hypomanic, and so although I had been eating quite little up until recently... this is disgusting.

I can feel it in my stomach, still. I would like to purge, but the veins in the side of my skull are pulsing; I can feel pressure behind my right eye, a sharp slice of pain lancing diagonally from my right temple to the bridge of my nose. If I purge, I will get a migraine, guaranteed. I will probably get one anyway, but if I don't purge, then it will not come as quickly, and will be less severe.

I am disgusting.

I think when I get into the new place this weekend, things will be better. I'm going to be buying my own food, so I will be fully responsible for everything that goes into my mouth. No excuses. I need to learn discipline. I need to focus.

I need to focus.

xx.

I walk the streets with a six-string on my back. I play for keeps, 'cause I might not make it back.

2011-10-26T10:45:00.000-04:00

I can't stop listening to this song.

I NEED hair like this.
I am restless.
hyper but not hypomanic.
(at least not yet.)
I would really love a hot chocolate or a cafe mocha, but I somehow doubt I have even enough change for that.
(too many calories anyway.)
...
I have an appointment at 11:30,
then I have to go to the Rogers store and cancel some things.
It is a cold, wet, gray rainy day
the type of day I prefer to stay indoors for.
After Rogers, I have nothing to do anyway
the apartment is a mess again, naturally
and the dishes are all piled up despite the fact that I finished them ALL 48 hours ago.
(oh well. my packing is done, and soon this place won't be my concern anymore.)
My shoulder is killing me anyway. I did not tear it again, as I originally feared, but I certainly sprained it or something.
It hurts enough that I would really prefer not doing dishes, anyway
because I have very little strength in my entire right arm
so holding most of the plates is impossible, as they are large and heavy
and I can't use that arm to scrub, either.
I am so USELESS... but what else is new?
I weighed myself today: 107.
Something is going horribly wrong.
Suddenly, I feel fat again, and I am positive that the rest of the world notices it just as clearly as I do.
Can I tell you something?
...
I know that when I am finally in the new place for good,
I will probably be much healthier
in 99% of ways
...
(... but i am still so fucking disgusted by this fat fat fat.)
...
Okay. Shower time.

xx.

What you want to be.

2011-10-25T17:14:00.000-04:00

moved some of my things today. c- and his girlfriend had the morning and early afternoon off.
i packed all of my most valuable and useful possessions into the five drawers i pulled out of my dresser.
(the dresser will be going with me too.)
there are only a few things left, mostly my books, of which there are many.
dvds, cds, paintings.
my instruments.
it's really happening. i'm finally out.
...
i love my new room.
the walls are red, and the carpet orange. white ceiling and trim.
i am imagining what it will look like when i get all my things in there
my lava lamp
and paintings
and they're also giving me an end table to put a TV on, as well as my dvd player and super nintendo. (hell yes.)
i have a dimmer switch on my room's lightbulb, which is fantastic.
the common area is comfortable and cozy, with a black leather couch and occasional other overstuffed easy chairs.
there is a stone mantle and fireplace, but they've got the entertainment system set up in front of it.
fairly low ceilings. walls painted dark green.
the kitchen is small and warm; counter in the middle, small sink, hot plate, cupboards for each of us.
the bathroom is small, with dark blue walls and a stand up shower. wood-framed mirror.
through the narrow hallway, up the narrow wooden steps, there is a door that exits out the rear of the house. it is a completely separate entrance, independent of the rest of the house.
we smoke outside in a small "standing yard" between fences; a pipe for me, a bong for c-, and a cigarette for his girlfriend j-.
the backyard is wide and green, with a trampoline and a very nice back deck with black wrought-iron patio furniture.
pear trees. chocolate mint and other herbs. datura, with white trumpet-shaped flowers, wide leaves and spiky seed pods.
i love it.
i move in on friday, officially.
that's all for now. more later...

xx

You are only coming through in waves. Your lips move, but I can't hear what you're saying.

2011-10-19T12:23:00.000-04:00

Fall's colours are beginning to fade. I can smell winter in the air.

It is cold, and gray, and extremely windy today. The sort of wind that hits you like a slap in the face and takes your breath away. I can hear it swirling around the outside of the building, rattling screen doors and scattering beer cans over all and sundry (I don't even know if I used that term correctly, but I've always wanted to use it in something. So delightfully old-timey). The beer cans are annoying- I have gone out to the balcony twice already to snatch them up and stuff them back into the cardboard box T keeps them in- but I do like hearing the wind howl.

250 calories. Noon. Still hypomanic, so this'll be another weird one.

I have managed to split about 80% of my belongings into different boxes: a pile full of things to keep; a pile full of things to give to charity; a pile full of things to throw away. I am selling some things as well, one of which is my flute. It breaks my heart to do it, but honestly... I am through with asking my parents for help with money. I am 25 years old, and I am going to start acting like a goddamn self-sufficient adult, thank you very much. I bought the flute with my own money a few years ago, and so it is a painful sacrifice to give it up... but my Dad is putting a down payment on a new house, and my Mom and stepfather have always had to budget everything to make ends meet. They cannot afford to be handing out money to their adult daughter month after month... and they don't deserve that.

I am hiding it from my parents. My entire financial situation, that is. They don't know that I have around $1400 in credit card debt remaining (which might not seem like much, but it's an overwhelmingly large amount when you do not have an income) and closer to $20,000 in student loans. Collection agencies harass me. My credit score is destroyed. I can never be a home owner, or get a loan, or any of that shit by myself. At least, not until I get about 7 (more?) years of fiscally responsible behaviour under my belt. They still do not know that I have lost my job and am on welfare, despite the fact that it happened back in July. I feel horrible lying to them this way, but honestly... I just can't take it anymore. I am sick of finally doing something right, getting them to breathe a little easier, and then fucking it all up again. Over and over again. It doesn't matter if the loss of my last job wasn't the result of stupidity or anything that I had done wrong- the truth just feels like a flimsy excuse. I'd rather just not say anything. I am ashamed of myself for not being able to... just be fucking normal. No pain, no bipolar disorder, no neurotic compulsions. Normal.

And now I'm on welfare... I would rather die than have them know that their supposedly "gifted, talented, creative and wonderfully intelligent" daughter is a leech on the underbelly of society.

It is one of those days. I am itching for something- anything- to take me out of myself. I want codeine. I want OxyContin. I'd even settle for a bottle of wine. I feel like a horrible person for even saying these things. I am just so overwhelmed by everything happening, and I am still standing on that tightrope; if I just hang in there for a tiny bit longer, I will finally have my own place and, even better, my own life. Across the gap lies salvation. If I lose my balance and fall... I don't think I'll ever be able to get up again. As it is, although I am avoiding drugs (and drinking- ironic that I would be tempted to drink after all of the alcoholic shit I've had to put up with), I am still using my old crutch: starving.

I am between 100 and 102 pounds. The slightest tap stains my skin with bruises. Veins bulge in my arms- I've always had very dark blue, visible veins, but never too little fat to actually see them physically stick out- and neck. My Medic-Alert bracelet is now far too big, and sometimes almost slips right off my hand if I'm pulling my arm out of a coat or shirt sleeve. I can slide it halfway up my forearm; the distance between it and my elbow shrinking as I do. The cold is appalling.

I look in the mirror and still see fifteen extra pounds.

I don't even care about looks, or fat, or fitting into pretty clothes.

It is completely illogical.

(...)

I am working at the clinic for a few hours on Saturday morning. I am ridiculously happy with the prospect of doing actual work again, even if it is literally only for a few hours. I gave T a stern warning last night: I know you're going to drink on Friday night, there's nothing I can do about that, but if you get drunk and you keep me awake or upset me at all... so help me I will kick your ass.

I explained to him that I had to get up early and go help out at the clinic, so he promised to behave himself. Whether he will or not remains to be seen, but I will keep up my end of that deal. I will seriously kick his ass. His drunken antics played a significant role in the depression that led to the loss of my last job. (Sidenote: I have come to find out through a few of that doc's former patients and assistants that he tends to be very trigger-happy with firing CAs; he's extremely picky, moody, and perfectionistic, and trusts very few people- i.e. his wife... and that's about it- and so I do take a little comfort in the knowledge that perhaps it wasn't entirely my broken brain that fucked me over this time.)

I don't know what to think. Or say. Or do. Or anything. I don't want to make excuses for myself, but I don't want to lose hope either.

I just really, really, really want to be normal.

I'm just so tired.

xx

Groovin' hypomanic.

2011-10-11T18:30:00.000-04:00

Oh yes, it's back. Haters gonna hate.

I'll warn you in advance that this is probably going to be a very disjointed entry. My brain is moving ahead of itself and I'm probably going to go off on a bunch of tangents and start talking about shit that doesn't make sense. I should really take my Seroquel, but I'm going to wait it out for a couple of days first.

So... what's new? Well, first of all, I go through the same thing every year, so I won't bore you with yet another rant about how uncomfortable it is to have an eating disorder at thanksgiving; needless to say, I did go with T to his parents' house on Thanksgiving (the moving out thing is going well, everything's amicable, and I didn't have a way to get home this year anyway, which was just as well) and although the food was actually delicious- even the turkey, which I normally dislike- I was still only able to eat a subnormal amount. I just don't do well with sit-down dinners, or eating in front of people in general.

I will give a little nod to T for one thing, though; when his mother started telling me to eat more, and kept arguing with me when I politely declined, he stepped in and said: don't pressure her.

That was cool of him.

I cleaned the hell out of the kitchen today. I made it my bitch. I even got down and scrubbed in the corners with a rough sponge and Lysol. Now my knees are sore and squishy-feeling, and my shoulder hurts too, but I don't care because the kitchen is FINALLY CLEAN. At least I can put this extra energy to some good use. And I have not been hungry, which is a VERY good thing because for the past few days I have actually been bingeing. It's probably just been all the stress and emotional bullshit. Today I had an iced coffee and a toasted plain bagel with a slice of cheddar cheese and some tomatoes. About 475 calories, according to the Tim Hortons website. (I went there on the way to drop off my prescription at the pharmacy.) I don't know what else I'm going to eat today... probably mostly fruit and stuff at home. I know that 475 calories really isn't a lot, but it's still bothering me.

So restless. I want to clean the rest of the apartment too, but at the moment I feel I should rest a little. I'm already sore, so I'm going to sit for a while, stretch a bit, then walk to the pharmacy again (this time to pick the prescription up). If I clean when I'm hypomanic, I become almost obsessive about the specific task I'm doing (hence my getting down on the floor to scrub earlier) until the object/area/room is spotless. This is kind of good, but not when I take it upon myself to try and move dressers, couches, and beds on my own in order to vacuum underneath them. The next area that really needs cleaning (more cleaning, that is) is the spare room, where I store all my things. I've been going through it all, throwing things away, and sorting things aside to give to charity, but I have only made a dent. This week, I really need to get on that, and I also need to sell a few things to make some extra money.

I definitely think I'm going hypomanic. I haven't been sleeping well- I never really do, unless I'm under the influence of opiates or Seroquel, neither of which I care to do anymore- but it hasn't been because of my joint pain, which is the usual cause; I just can't shut my brain down. My thoughts race, and I'm flooded with urges: scrub the kitchen floor, bathtub, toilet, and sinks; draw up a diagram for some abstract project I'll never attempt to undertake; find my class ring, which I suddenly miss with great urgency, and am terrified that I have lost sometime in the past year or so.

When I do manage to sleep, and dream, my dreams are strange and vivid; often unnerving, not necessarily because they are disturbing, but because they often take the shape of real events and people in my life. The added paranoia/slight delusional thinking that comes along with my hypomania sometimes makes these dreams seem almost prophetic. If I have a nightmare about something happening to a person I know (this happened last night, or rather, it was a nightmare about something happening to a friend's significant other, whom I have never actually met), I wake up incredibly disturbed and fight the temptation all day long to contact that person and warn them about whatever it was that I dreamt. It's a real struggle, weird as that sounds, because I am torn between wanting to warn said person- I feel like it's the right thing to do if they might be in danger- and knowing that, uh, dreams cannot foretell things, and that if I were to say such a thing to anyone, they'd probably commit me. Now, I do believe in ESP and all that, but the line between reality and WTF tends to blur a little when I am this way. Ah, hypomanic dreams... feels weird, man.

I am almost out of money; I am almost out of sanity.

I'm not allowed to work at all at the moment, and I will be able to work only part-time at first. My shrink wants me on ODSP for a certain amount of time, and has signed the paperwork and sent it in. I don't know yet if I'll even be approved, but he seems to think that I should be focusing on other things. I am considered a high-risk patient, and so he wants to err on the side of caution I suppose.

...

I am keeping in good spirits, though. I am happy that, soon, I will have a place of my own (well, a room of my own, and a common area that I'll be sharing with friends so it's fine anyways) and will be able to move forward... in a lot of ways. I want to try to be healthier, and I think that will become easier once I am in a stable environment. I want to get rid of the anxiety and shyness that have gotten worse and worse over the years. It's a little different if I'm working somewhere, because I've always worked in customer service-y type jobs, so I don't necessarily feel uncomfortable with talking to random strangers/customers/patients/whatever, even when I am low... I'm talking about my actual social life. I used to hang out with my friends all the time when I was younger, but after moving to Orillia with I, I became extremely isolated- first because of him, then because of my extreme depression later on- and I've had a bit of trouble with social interaction ever since. It's quite irritating, particularly when I'm meeting new people. It takes me a long time to get comfortable with most new people I meet, or even with people I don't see often. I wasn't that way when I was younger (with a few exceptions), but I am now. Fortunately, I know that it isn't a permanent thing; the more time I spend with my friends, the more I go outside and do things and meet people, the easier it will be. I was conditioned into this, so I can condition myself... out of it. Ha.

Yes, definitely hypomanic. This entry is like a Seinfeld episode: about nothing, but somehow still amusing. At least to me.

Okay, I should put all these words to some real use. I need to call my Dad... was supposed to talk to him last night, but I was just too tired to answer when he called. I love my Dad, but he talks for HOURS and there is no getting out of it. I really need to psych myself up. If there was ever a good time to talk to him... it's now. Off we go!

xx.

I don't care if you don't believe in astrology or tarot...

2011-10-07T08:18:00.000-04:00

... this is so relevant that it's scarier than a bear on a roller-coaster. (Alright, so I happened to have a picture of a bear on a roller-coaster.)

October 5th: The Moon (reversed) suggests that you may have felt cause to retreat into a fantasy world during a critical period of your development. You may have felt protected and secure here, and preferred not to confront or reveal your true or authentic self to others. You may have had issues with trust or loyalty, and withdrawn into self-imposed delusion. You are being reminded that regardless of your background, you can face the promise of the unknown with courage, if only you come to understand that through choice you can change your reality.

Then...

October 6th: "The Tower card suggests that my alter ego today is the Survivor, whose superpower for revolution lies in my epiphany for change, brought on with the aid of a serious reality check. Today I have reached a turning point. It may be all over but the crying -- but I have the strength to move on and create a better situation for myself. You may say that I never saw it coming or learned the hard way, but with profound change comes new opportunity. One door closes -- another opens. So tear down the wall, and rebuild anew."

...

Never in my life have I bothered to subscribe to any sort of Daily Whatever to be sent to my email... until a few days ago. I don't know what hit me. One moment I was looking up my horoscope online and the next I was thinking "sure, why the hell not" when they asked me to sign up for Daily Tarot. More spam... just what I need. Click.

But ever since I signed up for it, the thing has been giving me creepily accurate, great advice. As you can see, this shit is EXACTLY what I need to be hearing right now, and somehow or another the Universe is beaming it right down to me via email. In fact, I didn't heed yesterday's advice, and as a result, I got a curt little nudge in the right direction this morning:

October 7th: The Ace of Swords card suggests that my power today lies in cause and effect. With great power comes great responsibility. Do the right thing or state the obvious and the 'pen will be mightier than the Sword.' The truth will set me free. It's the principle of the thing. Get it in writing. I am empowered by intention and my virtue is my promise, commitment or vow.

It's basically telling me to get the truth out- all of it- to EVERYONE. The Boy, my parents, everyone. Get it over with, even though it will hurt. Go through with it.

I have been dragging this out. I need to do this.

I need to do this.

[EDIT: OMG. I checked my love horoscope. "The energy of the day may finally help you to realize that you have another option in the ongoing saga of your current relationship. First though, you need to engage in some serious discussion about the kind of future you envision together, and whether you are both expecting the same thing. If not, then this is what you need to attend to before it is too late." are They watching? Like, seriously. O_o.]

xx.

Internal debate.

2011-10-03T08:30:00.003-04:00

You do realize that he's only being so sweet to you because you let him drink again this weekend. It's true. Alright, so maybe you didn't encourage it, exactly, but you were completely passive.

(well, what else could i do? if i made my feelings known, he would have gotten angry.)

So? If you act like you don't care, he's getting away with it.

(he doesn't remember how i acted the following day anyways; blackouts, remember?)

You need to go through with this, J. Today, you need to go downstairs and talk to your superintendent about the details. Then, you need to call your mom and tell her the truth. You need to work out which day you can go see the room, and then you need to start packing, throwing away stuff you don't need, and giving a bunch of it to charity. You need to get a move on with this, because the longer you sit, the harder it will be.

(he's going to wonder why i'm suddenly leaving him when he's being so nice right now.)

And how long is he going to stay nice, J? For a few days, maybe. Then it will be right back to how it was before. You will still be living in this apartment, living in poverty, cleaning up after him, and babysitting him while he drinks himself into a stupor every weekend. Your Hallowe'en will be ruined, just like every other year. Your Christmas will suck. Your New Years' Eve will be horrible- hell, last year was one of the worst nights of your life. Winter is coming soon. You need to get out before the snow flies, or you are condemning yourself. You can't falter now, just because he's being nice to you.

(i'm so tired of it.)

Mom will understand. You know that. She went through the exact same thing.

(i just want to be alone, so i can finally have some peace. maybe even be happy, for once.)

As for Dad... if he wants to get all worked up about it, fine. But you know he's still going to be there for you, and help you. And so will t- and C-. C- even volunteered to drive up in the truck and help me move my stuff from here to the new place.

(i have to do it.)

There are no more excuses.

(i love him, though.)

You probably always will. He'll always have a place in your heart. But you have to let him go. You can't let him hold you back. He has to deal with his problems on his own, because you are becoming codependent... you can't allow this to happen anymore. Go to Al-Anon meetings, or call C- when you need some advice about this. It's not like you lack resources.

(but i couldn't handle it if something happened to him. what if i leave him and he uses his new freedom to destroy himself? the only reason he holds back to any degree at all is because i'm around.)

You are living with an addict. And you *are* an addict. And let's be 100% honest, here. You bought a bottle of T1s on Friday, and all 30 of them were gone by yesterday. Granted, that's a drop in the bucket compared to your former usage, but you found yourself thinking about buying percocet last night too, didn't you? That's how it starts. You weren't even in pain, and if you had been in pain, you know a million better ways you could have dealt with it. You did it because you're standing on a very thin line between independence and giving up. You are a much different person than you used to be, and if you stay with the Boy for much longer, he's going to drag you right back into that pit. You've been reading some of your older entries in this blog, and Present You is absolutely appalled by some of the things Past You has done and said. But the answer is to learn from your mistakes and move forward, not to stay in the sort of environment that Past You would prefer.

(i don't want to go back to that.)

When you and the Boy first found each other, you were exactly the same: Anxious, depressed, perfectionistic, and self-destructive. Let's face it, even though you needed to get away from I- because he was controlling and somewhat abusive, that's not the only reason you fled away to London to be with the Boy. It was because you knew that you'd have free reign to do whatever the hell you wanted. And sure enough, you got your wish. When you first got here, you binge-drank, just like him. You did XTC on more than one occasion, and he was the one who gave it to you. You continued abusing OxyContin and morphine, and he bought it for you and did it with you. Now, you have managed to overcome a LOT of your demons, at least enough for you to stabilize a bit. You know that you don't want to get back into that lifestyle. You have changed, but he has not. You still aren't well, and you are starting to slip. Time is running out, and you know what you have to do.

(i have to let him go.)

You can't stay in this environment any longer. You started with the substance abuse as a means of coping with your hypomania, depression and anxiety, originally. You wanted to numb yourself. That was the worst thing for you. You needed someone who would be a good example for you, not someone who sees you as their "Toxic Twin." You have come so far, which is incredible considering the environment you live in, and if you really do value your sobriety- and sanity- then you will make the right choice. You are strong, but you aren't superhuman.

(i'm not strong at all.)

The codeine, J. And you're purging and starving yourself again. Bipolar disorder is no excuse for becoming a junkie, or hurting yourself in other ways, and living with an alcoholic is no excuse either- because you have a choice in the matter. Don't let yourself fall any further than you already have.

(i have to end it.)

I'm sorry.

(T, i'm so sorry.)

.-_-

Always look on the bright side of life.

2011-09-29T09:40:00.000-04:00

Coughing endlessly for hours is a fantastic abdominal workout.

I'm not "sick" anymore, exactly, but I still have the cough. My lungs are congested and my throat itches like crazy. I burst into random fits of coughing at the most inconvenient times- the middle of the night, for example- and sometimes I cough so hard that I nearly make myself sick. I have to sit and chug bottle after bottle of ice cold water to numb my throat... it sucks, and is annoying as hell.

Enough complaining, I'm just tired. I'm not as sore as I was, because I got an adjustment yesterday, but for some reason the coughing seems to be causing a lot of pain in my left hip/SI/entire leg in general. Everything else feels better, but when the coughing fits happen... it's extremely painful in that one particular spot. Before, when I used to get a cough like this (let alone if I had pain of any kind), I'd go straight for the codeine. Now... well, if I must suffer, at least I suffer with nobility. (Okay, I'm not suffering... just a little cranky. Chin up and all that rot.)

Hypomania coming? Maybe. I haven't been sleeping well, and that tends to be a trigger. My thoughts have been racing and I have been feeling even more anxious than usual, if that's possible. Usually I'm in a better mood when I'm going hypo, though, so... I'm not sure.

Still hovering between 100 - 105 lbs. I go the entire day without eating, easily, and graze in the evenings. Not exactly healthy. I'm averaging around 1000 calories a day.

I am losing my hair. I have so many bruises.

I don't think I look thin. I think I'm just average; maybe slightly chubbier than a lot of the girls you see walking around, at least here in London. At any rate, I know that it isn't my being thin or fat that's the real issue; I'm just doing this so I can have something to obsess about, which in turn will take my mind off of the real issues. I'd much rather obsessively create things or obsessively clean or obsessively study... but no, I obsess about my fat ass instead.

I suppose it is better than obsessing over how much I would love to take some codeine right now.

Huh. This entry was supposed to be a bit more positive. I think I'll end this here for now... we can try again later, maybe after I take my Wellbutrin.

xx

If only you'd walk through that door, I'd shed my skin and say "I'll never ask for anything more."

2011-09-27T04:01:00.002-04:00

Ah, a lovely vision of tranquility.

It's 3:09 AM and I'm awake because I'm in pain. Like, a stupidly, ridiculously absurd amount of pain. I had to walk to the store earlier (even though I am still recovering from the flu and am having trouble breathing) because the Boy was "too tired" to do it, and it needed to be done. Well, I got caught in a downpour on the way there, and so by the time I got home I was literally drenched from head to foot. I had to keep wringing out the sleeves of my sweater, and there was water sloshing around in my shoes. I was walking, soaked, in the cold, for... well, more than long enough for it to affect me. Let's just say that.

I fell asleep around 11 or so, albeit a little uncomfortably. I woke up at 2 and haven't been able to sleep again since. It sucks because if I sleep on my back, I start coughing and wheezing because there's still so much congestion in my lungs; if I sleep on my side, I may wake up with a shoulder injury. (The right side has been injured so many times that I could probably dislocate it myself merely by thinking about it too hard. The left side seems to be getting worse as years go by.)

Screwed, basically.

Right now, my sternum hurts, mostly from coughing; there are shooting pains in my neck if I turn my head in certain ways; my right shoulder is, as always, clicking and popping every time I move; my knees have that squishy, achy, arthritic feel. The worst part, though, is my lower back and hips, especially in both of the SI (sacro-iliac joint- it's where the base of your spine sort of joins with your pelvis. I can't explain it much better to you right now because... it's 3 AM! Go read Grey's Anatomy.) That's the worst. It feels like someone has been kicking me with combat boots.

I've been walking around and stretching, because that way I can at least loosen up enough to get rid of some of the stiffness and, therefore, the pain. If there was ever a time I'd consider calling the emergency chiro service, this would be it. Raptor Jesus, it effing HURTS. I haven't smoked weed in quite a while, especially because I've had a respiratory illness so, you know, that wouldn't help matters... but I'm really considering it right now. Otherwise, I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep at all, and I have an appointment tomorrow afternoon (counselling session) that I cannot miss due to a stupid reason like tiredness. I am going to cough my ass off, I just know it... but arg, I'm desperate. There is tramadol in the house... that shit is not for me!

so... brb.

...alright, so the worst thing EVER just happened. (maybe not "ever." hyperbole FTW.) i decided to arm myself with a cold bottle of water to help alleviate any potential coughing fits, so i grabbed one out of the fridge that was about half full. i am the only one who puts water in the fridge, here, so i assumed it was one of my half-finished waters. what i totally forgot is that the other day, while cleaning out the fridge, i emptied the last bit of a bottle of white wine into a water bottle and just sort of stuck it back in there (i didn't want the wine bottle taking up valuable fridgespace, but i can never waste ANYTHING consumable, even alcohol) and i forgot about it. well, the kitchen is dark, and i didn't notice the slightly unusual colour of the bottle's contents.

i just took a hit, started coughing a little, and chugged straight out of that water bottle. AND IT WAS THE WINE THAT I WAS CHUGGING. D:

i think the thing that made it worse is that i was not expecting wine, i was expecting water. it was so cold that, for a second, i didn't notice the taste. but as soon as the smell came up through my nose, i almost spat it all over the keyboard. needless to say, the remainder of the wine is back in the fridge, and i am trying desperately to get the taste out of my mouth. it's not that it's bad wine, it's just that... i really did not need to chug wine just now; i don't chug wine (or any other booze) under normal circumstances either!

at least... not anymore.

oh, and also; wellbutrin lowers your alcohol tolerance, i am currently underweight, and i ate barely anything all day. as it is, a single glass of wine is usually sufficient to get me fairly buzzed, and i generally avoid drinking anyway. so that definitely hit me. i forget where i was going with this.

the alcohol taste is making me slightly nauseated. serves me right. gross.

oh now i'm baked and tipsy. wonderful. baked is fine, but i don't like the face-flush and rubbery knees that alcohol gives me. i am, however, extremely thankful that it was wine and not vodka.

enough about booze. why the fuck am i starting to waste my time thinking about it too? ugh.

++++++++++++++++++++

i HATE when the students come back to town. there's a party or a get-together or SOMETHING going on somewhere in the complex, and they have been hooting and whistling and laughing maniacally (seriously, i'm listening to this guy right now who sounds like he could be an extra from young frankenstein) for HOURS. it's now 3:53 AM on a weeknight, and this is still going on. the joys of low-rent living.

i need to get out. my friend c said that there's going to be a room available where he lives soon, though. he and his girlfriend live there and they rent out the extra room to students. the current room mate is getting ready to move into his own place, apparently, and c's mom (owner of the house) has said she would let me rent it for $400/mo. which isn't bad, since regularly it is $475. i am seriously considering it, because if i am going to challenge the Boy's drinking, i have to be prepared for the chance (probably a 95%+ chance) that he's going to leave me. either that, or he'll just refuse to quit, in which case i'm leaving. if so, i need a place to live. this would be a nice option because i could stay here in town, and maybe i could finally enjoy myself and hang with my friends for a change.

in fact, my friend c (a different c) came over this afternoon. she and i actually know each other from high school, and she dated one of my close friends (they still get along). we had some tea and chatted. it was nice to spend some time in the company of a person who wanted to talk to me while sober. on thursday i'm going to hang out with my friend f - she and i know each other from the call centre- for a few hours. i am trying to force myself to get out more and to spend more time with my friends. i have been neglecting them... i am so tired of staying home because i am scared to leave the Boy alone; of not being able to invite my own friends over, out of embarrassment. fuck it.

alright, this is turning into a rant, which is counterproductive when you are trying to sleep. i'm going to go stretch some more and then rest as much as i can.

xx

One hundred.

2011-09-21T14:30:00.000-04:00

It's the middle of the afternoon and I'm in bed, with the dark green curtain pulled over the window and all of the lights out. My throat hurts so badly that the occasional amused giggle I manage to muster (I'm reading The Oatmeal and xkcd) comes out as a strange sort of whine, trembling and nasal.

I have the flu. Or at least, I think I do. I have horrible congestion and difficulty breathing, my joints are aching and my skin is flush with pricking, burning pain. I feel as though I have a sunburn across my face and on the tops of my shoulders, as well as along my right leg for some reason. I have no idea if it's myalgia, or from the fever, or myalgia from the fever- who the fuck knows- and I'm very, very sick.

I'm keeping in good spirits about it, though. Despite the fact that I have swollen glands the size of walnuts puffing out my neck like an albino inner tube, I am still able to write. I've answered a few emails and talked to a few good friends over Facebook. The apartment is a filthy mess, though, since the Boy was also sick by the time he returned home from the wedding Sunday night, and I lack the energy to make it to the fridge for water, let alone to clean the whole apartment. I'm trying to rest as much as I can today so I can go cleaning-berserk tomorrow.

The Boy was still sick this morning, but managed to go to work. He sent me an email a short while ago telling me that he feels better and that, by tomorrow, I likely will too. Somehow, I doubt that.

I am not well. Not just speaking in terms of acute illness; I am really sick, I guess. I was 100 pounds even when I weighed myself this morning, and at 5'4, that puts my BMI at 17.2. They consider you "medically underweight" at 18.5 or less, and one of the criteria for a diagnosis of anorexia nervosa is a BMI of 17.5 or less. I assume that my weight loss has not done wonders for my immune system, so I am prepared to suffer for a little longer. Feels bad, man.

I need to break out of this life. I am so tired of always being the caretaker, but never being taken care of. Not that I want to be able to sit back and let people wait on me hand and foot, but seriously... I do not have kids. Not yet. Therefore, I shouldn't be required to constantly sacrifice myself to get things done, even when I'm sick or in pain. Sorry. I am a very empathetic, nurturing person, believe it or not, which is part of why I dote on The Boy despite how repulsed I am by his drinking. (Also, I am a codependent enabler, remember?) But what's the point of dating someone when you have to take care of them as if they WERE a child? What's the point in that? I spend my time cleaning up his messes, nursing him through hangovers, and trying to cheer him up. It's very rare that he does any of those things for me.

That's part of the reason why I arranged this trip to Niagara for after the wedding; I knew The Boy would be getting hammered there anyway and there was no chance in hell that I was going to sit through a two and a half hour Greyhound ride with his irritating drunken ass, dragging him into a taxi, and probably tearing my shoulder (yet again) just getting him upstairs and into bed. Fuck it, I thought. I'm only going to stay for the first part of the reception... and then I'm leaving. Let him be alone and responsible for himself.

The ceremony was beautiful, the families of my friends were lovely, and the reception was taking place at the Old Mill Inn- a spectacularly gorgeous hotel/spa/resort in Toronto. I, waif-like in my gauzy black dress, had to keep ducking out of the room to blow my nose (flu, prodromal phase?) and kept pausing to admire my sticklike arms in the mirrors adorning the walls of the warmly-lighted bathroom. t- and her boyfriend C- picked me up around 7 PM. I was happy to leave by that time, and bid the Boy an uncharacteristically short, curt goodbye. I acted angry, as if I didn't want to go, but in reality I was happy to get away from him. I knew what would be coming if I didn't.

C- drove us back to the house. It is a small house on a road that slants off a main street- easy to miss- and sits among a line of other houses on a hill. I arrived there at night, and we walked through the darkness of the driveway and through a creaky wooden gate. Overhead, a tree's leaves rained moisture down on our heads. The backyard of this house is beautiful, with stone paths and patches of overgrowth punctuated with magenta and shell-pink bursts of floral colour. Pale blue solar-powered moon lamps wink in the darkness. A small, white, antique-looking birdcage hangs from a tree, as does a rope swing. Stone steps reach up into the darkness- at the top of the hill, the next day, I will discover that there is a firepit and wooden benches sitting atop a small, square, wooden deck.

It is C-'s sponsor's house. He is renting the upstairs space there at the moment, for reasons that are his business to disclose and not mine. He let us in and immediately set to cooking food for t- and I as we sat at the butcher-block counter and talked. Perched on high bar stools, I imagine t- and I as slender spiders, poised with elegant limbs reaching... her cigarette an extension of her skinny white fingers; my legs, now half their former size, knotted about themselves underneath me to create some kind of barrier between the hard wooden stool and my decidedly bony rear end. We picked delicately at the food C- made, eating very sparingly, although it was delicious.

They are wonderful to spend time with. They are very centering, and I know they both care deeply about my well being. In fact, they are planning to get a place of their own at some point, and they have said that I am more than welcome to move in- that they will always have a room available for me until I need to get back on my feet- and so at least, if worst comes to worst, I have a back-up plan.

We didn't do too much, just talked and enjoyed each other's company. t- and I caught up on matters important to us, and C- asked me about the Boy, how I feel, and what some potential strategies for helping myself are.

I feel safe with them, with t-'s endless hugs and infinite understanding; with C-'s uncanny ability to know exactly what a problem is and offer the perfect advice; with the night garden and warm kitchen; with my own room. I love the slanted ceiling over my head, the dark paint on the walls and wood flooring. It reminds me of one of the rooms I had when I was younger. There, I have my own space; my own room in THEIR small upstairs apartment where I can lock myself in and read for hours if I want to, because they respect me.

I ate very little all weekend. In fact, I had dinner Monday night with a friend- or, well... it's a bit more complicated than that. More like, "a person I knew in high school, was head-over-heels infatuated with, and never spoke a single word to because I was too damn shy." His name is G-. I saw him pop up on Facebook... about two months ago now, was it? We share a lot of mutual friends, and Facebook likes to network people without them even realizing it. Amirite? Anyway, I poked him. He returned the poke. I responded with a confession (pretty much exactly what I just told you) and we've just kind of been talking ever since. He recently brought up the subject of talking more over dinner, so I agreed. He lives much closer to Niagara than to London, so we arranged it for Monday night, when t- would be attending a class and C- would be at work anyway.

I know it wasn't an official "date", but it was one of the best evenings I've had in ages nonetheless. He was incredibly kind, courteous, and patient; I kept lapsing into occasional fits of shyness and blushing, but he did not appear to mind. We walked to a Vietnamese restaurant where I had some of the most delicious soup ever (and could barely manage to eat 1/3rd of), a pickled plum soda, and part of one of the spring rolls (what rolls? I forget what they're called, actually, but they are wrapped in rice paper and contain vermicelli, lettuce, and pork) he had ordered. He tastefully avoided mentioning my neurotic inability to eat, which is always nice. Afterwards, we walked back to his apartment. The night was cool, and it had stopped raining. I tried to focus on keeping my hands wrapped around the soup container, because my hands have not been very reliable lately and I did not want to drop my leftovers. He asked me how my Friday night had been, because I had been chatting with him on Friday night and had mentioned that I likely wouldn't be doing anything since I was stuck with a drunk and his only-slightly-less-drunken friend. He asked me why I didn't go do something else, and I didn't have a good response.

He seemed to chew it over for a minute. "I don't know whether I should cry, or...?"

I shrugged. "It is what it is."

End of discussion.

We arrived back at his apartment shortly after. I perched myself up against the back of his supremely comfortable chaise lounge, happy to finally sit somewhere that didn't cause my spine to bruise. He sat with me. We talked about various things: engineering; the value of higher education; books; patients and customers (without violating confidentiality, of course); a little about high school. Every time anxiety would overcome me, I would go briefly silent, then punctuate the silence with a brisk: so. And a question. He always answered, patient as ever. If I made him uncomfortable, he gave no indication.

He drove me home later. There were some more silences in the car, but- at least on my part- they were more the "everything's cool right now, I don't feel like I have to talk" kind than the "oh my god, I'm so intimidated by this stunningly handsome, intelligent alpha male in the car with me" kind. (Well, you know... a little from column A; a little from column B.) It turns out that he is an excellent driver, and so although we were blasting over the Burlington Skyway at 110 clicks (at night, in a torrential downpour), I was not gripping the Oh Shit handles and grinding my teeth as I normally would in such a situation.

We listened to the Beatles. Talked about hockey, talked about music. A little more about high school. I wanted so badly to ask him more about himself: I wanted to know more, not just about the things he does but who he is. Yet again, my anxiety kept me strangled into silence. I'm sure that a number of the questions I'd asked him throughout the evening were probably strange or awkward, but he never made me feel that way- just my own mind.

He dropped me off and hugged me good night. I thanked him profusely for buying me dinner; for driving me home; for everything. He stayed parked in front of the house until he saw me go through the gate, and I waved goodbye. I didn't feel any sparks, but it was definitely a nice evening. I wish I could write a letter to my high school self, telling me to hang in there. Haha.

...

Isn't it goddamn hilarious how every other male friend I have can treat me with a ton of respect and make me feel like a million dollars even though they have absolutely zero obligation to do so; they simply do because they are my friends? The Boy, on the other hand, is DATING me- supposed to love me, remember?- and he won't even give me a hug when I'm crying unless I ask him to. This is probably the sole reason why I have not turned into one of those jaded feminist types who thinks all men are scum. That's complete BS; men are not scum. There are plenty out there who are more than willing to be nice to you, so long as you are willing to wait for them and not settle for someone else who won't respect you, just because you don't want to be alone. Of course, I'm in no hurry to get a new boyfriend. Once the Boy and I are over, I'm going on hiatus for a while.

I need to find myself. For real this time. I don't need to be defined by my relationship with someone else- not anymore.

Anyway, to wrap it up, C- drove me back to London the next day. t- was ill by that time and spent most of the drive hunched over in the front seat, drinking tea and occasionally snapping at C- for joking around too much. They bicker constantly, but it's lighthearted and affectionate, and peppered with expletives: i.e., very amusing. We arrived back in London around noon and they dropped me off.

You can come back any time, they said. Just say the word and we'll come get you. You can stay with us, wherever we are, for as long as you need.

I miss them already.

xx

Dramatic Chapters II: Electric Boogaloo. (Long one.)

2011-09-17T12:33:00.000-04:00

Before anything else, I just want to say that I am currently listening to Any Colour You Like at a very high volume over some very good quality headphones- the giant ones that could double as earmuffs, which is good because I am freezing- and it is sheer instrumental bliss. Yay, synaesthesia!

So anyway. There are a lot of things going on lately. I've neglected to mention some of them in here, while others I've alluded to. I'm far too spellbound by delicious psychedelic music to really think about which is which right now, so...

Yeah. I really need my own pair of these. They are so much better than my tinny little $5 earbuds with the broken wire that makes the left side cut out. Wow. Anyways, sorry.

It's The Boy's birthday this weekend. On the 18th. We are attending a wedding in Toronto that day (mutual friends) and he also has to work the following morning so he decided that he'd rather do his celebrating last night.

Now... disclaimer. I have become extremely aware of just how much of an enabler I am. I always knew, I mean, I'm not an idiot and I know how addiction and codependency work. But t-, my best friend, recently started dating a really fantastic guy who happens to be a former alcoholic and coke addict. He now speaks at AA and NA meetings, as well as at other things if I'm not mistaken. He's not an "AA" guy himself; he doesn't think the twelve steps is the only way, he thinks everyone has something different that they can discover to save themselves. Or along those lines. In other words, he is a good example of a man who has been down that road, but has managed to overcome his demons (everyone still continues to struggle with them to some degree, of course, but you know what I mean) and is able to see it from both sides. The last time he, t-, and I hung out together, he and I talked a lot about the Boy and all that seems to be going wrong.

Talking to him, and t- as well, has helped me to put things in perspective. But now, even though I have finally mastered the ability to get through a night of the Boy's drinking without getting him angry, letting him drink himself to death, or going insane myself... I am now hyper-aware of every little thing that happens. It is an absolutely textbook addict relationship.

You know what I've told you about his drinking so far, so fast forward to last night. He went out with his friend L- to buy wine and beer (two bottles of wine, a 12 pack of cans, and ten tallboys) and when they came back he started drinking immediately.

When he knows that alcohol consumption is imminent, he changes. His eyes light up, and he talks faster. He laughs more and his movements are faster. It's as if he's knocked back a few shots before the bottle even touches his mouth. He speaks fondly of alcohol all the time, though. He shares his drinking stories as if they were badges of honour to display: he has scars all over his arms and another on his head from being thrown through a windshield in a drunk driving accident. He was drunk, but not driving. (The driver was also drunk, as was everyone else in the car.) If he happens to see a commercial for alcohol, he'll critique it for me- as if I fucking care- and tell me how "amazing" or "shit" it is, based not on the taste but rather the alcohol content. The most fucked up part is that he considers himself "Jesus of the Drunks." I'm not even fucking joking. Whenever he refers to himself that way, I just want to fucking puke. He seeks out other drunks on the street and gives them money for booze, or cigarettes. He has no interest in charity of any other kind, mind you. (Well, there's one other cause he stands for, but although it's controversial it's not something I necessarily have an issue with. That said, it has no bearing on current events... so back to the story.)

It was a rather awkward and tedious evening. I was being as kind, upbeat, and laid-back as I possibly could, running around to pick up cans and flashing my polite toothy smile. L- was, as always, courteous. The Boy, on the other hand, started getting disrespectful.

The first time he started showing his anger (this evening, anyway) was while having an animated conversation (read: he was rambling in the way that people who are moderately drunk and also extremely passionate about a given subject do) with L- and I. He had a half-full glass of red wine perched on the table a few inches from where he was waving his hands. First of all, his depth perception is awful because he has eye problems, but second... he was drunk. He loses his motor skills when he drinks. I discreetly tried to move the wine glass to a further distance from his waving hands when he shot me an extremely dirty look and hissed "oh. That's NICE."

I tried to act nonchalant, brushing it off. "Oh, you know how bad your depth perception is. You've smacked me in the face accidentally more times than I can count!" I laughed. (This is actually true, but when I say "smacked in the face accidentally", I'm serious... he'll go to reach for something and -bump- I get a hand in the face. Softly, thank goodness, because this has taught him to be cautious with his movements when in close proximity to people.)

His response was to glare at me and say "oh, yeah? Sounds like you're asking for that right now."

L- started trying to distract him from me at that point, trying to get his mind on other things. I should have known; the Boy gets extremely defensive about anything to do with his drinking- particularly if it's something he thinks I'm doing to passive-aggressively show my displeasure with his drunkenness- and even something as simple as moving a glass out of the way is enough to get him angry.

He continued to be disrespectful throughout the evening. L- kept trying to give him a pep talk, telling him all this stuff about how he should start taking care of himself- getting up early, eating better, exercising, taking some pride in himself. The Boy didn't acknowledge a word of it; rather, he kept talking about how much smarter, more attractive, and all-around better all his friends are. L- then tried to tell the Boy he has so much he should be happy about, and that he's so lucky to have people who care. I've vented my frustrations about the Boy's drinking with L- numerous times, and so L- is well aware that if the Boy doesn't smarten up, one day I'm going to have enough. L- doesn't want this to happen; he's been good friends with the Boy since they were little, and he says I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him- at least in all the years he's known the Boy. He agrees that I shouldn't have to stick around if I'm not being treated well, so he keeps trying to drop hints to the Boy that he needs to clean up his act because I deserve more respect than he gives me. These hints always go right over his head anyway, but last night instead of just missing them, he interpreted them wrong.

Every time L- would make a comment about me (I'd pick up the cans stacking up on the floor and L- would say hey wow, check that out! You're a lucky guy T-... hang on to her. Or the Boy would mumble something drunkenly incoherent and I'd be able to instantly translate... L- would say hey wow, see that? She really understands you, T-. That's amazing) The Boy would counter it with "well then, she needs a real man doesn't she? Would you like to take over?" Possibly the worst part about that was the fact that he didn't say it angrily or jealously... he was serious. So much so that he continued bringing up the idea throughout the evening. L- just shook his head, and whenever the Boy left to go to the bathroom, he'd say: I'm sorry. I'm really trying, here.

L- left around 1, and I had to spend the next hour watching the Boy be depressed and bitchy. He kept acting as though he was angry with me, although when he gets beyond a certain point of drunkenness he has mood swings that can take him from happy-to-the-point-of-tears to i-want-to-kill-myself very quickly. The only movies he wanted to watch were ones filled with extreme violence, and the only music he wanted to listen to was Megadeth. I realized last night that the Boy is probably suffering every day, and repressing it. It's when he's drunk that all of the baggage, the damage, and the toxicity comes out.

And yet, I am loyal to him. I continue to take care of him. I continue to facilitate his behaviour. I am an enabler; I am codependent; I ignore his drinking so he ignores the fact that I starve myself.

Oh hay. He wakes up just as I'm getting to the interesting part. More later.

xx

You only get what you give.

2011-09-06T08:43:00.006-04:00

I now weigh 103 pounds.

I have not weighed this little since... well, I don't know. High school, I suppose. I'd have to read back quite a ways in this blog to know for sure, but I think my lowest weight in this entire blog- up until recently that is- was 107, if not higher. I checked back to last year, to see how much I weighed last August. I didn't write any entries last August, it turns out, but from what I can piece together, my weight range from July to September was between 128 - 134 lbs, which means I weigh roughly 30 lbs less than I did a year ago.

It is almost surreal, being like this again. My legs- usually rather thick and muscular- are now skinny, with a gap between my thighs, and knees that knock against each other and bruise. I can FEEL the bones, not just vague hard shapes under a thick layer of fat but in detail; curves and planes and edges and divots you only feel when there is almost nothing left to cover your body. There is a hollow pit in my chest where the underside of my sternum joins the ribcage.

Sitting anywhere is uncomfortable; riding the bus is agonizing, and taking two of them to get to the hospital on the other end of the city for my shrink appointments usually leaves me bruised and limping. The hard plastic seats slam against everything; elbows, hips, tailbone, spine. If you aren't familiar with the geography of my area, I live in one of the largest cities in Canada and it can take a good chunk of time just to drive from one end of it to the other, depending on traffic. I have no car, so I'm stuck with the bus.

The weather is starting to cool down, and I am noticing it perhaps more than the average person, since I have been shivering my ass off, wrapped in sweatshirts and blankets for a couple weeks now. I love autumn, so I'm not complaining. I would rather be too cold than too hot.

Perhaps the one thing that is allowing me to see- if only slightly- how thin I actually am is this: I had a pair of size zero jeans I'd bought just before leaving Niagara to move to Orillia. I've never been able to wear them. Now they fit.

...

The Boy is driving me insane. He has, yet again, been getting drunk and lying about where/how/when he drinks. We have no money, but he is still able to acquire alcohol. He slept most of yesterday because he was so hungover and ill, he couldn't function.

The sink is piled with disgusting dishes that still have food caked on them, and the fruit flies are having a goddamn field day. There is pickle juice spilled all over the kitchen floor that he didn't even make an attempt to clean; I have been trying to mop and scrub that shit up for a few hours now and no matter what I do or what I use to clean with, it's still fucking sticky. And I'm in a LOT of pain. I was at my dad's for the weekend, and although that itself was nice, I sleep on an air mattress when I'm there, and it's very damp in the house due to its proximity to the lake. Also, I dislocated my pinky finger serving a volleyball. So I'm going to have to clean all this shit up despite the fact that I can barely walk today.

He really doesn't care. I don't know. I don't get it. I guess I deserve this. I enable him, bigtime. I should know better. So until I change my own situation, I can't really complain, I guess. If I knew I could support myself, I would be much more assertive... I wouldn't be as scared to give him an ultimatum. As it stands right now, I only have $4 to last me for the next week. The dispensing fee for my meds, which I'll get today, takes $2 of that. So basically, I'm broke... in no position to make demands.

...

There is an event happening next week called the Western Fair. I wasn't so sure what it was before, but now I know. At the Western Fair, there's this huge convention thing that's, like... a trade show, a craft show, a health and wellness show, and everything rolled into one. My chiropractor is going to be there, along with a few others, because chiropractic and complimentary/alternative medicine in general are huge in this area.

Anyway, I told my chiropractor about the loss of my job, and I also actually ended up telling him more of the story- about being bipolar and living in an insanely stressful situation- and he was very understanding and supportive about it. In fact, he wants me to be his assistant for this upcoming event! He said he would even pay me, although honestly I would be happy to help him for free, after all he's done for me. (I do need money though, desperately, so that is a win nonetheless.)

I have an appointment later, so we'll probably discuss the details a bit more, but at the moment I know I will be working with him on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and the following Thursday. (Starting this Friday.) I am extremely happy to be doing something again, especially in this case because it is a field I'm quite interested in and do enjoy talking about. I feel a little less useless having some work to do, and contributing something. This may sound nerdy, but I don't really care; I think my chiropractor is probably my best friend in this city. It's true. I think I'd have gone crazy long ago, either from pain, or stress, or both, if I hadn't met him.

Anyway, my hand is starting to hurt (pinky is still all stiff and sore) so that'll be enough typing for now.

j.

I want to recognize your beauty's not just a mask.

2011-08-27T20:35:00.003-04:00

I love fireflies, and glow-worms, and deep-sea jellyfish, and all the other bioluminescent creatures out there. Just saying.

Saturday night. The Boy is out with the Russian, getting drunk on who knows what- beer if I'm lucky, vodka if I'm not- and wandering around in the dark.

I have been in a highly agitated, anxious state for most of the evening since he left. I've been cranking out drawing after drawing (done in pencil crayon, all shaded in lurid, contrasting colours), pacing the halls, and obsessively checking Facebook to see if there's anyone out there.

I feel so alone. It's getting so hard to hide this from everyone, but I've managed before and will again. It's easy to convince everyone you're fine on Facebook... until they start inviting you places. Then you have to think of excuses to stay in solitude so you don't have to face the real world.

I don't want to face the real world. At the moment, I am still avoiding almost everyone. I am going to go meet the Boy's friend L- shortly, though. We're going to go walk his dog on the path through the woods. He does it every day, rain or shine, and we used to frequently go with him. The Boy isn't much into walking nowadays, not that he ever was, so we haven't gone in awhile. I, however, am going to freak the hell out if I have to stay alone for too much longer, so I am going to go with him today. I know how contradictory that sounds; I avoid people and isolate myself, yet I don't want to be alone.

Well, the Boy- even if he's just lounging on the couch picking his fingernails- is still better than being alone. Not just alone but Alone, for hours, where all of my friends seem to have mysteriously vanished from the online world (because they are out living their lives) while I sit at home trying desperately to distract myself.

If I let myself think too much, I panic. It's a crushing, dark emptiness. There's no describing it to anyone who hasn't experienced it. It is a cacophony of screams echoing in my skull: you are worthless; you are nothing; you are a FAILURE. It's always been the same, even during those times where I can honestly look back at myself and say: I was not. Not then.

I should go get dressed. I've just been killing time before L- texts me to go walk the dog. Maybe if I have more time, I'll add some. If not... soon.

xx.

you know what?

2011-08-22T15:12:00.004-04:00

i lost my job on july 20th.

i became suicidal.

i was put under the care of a new psychiatrist.

i am back on medication.

i am on social assistance because i am currently unable to work.

i may not be able to work for quite a while, it seems, and disability has been suggested.

i have to attend mandatory counselling.

i am being monitored to ensure i do not lose any more weight, as i am now 106 pounds.

(take a breath. slow down.)

i don't want illness to be my fucking identity anymore.

i just don't.

...

i have still been writing, but mostly in a notebook. i have been trying to take things one day at a time. i am surviving.

i will be okay.

i still haven't told my parents. my mom would probably understand, especially since i warned her i was becoming depressed again. my dad likely will not. i haven't told many people at all, in fact. the Boy, my best friend, a few other acquaintances who don't care enough for it to matter whether i tell them or not. i am a cowardly liar who is hiding it from everyone else.

i am afraid.

i thought i was finally entering the "real world." i did everything i could. i was waking up early to stretch and exercise. i was eating healthy. i was meditating and doing breathing exercises each day. i showed up 30 minutes early every shift and never once left early. i didn't miss a single shift. i volunteered to do EXTRA work, including coming in on a day off to feed fish and water plants. i asked them to tell me if there was ever anything they felt i could improve upon, but they said i was doing great. no complaints.

behind the scenes, things were different. i spent the weekends cleaning up after the Boy as he got blackout drunk and made a mess of the apartment. i spent my nights trying to find ways to make our money stretch. i began to lose my appetite again, and before i knew it, i'd lost weight. to put the cherry on top, depression began creeping in again on top of everything else. still, i tried to take care of myself. everything else in my life was falling apart, but that job was my lifeline. it was my way out. it was the one thing that made me feel successful, happy, and... REAL. i took it more seriously than i've ever taken anything in my life.

after my shift, out of the blue, they took me aside and said that they felt my health was in danger and that i was not dealing with whatever problems i was having. they said i did a wonderful job and that they didn't *want* to let me go- oh no, of course not- but that they felt i should not be working anywhere right now; rather, that i should simply "rest" for a while. and see a psychiatrist and a nutritionist. and accept the fact that i am, essentially, a useless human being who will never be able to hold a job, regardless of how hard she tries. (i added that last part in myself.)

thud.

i am sorry for the gap in writing. also for making this blog private for a while to the few faithful readers i do have (allura, mostly.) there's a lot that has happened, but... it's far too much for me to explain to you right now.

i don't know if this calmness i'm experiencing is due to my finally being able to gain some control over anxiety attacks or whether it is the "calm before the storm", so to speak.

either way.

more later. really, this time.

j

Attitude adjustment.

2011-06-28T12:59:00.004-04:00

I need one.

Rock bottom?

2011-06-16T08:40:00.003-04:00

The Boy is sick. He has been for a while, slightly, but he drank again last weekend and has been extremely ill ever since. He even missed work, which is rare for him. I think it's his liver, since I know the symptoms. He isn't yellow, thank goodness, but he does have those little red spots. (I got them when I used to reeeeally binge on the painkillers.) Also, I can feel that his liver is swollen when I press on it.

All of a sudden, he's listening to me. He drinks all the water I shove in his face, he takes the vitamins I give him, and he eats what I tell him to. He has stopped taking Ritalin, at my insistence, and I'm not allowing him to drink coffee either. Meekly, he follows my instructions. He's scared. I would be too, especially if I was having symptoms like this and didn't have a health card.

I'm scared too.

I hope, at least, that this will make him reconsider "partying as hard as possible until age 30", which is his current plan. If he doesn't do something soon, he will die.

I don't want him to die. I love him. I don't know what I would do if something happened to him, even if we were no longer together. I hope I can at least take good enough care of him, because if he goes to the hospital... who knows if they'd do anything for him?

Then again, I can't remember the last time a hospital did anything useful for me, either.

Have to go get ready for work.

~li

I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way.

2011-06-12T10:35:00.004-04:00

There's no way I would have guessed, a year ago, how different I would be today.

Now that I'm getting settled at my new job, I feel like things are finally starting to fall into place for me. First of all, I can now pay my bills, which is great. Even if worst comes to absolute worst, I know that I can at least take care of myself.

I have a purpose, now. I'm not just some nameless, faceless voice tethered to a desk by a headset; the shackles of the working poor. I am not some greasy-faced highschool dropout sweating over deep fryers and heat lamps.

I get up early in the morning. I have energy that has nothing to do with caffeine or hypomania. I sleep well. I can stay calm under pressure, which I still need to do quite frequently since the Boy's drinking is on the upswing again.

Most shockingly, perhaps, is that for the first time in my life I find myself being cautious about my nutrition. Not just because I'm scared to be caught, but also because I just... don't have the same urge to destroy myself anymore. Maybe this is just because I am very happy at the moment- my eating disorder tends to be at its worst when I am depressed- but I want to try to hold onto it.

I am still between 110 and 115 pounds. I have no intention of gaining any weight... but I don't think it would be wise, at this point, for me to go under 110. As it is, I'm losing my hair and things are becoming irregular again. I still feel better, though, and I have a feeling that much of that has to do with my going off all of the meds I've been taking for so long. It takes a while for your body to detox from all that shit... maybe it's been long enough. I don't know.

Somehow, I am enjoying life. Somehow, I can finally say... truthfully... that I like the person I have become. I'm not sure what the future holds, but for once... I don't dread it. I know things won't stay this way, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. Duality is a part of the universe... I'm beginning to understand that, now.

~li

The reason why I smile.

2011-06-07T16:19:00.006-04:00

I got the job.

I have been working at the clinic for about a week now, and I'm in heaven. Seriously, I love it. I work directly with the patients, which is awesome- it's not just secretarial work- and I also get to work with animals. SO awesome.

And... now I have to really watch myself. If I lose too much weight... they'll know it. Dr. R- also knows nutrition, and there is a second nutritional guy working at the clinic as well. (I don't want to be too specific about anything; needless to say, even if I DON'T lose any weight, they'll probably know it if I'm not eating right, no matter what I do to hide it. This is probably a good thing.)

I have been trying to look after myself, don't get me wrong. I'm actually extremely happy. Money is still tight, but I will get my first pay on Friday and then... we'll go from there.

Oh. The Boy's best friend DID come to town. We saw him this past weekend. It turns out that he's a completely changed man; his wife and I have tons in common, mostly the fact that we don't like drinking, and so the weekend was quite pleasant. There was a dinner party on Saturday at his parents' house, in celebration of their recent wedding (they live in the States and were visiting Canada for the first time since their wedding, which was in April) and it was fantastic. His parents are loaded and live in... I shit you not... a mansion. So, I drank $75 champagne in a beautiful garden on Saturday night, bitches. What did you do? :D

The Boy was a little miffed about the whole thing. This guy, F-, is apparently "the only person in the world" who can match him for drinking ability, and he had been obsessively looking forward to getting completely and utterly wasted with him during this visit. It never ended up happening, because me, F-, and F-'s wife J- all decided we'd have more fun getting pizza and shooting some pool instead. (The Boy still got drunk at the pool hall, but the rest of us only had one drink each.)

Oh well, nuts to him. I had a good weekend.

Anyway, I'm going to go for a bit, but I promise I'll try to update more. Things are going well for me lately, and I tend to write less since I don't have to vent as much. I don't want to get my hopes up, of course... something always happens... but I'm satisfied with life for now, at least.

I'm off.

~li

Waiting.

2011-05-30T11:45:00.003-04:00

I am waiting for love to come.
I am waiting for you to run.
And, I am waiting for wonder to return.

(Actually, I'm waiting for a phone call.)

I haven't updated in a while, I know. I have been living in a weird sort of limbo, where things are getting neither better nor worse. They have been tolerable. The balance could shift at any moment.

What I mean to say is that I am waiting to hear back from a place I had some interviews at. I forget if I mentioned that in here... probably not, as this is fairly recent. Anyways, it's for a position as a chiropractic assistant. I should be hearing from them either today or tomorrow. I'm hoping today, since I've been waiting two weeks. They called me last Monday to let me know that they had a few other people coming in to watch (and participate in) a shift at the clinic as well, and that they'd be making their decision and contacting me sometime early next (now this) week.

They seemed to really like me. I did very well. Everything went wonderfully- that's why they had me in for a shift- and they wouldn't have called just to keep in touch while I was waiting if I wasn't one of their first choices, right?

Not much I can do but wait. I'm so very tense. I'm currently wrapped up in my comforter on the couch, stoned, listening to Neil Young. My laptop is so green that I'm almost convinced it is luminous. It is a struggle to type, not because I am stoned but because I have finally managed to grow my nails to an acceptably girly length. (I also have blue and white flowers on them, with silver French manicure-style tips... where does the hyphen go in that? Anyway...) yes. It's hard to type. Also hard to play guitar, but I'm getting used to that. My fingers are all rough and callused now, which is awesome. (Guitar players will understand. I'm not being sarcastic.)

I rarely smoke anymore- usually only if I'm in worse pain than usual or suffering from really bad insomnia- but I admit that today I decided to go ahead and blaze just as a bit of a buffer against potential [very] bad news. I know that is weak and that I'm relying on a substance rather than coping with my own anxieties, but dammit... would it really be that much more acceptable for me to drink an entire bottle of wine by myself while watching Sex and the City all afternoon? It seems like that's the way "classy women" deal with their problems nowadays.

Instead, I opt to blaze, listen to tunes, and write. And for the first time in days, I find some peace.

Except for the sound of that fucking... garbage truck or whatever it is outside. It goes back and forth up and down the adjacent main street several times a day. It clanks, grinds, rumbles... it's ridiculously loud. I often mistake it for thunder when I hear it in the distance, then when it gets closer I hear the screech of metal on metal and I know it is that god damned truck.

If you get the chance, find the song "99 Problems" by Hugo. Grooveshark has it. And yes, it is, indeed, an alternate version of the same 99 Problems we all know and love.

... Why is the weather thingy on my toolbar set to Hyderabad, India? How did THAT happen?

About an hour ago, while I was playing a bit of guitar, I heard some guy outside somewhere. He was screaming "get out of my house" in an increasingly louder and more agitated manner to some unseen, unheard intruder. Or... who knows. My initial guess was "cheating girlfriend."

There were periods of silence, during which I presume his, uh... opponent... was speaking. Even though I could tell this was happening fairly far away, I could still hear the man clearly when he started screaming.

Sure enough, between the periods of silence, he would start up again. Get out of my house. Get out. Get the fuck out of my house. And then he said something else:

"...all I have left. [...] can't take that too."

I couldn't quite hear it, but suddenly he started screaming again: get out of my house, get out of my house. His voice was ragged with emotion. At one point, he let out what could only be described as a howl, and for a brief, fleeting moment, my heart nearly broke for him. I wanted to go find him and talk to him.

That is, before I remembered I live in one of the less savoury parts of town, known for suicide, murder, and gang violence.

I stayed up here and continued playing my guitar, but I still find myself thinking about it. This might have been the worst day of that man's life. I wish I knew what happened, and I wish I could help somehow.

Maybe the Boy is right... I am too nice for my own good.

[114...]

~li

Spinal Tap.

2011-05-04T13:00:00.005-04:00

(Workout motivation. <3)

I was aware that my appearance has changed over the past few months, but apparently it has suddenly become very noticeable.

Even The Boy has started making comments, which is unusual because

a) He rarely comments on anyone's appearance for any reason, and when he does, it's usually only when he's asked for an opinion, and

b) He usually makes a point of keeping his thoughts about my weight and eating habits to himself because he knows that if he says anything, it might make me turn around and start getting on his case about his drinking.

The entire time we've been together, he's always said simply that he thinks I'm perfect the way I am- classic noncommittal answer- and not much else.

The other day, as I reached past him to get my bottle of water off the table, he gently grabbed my arm, just above the elbow. His fingers reached almost all the way around.

"You're... too thin. You need to eat more."

It was all he said, and he said it in a way that tried to sound lighthearted, but failed. He turned away, but not before I saw the look on his face.

(I'm down to 112 now. 110, actually, but because of normal fluctuations, I'm going to say 112. Based on an average, I guess. Also, I'm convinced that my scale lies.)

There are other things. I notice him cooking more often, and he cooks for me too. This is not the way we do things, usually. We have vastly different food preferences, so we usually just cook for ourselves, and once in a while one of us will cook for both, and we take turns. Lately, he cooks at least one thing every day that he knows I like too, or will make a variation of something so that I will eat it. He brings home chocolate bars when they are on sale, and the other day he brought home a whole bunch of Oh Henry's for himself and Kit Kat Senses for me. Not that the Senses are particularly low-cal, but I guess speaking in terms of chocolate bars they are. Anyway, I can tell that he cares about me and he's trying to be cool about the whole thing. I still notice, though.

Anyone with a reason to touch me at all just HAS to poke at my backbone. It's a natural response when you hug/pat on back someone that you know has lost a lot of weight, I guess. It used to happen a lot, back when I first got skinny, but nobody did it in all the years I was fat. It's happening again. So far, I've caught:

- The Boy, although I don't know if he does it consciously or unconsciously
- The Boy's parents, whenever they hug me
- My friend A-, with whom I went to the theatre the other day (she also asked me about my weight loss, so, not just the stealth backbone tap)
- My Dad, who congratulated me on my weight loss for a while there but recently is not very pleased
- My former manager at the fast food place, K-, when she patted me on the back a few times. She also commented numerous times on how tiny I am during my time there

and... well, that's about it, because I'm not a touchy-feely person who goes around hugging everyone she meets. Anyways. It's one of the most triggering things, I guess, because it is when you know that you really *do* look different. I mean... I'll be honest, I don't see that much of a difference between my current weight and 130 lbs. I didn't see the difference when I was younger, either. Most of us don't. The innocent hand-on-the-backbone thing is a major indicator that people are aware of your weight loss. You are now at least approaching thinness, whatever that means to you. Marya Hornbacher even writes about it in Wasted.

Ephedrine and lemon water all day. 20 mins walking. One bowl of ramen, which I ate half of and then purged.

At least I'm honest. Working on it.

~li

Unhinged.

2011-04-26T09:44:00.006-04:00

It is one of those days where the wind blows stiff and cold, the sky a solid bowl of gray that doesn't even have a bright spot to betray the location of the sun. It is one of those days where the air is saturated with moisture, and that dampness chills you to the bone and twists your aching stomach.

I don't like days like these.

I woke up at five and was unable to go back to sleep. I got up, went to the bathroom. Stripped. Weighed myself on two different scales. One of them I hide, because apparently it's a little odd for a person to have two scales in their bathroom. I weighed myself on both and then took an average- 113. I put the other scale back in its hiding place, which is in my cupboard underneath my cache of pads, tampons, body lotion, and other things the Boy has no interest rooting around in.

I watched Iron Chef and Departures in the dark, listening to the wind rattling the single-paned windows.

I have to work today. Only a three-hour shift, from 4-7. I'm getting barely any hours at all. I desperately need full-time work.

I joined the Boy and his family for Easter dinner the other day and sat through two meals, hunched over and still smiling brightly as I dissected my food. The Boy is well aware that I don't like to be bothered when I eat, and kept trying to distract his mother, who was constantly trying to dump more food on my plate. I was just glad that he understood what I was going through, so that helped a bit.

I have been purging almost every day, including when I had a nice lunch at the mall with the Boy. I am a disgusting person. I also think that I may have done something to myself, because I'm having stabbing pains in my stomach and constant acid reflux. I feel weak. But I don't have the willpower to just not eat, so I keep doing it anyway.

[ i can't handle this stress anymore. ]

...

Someone committed suicide by jumping out of a top floor window of one of the buildings across the road, yesterday. We saw the first responders performing vigorous CPR on the lifeless body as our bus pulled into the stop.

"A jumper," said the Boy. "It's pretty common around here, unfortunately. Heh." He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "You'll get used to it. Let's go home."

I wondered if he knew just how many times I've stood on our balcony and thought about it myself lately.

~li

No news isn't always good news.

2011-04-15T21:16:00.003-04:00

i turned 25 on wednesday.

i applied for welfare the same day.

we are broke.

i am not where i should be.

i should be settled

successful

happy

an ADULT

but i'm nothing but a helpless, useless waste of space.

i got a lot of "happy birthday"s on facebook, but nobody came to hang out with me. even still, two days later, none of my friends have even stopped in to say hi.

i really despise myself.

i'm so sick of being a failure. i really just want to end it all. i don't see the point of continuing on. i am in so much debt that i will never be able to afford a car, or to get married and have a family, or own my own home, or finish school. i will be a useless welfare leech working in a fast food kitchen for the rest of my life. the last thing our country needs right now.

~li

Repo man, come take my eyes.

2011-04-06T09:16:00.003-04:00

I hate April. Everyone has their fucking birthdays in April, including me. Which basically means that, as per usual, my birthday is going to be ruined. It always is, every year, somehow, in some way. This year, I can already see the way things are headed. The Boy and his friends have a whole itinerary of parties planned all month long, and I fucking hate parties. I hate drunk people. I also fucking hate the fact that our apartment is apparently where all of these parties are going to be held, even though I just started a new job and am extremely sore and tired.

So by the time MY birthday rolls around, I will probably already be feeling sore, miserable and tired. The Boy will probably go buy a bunch of alcohol "for the celebration", using my birthday as an excuse. A bunch of his friends will probably come over, but none of mine will. Then everyone will get drunk and I'll spend my birthday looking after a bunch of intoxicated guys until 4 AM.

Sorry. I'm in a really bad fucking mood. It's not my birthday that bugs me, I'm not one of those people who has a complex about getting old. It's simply the fact that I haven't had a good birthday in quite a while. Isn't that the one day of the year that's supposed to be all about you? Because it never is, for me.

I really hope I'm wrong, but I doubt it.

114. I want to be 110 by the 13th. At least that's one gift I could use.

li

obsessed.

2011-03-31T08:52:00.004-04:00

yesterday was my first day of orientation at work. the manager had gotten my uniform prepared, but there was a small problem: she couldn't get pants smaller than a size 8. now, i have no idea what "8" actually means because, first of all, i'm in canada and our sizes are often odd numbers (1, 3, 5, 7, etc) and second, it doesn't matter anyway because sizes are by no means standardized anyway. for the record, i usually wear a size 3 nowadays, although a few of my pants (old navy) say 2 and a couple say shit like "26" or "28." i don't know what a size 8 actually is. US sizing? UK?

anyway, i tried the 8's on, and it was like wearing a bloody tent. the pants swish around my legs when i walk, but at least they aren't too long. (which is the usual problem i have, since i'm fairly short.) we also get a belt that is fully adjustable, no holes, so you can slide it as far as you need to. well, i needed to cinch it up fairly tight, because although restaurant pants are generally snug around the waist and sit higher up (i've worked in a couple restaurants and they all seem to be like that) these pants were still swiveling around my middle. when i came out of the change room to show the manager how i looked, the end of the belt was practically hanging to my knees, because it was almost twice as big as it needed to be.

later that evening, i went to meet the Boy downtown in order to help him with something for work. (i sat at a table in the break room for an hour, unattended, with two pizzas, one of which had not been even opened yet. i was welcome to the pizzas, and they were delicious little caesar's pizzas... and i didn't have a single slice. i was craving pizza like crazy all evening, though, so i had some later, but i digress.) afterwards, we went to the store to buy bus tickets. i decided to tell him the story of the pants, as i thought it was absolutely hilarious. by the time we got to the store, i'd told it all. my head was buzzing with residual hypomania, and i tugged gleefully at my pants as we walked along.

"and so, like... you know. the pants fit fine. but still. i don't know what an 8 is, but it's the smallest one they can get."

the Boy laughed nervously and said "maybe you should... take it easy then."

"huh? what do you mean?"

"you know... with the weight loss."

"oh, it's alright. i haven't lost any weight in a while."

he responded to that, but i didn't quite get what he said. i decided to drop it.

back to 117 this morning. yesterday, i ate a banana at 9 am and didn't eat again until 10 pm, at which point i ate a small cup of cereal with skim milk, a mini pizza, and one slice of cheese. finished out the day at 750 calories. i also consumed a lot of coffee and was running around literally all day long.

anyway, my mind is racing, shower time.

~li

My eminence is imminent.

2011-03-29T13:38:00.005-04:00

(I *LOVE* this hair colour, and I want it.)

Not hypomanic, just watching too much Frasier.

Updates...

1. I start work tomorrow at 11 a.m. :)

2. T- has been drinking, but not tons. I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it's tolerable. We've reached a sort of equilibrium, and it's nice, but it can shift either way. For now, I live in the moment.

3. We're going to be short for rent again, but hopefully it's for the last time now that I'll be getting a paycheck.

4. Uh... I forget!

5. I think my new goal in life is to appear on Jeopardy. Either that, or take the Mensa test again. Alright, maybe I am a bit hypomanic... whenever I start talking about Mensa, you know I've gone off the deep end...

6. ... and t- is still hypomanic, but she's calming down a bit. Just as I'm going up again. Oh joy.

7. Clean the house, you lazy cow!

(Okay.)

~ li

To live and grieve another day.

2011-03-25T10:28:00.004-04:00

Still disjointed.

I paid Rogers $225 last night. As soon as T- got home, I took his debit card, went straight over to the store and did it myself. Then I went grocery shopping. Didn't walk, I took the bus... it was extremely cold and, also, the Rogers store is at least an hour's walk. I would have done it if it hadn't been about -10 with the windchill. (Also, I had to carry two extremely heavy bags of groceries back, and my wrist and shoulder are killing me.)

Exercise! Don't complain.

I almost officially have the job at KFC. I just have to wait to hear back from the manager- she'll call me after talking to my references- and I might be able to start in a week or so. I am eternally thankful and I will never complain about work again. Maybe this was a lesson I needed to be taught. Being unemployed and dirt-poor really takes you down a few pegs, that's for sure. I need to get over the fact that, yeah, I don't have a university degree yet, and so I won't qualify for a fantastic job. There are still options for me, though. I can work my way up. I can become a supervisor or manager if I really want to. Nobody's stopping me but myself. And on the side, I can continue to do other things. I'm adding to my portfolio and I intend to go to the largest paper in the city to see about a job too. I also want to write a book.

Wow. Calm down. Hypergraphia FTW.

The Boy got drunk again yesterday. His buddy L- came over and they had a bunch of tallboys. L- had maybe 2 or 3, The Boy had... no idea. 6 maybe? 7? Anyways, I kind of like it when L- comes over because he's extremely responsible, he's physically pretty big and strong so he can pick up or restrain T- if needed (I am too small :3), and he seems to be able to get T- to pace himself with the drinking a little better.

Craving codeine... taking none.

Oh, one last thing: While I was at the KFC yesterday, the manager was asking me about various measurements so she could order a uniform. We had been talking about shoes, and when she asked me what size I was, I said "8." She gave me a funny look and then wrote down "pants: 8 (?)" on the paper she was holding. I noticed this, and said "oh no, I'm sorry... I thought you meant for shoes!" She laughed and said "Oh, alright. That makes sense! I was thinking: there's no WAY you wear size 8 pants... you're much smaller than that."

Yayyyy. :)

I'm out for now.

~li

The ghetto of beautiful things.

2011-03-24T15:53:00.004-04:00

I wish I was this girl. At the very least, I know I can dye my hair electric red-orange and get skinny. If I can stop eating like a pig.

This entry might get a little disjointed.

The Rogers guy was just at my door. They sent him here to disconnect my phone, TV, and internet. Fortunately, possibly because I was extremely understanding about it and welcomed him right in to do his job, he took some pity on me and gave me a number to call. He asked me when I think I can make a payment and I told him my boyfriend gets paid today, which is true. He told me to call the number and that he would leave it all on for now. That's pretty awesome, since I owe them like $700 and I need to pay at least $200 today.

I ate so fucking much yesterday, I don't even want to think about it. I also purged.

I am still between 115 - 120 pounds.

I may finally have a job. I had an interview today- at KFC, of all places- and the manager already said that I'm pretty much hired, pending the results of the calls she'll need to make to my references. I'm not too worried about that, since all four of the references I provided are solid and completely adore me.

I think the nice things about working at KFC are:

a) It's physical. I won't be sitting in a chair for ten hours a day watching my ass grow, I'll be running around and lifting heavy shit and working up a sweat. And... hopefully not injuring myself in the process. :/

b) It will probably turn me off food a bit, which happens when you work in restaurants. I've worked in two, and although they were both very clean and the food preparation itself was not that bad, it just really sort of gets to you after a while.

c) It's close enough to home that I can walk back and forth, which is awesome 'cause it saves me bus fare, but just far enough away that it's a decent workout.

Although there is a fresh coat of snow on the ground, the weather has been consistently nicer. It was up into the teens a few days ago. Right now, the sky is blue and the sun is shining.

I've had 500 calories today, but I did also speed-walk for about forty minutes.

My wrist hurts so fucking bad.

I'm going to take a bath with some epsom salts and read my book. I smoked a joint earlier, since I have nothing else to do today and I needed something to keep the odd blackness pressing at the backs of my eyeballs at bay. It's been a while since I've blazed, so I'm feeling a little weird, and bad about the Rogers thing, but good about the job thing, and I don't know.

I'm gonna go.

~li

This bites.

2011-03-22T00:25:00.009-04:00

Steotch.com = awesome.

Ever since I've started purging regularly, I've noticed certain changes. First of all, my teeth have very weak enamel as it is and as a result, they have very sharp, almost serrated edges from all the chips in them. So although I don't often need my fingers to purge (maybe just to bring out the last little bit,) I always manage to nick the skin on the knuckles of my left hand.

My glands are swollen, as are my cheeks and lips. I have that bulimic pout that tends to persist for a few hours after purging. My skin is extremely pale, but my cheeks are bright red. It looks like I have a fever.

Worst of all, my teeth- already fucked, as I've said- are deteriorating. They have been sensitive for years, mainly the front ones, but as of late I've noticed stabbing pain in the upper molars and the backs of my front teeth as well. It's slightly worse on the left side, which makes some sense since I tend to tilt my head towards that side while I purge, especially when using my fingers.

Still teetering on the edge of hypomania.

I'm watching "Unwrapped" on the Food Network, and this show makes me so fucking hungry. Seriously. I would sell my soul to Cthulhu himself for some kimchi or pizza right about now. I guess the nice thing about being broke is that you really can't afford to binge. (You just binge at your friends' houses instead, or at your dad's on the weekend, and then purge very nervously since he has an unreliable country toilet with a septic tank.)

Anyways, where was I? Oh. My teeth. They ache so badly now. I love to drink ice water. Ice cold anything, really. Now it causes me extreme discomfort unless I keep everything in the right side of my mouth, and even then, it hurts.

I am bouncing back and forth between 115 and 120 pounds. As previously mentioned, when I went to my dad's, I ate a metric fuckton of food. Seriously. My dad spoils the hell out of me whenever I go there- we go out to eat, like, every night. I also get along better with my dad, so being less anxious than usual, I tend to binge rather than restrict.

You can very clearly see lanugo on the sides of my face, now, and I can feel it on the back of my neck near my shoulders. The hair on my head, however, is a lot thinner than it was, and it was already thin from previous years of poor nutrition. My nails are blue. My lips are chapped. I'm sick.

( ...of being so fucking FAT.)

I want macaroni and cheese. With extra butter and extra cheese melted on top. As creamy as I can get it. With chunks of velveeta added on top of the existing extra cheese, too. Salt and oil and butter and cream and pasta and cheese. Someone kill me.

~li

How to save a life.

2011-03-09T12:56:00.005-05:00

Oh, to have a waist like that.

It has been a number of years since I have been this actively and aggressively eating-disordered. When I passed the 140-pound mark, I thought that was it; that I was doomed to be genuinely overweight for the rest of my life. And this wasn't just me thinking I was fatter than I was, no... for my height, I was borderline overweight.

I came down slowly over the summer, of course, and kicking the psych meds had a lot to do with that. But I was hovering around 130/high 120s for quite a while. It's as if I've found the ability to flip that switch... and I've been dropping like a stone ever since.

Although I don't think I look particularly thin as a whole, there are some things that are impossible to miss. First of all, my face looks like it used to look- gaunt, pale, and with dark circles under my eyes. In addition, my mouth is swollen from purging, and my gums are sore, which gives me that strange sort of pout you tend to find in bulimics.

My hair is starting to fall out more easily. I have to clean my brush every time I use it, and there's at least a handful of hair each time I do.

My hands shake. In fact, all of me does. I see stars whenever I move too quickly, and I have started being very careful about standing up since I have blacked out a few times.

My throat is raw from purging, and I cough constantly even though I haven't been smoking.

My fingernails are blue, and occasionally, so are my lips. I'm bloody fucking cold and have taken to wearing sweaters and keeping my favourite blanket wrapped around me at all times. If anything, the temperature is about 15 degrees warmer than it has been in months, and there is no draft in here. Most people (including me, previously,) complain that this apartment is TOO warm most of the time. Yesterday, T- was in shorts and a t-shirt, and was sweating. I was sitting curled up in a sweater AND the blanket, and shivering.

I have bruises everywhere- I counted 17 yesterday- which is probably one of the side effects I hate most, because being covered in bruises makes you look like you are a drug addict, a prostitute, or being abused. I'm iron deficient, though, and I always bruise easily. It just gets a lot worse when I'm restricting.

My teeth are so sensitive. It hurts to drink cold things... and I like my drinks cold, particularly water. I drink ice water. It's agonizing.

I am still fat, so I don't understand why my body is behaving this way.

(Yes, I do. I'm just in denial.)

~li

We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times.

2011-03-03T10:00:00.005-05:00

Entry from my intake log last night:

It is now 1:25 AM. I am at 620 calories for today, and yet I still feel like this doesn't count; like I am forgetting something else I may have eaten or that I'm miscalculating something. I am very conservative when I do estimate, and I round everything up, not down.

I spent the day cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. I'm pretty proud of myself, considering how much I actually got done (not to mention the calories I must have burned as a bonus.) I'm still not completely finished, but I had to call it quits after a few hours because I was dizzy. I figure that I'm dehydrated, so I've been drinking a lot more water. I'm going to start putting lemon in it, too. For the vitamin C. Also, tastes good man.

I have scratches all over my right hand. I was going through some of my things today and I found my old collection of blades. One in particular was very sharp and looked completely unused. I started testing it out on my hand- just lightly running it over the skin, feeling the sting but not intending to draw blood. I made a few tiny nicks here and there, but I couldn't resist a few longer sweeps. It completely slipped my mind that razor cuts, however small and seemingly innocuous, will bleed later rather than sooner. After I put the blades away, I started tidying up around the living room and caught a glance of my hand about twenty minutes later... blue ropes of vein and white sticks of tendon shrouded in pale, creamy yellow-white skin crisscrossed with bright red lines. My left hand isn't much better, with the two first knuckles swollen, red, and scabbed.

I now weigh a consistent 120 lbs, which means I have officially lost 29 pounds in less than a year. (Yes, the scale read 118 recently, but it only lasted a day.) I want to lose the final 20 by July. I want to be 100 pounds again.

+++++

This was what I actually DID yesterday:

Took my vitamins.
Took ephedrine.
Ate roughly 2/3rds of a Sidekicks Three Cheese with water in place of milk and 1/3rd the margarine.(500)
Purged roughly half of it within 10 minutes of eating it. (300).
Ate leftover strawberry yogurt. (360)
Took more ephedrine.
Ate some oatmeal made with water only. (620)

My cheeks and gums are swollen and my stomach hurts. I shouldn't be purging, but until I can learn to stop eating like a fatass, it's necessary.

More later.

~li

Blue-collar girl.

2011-02-28T10:02:00.002-05:00

I'm still out of work, so I decided to suck it up and call Labour Ready. I'm attending an orientation tomorrow at 10 a.m.

The rent is due tomorrow and we are $300 short.

The Boy got drunk again the other night, on beer he bought himself. Beer we can't afford.

I've been purging more often. In fact, I backed up the toilet the other day after a b/p session and narrowly escaped being caught by the Boy. (Good thing I'm quick with a plunger.)

My Dad bought me a new laptop, which I sorely needed. I'm very happy about this, since now I can actually get some work done on my laptop without having to worry about the wireless crapping out, or the whole thing crashing, or not being able to turn it on. Also, the keyboard on my old one was so fucked up it would have taken about three times as long for me just to type this paragraph. So yes, I needed a new laptop. Unfortunately... after my Dad gave this to me, there was no way I could bring myself to ask him if I could borrow some money for rent. I mean, I'm sure he would have given it to me- my Dad makes decent money- but first of all, he's saving up to put a down payment on a house, and second, he's about to go on a vacation that he's been planning for over a year (and that he really deserves, to be honest.) Anyways, the point is that my Dad always helps me out and stuff, and he's given me money in the past, but I really hate to ask... especially after he gives me an early birthday present like this.

So yeah, money. Labour Ready. I figure I can do a bit of real, physical, dirty work... make some cash at the end of each day that I work, and try to move up from there. I mean, enough is enough. I can't keep applying to jobs and waiting and sitting around and expecting things to change. I don't want people taking care of me anymore, and I don't want to make excuses anymore. If I have to scrub some floors or even worse, then, well... it's what I'll do. I'll still look for an actual job in the meantime, of course, but I think this will be good for me. I do still have joint pain, but it's nowhere NEAR as bad as it was before I started seeing my chiropractor. As long as I am careful and stick to low-impact stuff, I should be fine.

2011 needs to be a different kind of year for me. I need to start really working hard. Being more responsible. I'm going to start keeping the apartment spotlessly clean, since a clean space always makes me feel calmer. I'm going to stop being a doormat and putting up with other people's shit all the time.

I think I'm already doing well. I've lost lots of weight, I'm far more confident than I used to be, I've been getting up early and procrastinating less. I have my own style which is unique but which people like nonetheless. Best of all, I'm getting my creativity back, which hasn't happened in years. And I still want to write that book. I still firmly believe that my path to success lies in writing. (For the record, my writing style varies. When I'm doing personal stuff like this, I really don't pay a lot of attention to grammar or syntax. There's a reason for it, though. If you've ever talked to me in person, you might notice that I have a bit of a... convoluted way of speaking. I've always been like that, and I'm not quite sure why that is. Maybe I have brain damage. Anyway, in journals and blogs, I write exactly the way I talk. Makes it a bit more personal. If I'm writing an article, essay, or anything else important, my style is completely different.)

I just need to hang in there. Meanwhile, I have some earrings (gift from the ex) and two old laptops that I think I'm gonna bring down to the pawn shop. See if I can get some spending money.

~li

Born to blossom, bloom to perish.

2011-02-25T08:58:00.004-05:00

Yesterday was a bit of a funny day. The Boy was at work, but I was home. (I'm still looking for employment- all the other prospects fell through- so that's why.)

From about five a.m. 'til about three-thirty in the afternoon, I had no desire to eat anything. I did, however, have a bit of a greens session in the meantime. I was soon high as a kite and happily making stuff out of polymer clay to sell on Etsy, minding my own business, when I began to get the munchies- HARD. This is never good, since I have a history of binge-eating, and although I'm usually able to overcome it (to some degree,) there was just no way it was going to happen this time.

We have almost no food, so I ate two slices of meat lovers' pizza I found in the fridge (left it cold, which is arguably the best way to eat leftover pizza) and made a mug of hot chocolate with marshmallows. Cruising along on that nice little sugar-and-carb high, I decided on the spur of the moment to walk to the corner store to see what else I could get for $7.85.

I bought a can of Alpha-Ghetti and one of those giant, cloyingly sweet bottled milkshakes that contain about 500 calories. I drank most of the milkshake while walking home, and immediately heated up and ate the Alpha-Ghetti when I returned home. (Although this did not amount to much, especially when you consider that some of my past binges have exceeded 10,000 calories, it still felt like a full-blown binge session.)

The thing is, I did this whole thing intentionally. Although I have binged (and purged) in the past, I rarely ever planned it. It was more like this... I would eat slightly more than I thought I should in a day's time, get angry, break down and binge, then panic about it, which would sometimes lead to a purge.

This was purely for thrill.

I turned the shower on and locked the door, just because the Boy was due home in about a half hour and he does sometimes come early. And when I lifted the toilet seat and bent over at the waist, there was no resistance. It came up quickly and easily.

Afterwards, I was on a weird sort of wavelength for the rest of the day. I wrote a bunch of stuff. I was awake until 3 a.m. just writing and sketching. I almost sort of wonder if I'm hypomanic. There are T1s in the medicine cabinet and I WANT THEM.

Anyways, laundry then chiropractor. I'll probably write more later... very dull, cold day. I don't want to be outside long.

~li

Hey, soul sister.

2011-02-17T09:46:00.009-05:00

(Actually, I'm not listening to Train. I'm listening to Ghosts n' Stuff - deadmau5 ft. Rob Swire. Nice wake-up tunes.)

This might not be a long entry simply because my spacebar is a bit fucked and I'm getting tired of having to press it so hard. If I don't,mytextlooks abitlike this.

So anyway, the same day as that "everything went better than expected" entry, T- ended up coming home 4 hours late, smelling of liquor, and slurring his words. I asked him at least three times if he'd been drinking, and he insisted he hadn't. To this day, he hasn't admitted it.

I was pissed at the Boy for the drinking and the lying, so I decided to spend Sunday and Monday (which was Valentine's day) with t-, my best friend. She lives close to where I grew up, so it's nice to go back to the area where we spent our childhood now that we're adults. Anyway, sorry. I'm high. So... I went to stay with her, her sister R-, brother in law D-, and their niece, who I'll just call cutie pie.

When I got there, she told me we'd be going out that evening. That was cool with me; I'm not a fan of going out, really, but Stella's is a decent place and it's kinda classy, not usually packed with drunks.

We were about to go when she sprung this on me:

"By the way, Dr. M- is going to be there tonight. He *really* wants to meet you. Maybe he'll even take you back to his office!"

(Dr. M-, by the way, is a friend of her sister and brother-in-law's. She's shown me pictures from Facebook. He is downright gorgeous.)

I couldn't believe it. She'd actually coordinated the whole thing. In her weird sort of way, she figured that setting me up with Dr. M- would solve my problems.

She doesn't believe in monogamy, btw. So that might be a part of it.

Anyway, the rest of it is pretty anticlimactic, I'm afraid. I told t- that I wouldn't mind still going out, but that there was no way I was going to be doing anything with Dr. M-, so she might want to give him a heads up.

"Alright, but he's gonna be pretty disappointed..."

He later texted her back to say that he didn't think he was going to come out tonight because he had some work to do. I was inwardly very happy with this, although if I were single, I'd have hit that so hard. (Sorry.)

Anyway, the rest of the weekend went relatively smoothly, albeit a bit awkwardly. Dr. M- texted her the next day and told her to get me to stay in town an extra day so he could take us out for drinks Tuesday night, but I had already planned to come back that morning, and I stuck by it.

When I got home, the Boy really had remembered Valentine's day. He bought me a box of chocolates, a very beautiful necklace and earrings, and some incense in a pretty box. He missed me the whole time I was gone, and even though he was completely understanding about why I had done so... he was sad that I hadn't been there on Valentine's day.

To tell you the truth, so am I.

Anyway, that's where it's at for now. Things are very good between us again, but I'm wary. I still don't see this relationship continuing much further unless he really stops drinking. It's wonderful when he's sober... it's intolerable when he's not. But, at least for now, I have some time to breathe. To get myself together again. At the very least, t- said she'd move here in a heartbeat to be my roommate if the Boy ended up leaving the picture. (Although I don't know how good an idea that might be unless we discuss some boundaries, haha.)

I have a potential opportunity for a writing job. Stay tuned on that.

Update finished. Now for laundry, cleaning, and other productive stuff.

~li

Well now...

2011-02-10T19:34:00.005-05:00

The day turned out a bit better that I was expecting. T- just called and told me they're letting him cash his cheque a day early, so he is on his way home from work with money and some much-needed household supplies. He also said that his boss bought lunch for everyone today, which he ate, and also beers, which he declined. (Although in the grand scheme of things this doesn't really matter, I was still extremely happy to hear it.) He also seems to be in a better mood, which is good. I'm so sick of all this tension and misery.

I spent most of the day cleaning. The apartment looks very nice, although I still need to vacuum (which I will probably do tomorrow), do the dishes (which I will probably do later, 'cause I'm hurting right now) and do some laundry (which I can't do until tomorrow either, since the card is empty).

Because my friend is coming tomorrow morning to fix this ungodly wreck of a laptop, I called Dr. F-'s office to reschedule my appointment. They told me to come in this afternoon instead, which was awesome because my shoulder was still hurting like hell, as I mentioned before. It still aches, and he told me to ice it later on which I will, but I don't have the constant, sickening, knifelike pain in the joint that I did this morning. (I managed to avoid the subject of how it happened, btw.)

I think I'm gonna go stretch. That's all for now.

~li

It's a marvelous night for a moondance.

2011-02-10T12:27:00.008-05:00

Alright, well, I got through that. It's Thursday. I am much calmer, not that things have exactly improved. T- is being barely civil to me, as if I've done something wrong, and miserable in general. But hey, whatever. I didn't hang myself off the balcony at least. (My spacebar is fucked, though, so this entry is taking a while to type and also pissing me off.)

Let's have a list of positive shit, shall we? Righto.

- I get paid tomorrow.
- Good prospects for a job, had a second interview this morning.
- It's going to be spring soon.
- Dr. F-'s going to fix my shoulder tomorrow.
- I made it through a weekend of hell far better than I would have done a year ago.
- It's a nice day out there today. Got the windows open.
- The house is relatively clean and it won't be too hard to clean the rest.

I'll add more as I see fit. On the downside, my neck and shoulder are causing me extreme pain and I'm not looking forward to explaining what happened to Dr. F- tomorrow. I don't want him to know the shit that goes on in my life. He's going to ask why I didn't come in immediately the day it happened, too. (I didn't, because I was embarassed and also, he already saw me the day before because I'd slept on the floor. What the hell is he going to think?)

I hate this... having to hide my life from people. I'm uncertain about my future. I keep saying things with T- are going to end, but I said that with I- as well, and THAT travesty lasted half a decade. The problem here is that I don't actually WANT to leave T-. I love him. But the thing is, he may never stop drinking. That basically means the choice is mine- stay with him and accept it, or leave him and save my own sanity. Am I a bad person if I want out? I mean, I intend to try for as long as I can to help him, but sooner or later something is going to have to give. It hurts so badly coming to this realization, I think I already mentioned it, but I've come so far... I don't want to fall back into that pattern. He's in there now, and he's trying to drag me down with him. What else can I do?

He wants a toxic twin, a partner in crime. I want so badly to leave that version of myself behind.

(...118...)

~li

alright, well, i can't clean.

2011-02-08T11:14:00.002-05:00

fuck it. fuck capitals too, i'm lazy and in pain. bitch bitch bitch.

i don't get paid til friday. kind of sucks. right now, more than anything, i wish i had some weed. first of all, for the insane stabbing agony, and second, just because i'm going crazy.

on the plus side, in the past three days, i have eaten:

- four waffles
- some cherry juice
- and a slice of toast with hot sauce.

i'm back down to 120 lbs. probably won't last since i'm a fat pig, but whatever. if anything, at least i know that horrible, intolerable stress is good for keeping your weight down.

anyway, sorry again. i know this blog can be incredibly whiny, dramatic, and probably annoying. the thing is... i don't see a shrink anymore and i really have nobody to talk to. not only that, but i don't like people pitying me. so in real life, i repress pretty much everything. i smile, i laugh, i joke around. i'm positive and friendly and helpful. i'm nothing like i used to be. i used to mope around and look sickly and be whiny and miserable all the time. well, people don't like that. hell, i can't stand people like that. so all of the rage, stress, sadness, pain, and depression that i hold inside of me... i let it out here. and it helps. it just looks really fucked up when you read it all at once.

~li

just pull the fucking trigger.

2011-02-08T10:36:00.005-05:00

I'm not quite sure what I did this with, but luckily for me it must have been fairly dull. It was quite swollen earlier, which is usually an indication that it was done with a fair bit of force. I still can't figure out what I used, as there are no razors in the house and all of our steak knives- massively dull- are dirty in the sink.

I suppose I should back it up a bit. This morning, everything hit me. All at once. Yesterday, I was just sort of hollow. No emotion. I just sort of wandered around the house in a daze. T- has been barely speaking to me, which hurts but is also sort of a relief. This morning, however, as soon as he left for work, I went into a complete blind rage. I remember picking up this metal lamp-shaped candleholder I have and throwing it as hard as I could across the room. As I did it, I felt something rip inside my shoulder- the one I've been having problems with- and I screamed. Then I blacked out.

When I came back into reality, I was shaking so badly that I thought I was coming out of a seizure. The candleholder was lying on the kitchen floor. There's a mark on the wall where it hit and chipped the paint. CDs, papers, and various other things are scattered everywhere- it looks like I threw them around, similar to what T- does when he's drunk. There are clumps of my hair on the kitchen floor, so I must have been ripping it out. The six cuts on my leg were dripping blood everywhere, though luckily most of it got soaked up by a pair of black sweatpants I don't remember putting on. I don't have any band-aids and can't afford to buy them until Friday, so I just cleaned the cuts and now I am wearing a skirt to give them some air until T- comes back after work tonight, at which point I'll put the pants on again.

My shoulder and neck hurt so badly that I can't move without feeling as if there are shards of glass embedded in the joint. I was already in significant pain Sunday morning, since I had been laying on the floor for hours. Yesterday, I called my chiropractor's office and had the secretary move my appointment from Wednesday to Tuesday (which would have been today) but they ended up calling me back and told me to come in that afternoon instead. When I was there, I wouldn't tell him anything past "I slept on the floor" because I was far too embarassed to reveal the story behind it.

I felt a lot better after the appointment- I always do- but whatever I've done to my shoulder this morning is quite serious. I think I may have torn my rotator cuff again. The doc's going to think I'm being abused or something... but I really don't want him knowing the truth, either. I don't want him wasting his time feeling bad for me when the situation is not going to change. I'd rather have him think that I'm high-strung or possibly a huge spaz (both of which are true) who repeatedly injures herself by accident than have him know the truth.

Oh, I think I figured out what I cut myself with. I have this little keychain that is actually a box cutter. There's a little button you can press up on and a blade slides out. I think it was from a hardware store or something originally, I dunno, I've had it for a few years. Anyways, it's in the bathroom, in my toothbrush cup, and there's some blood near the slot where the blade comes out. That explains it, because the damn thing is so dull it can barely cut anything. I'm glad that's the first blade I grabbed. If I still had my collection of razors and I'd used one of them instead, I'd probably be in a lot worse shape.

I'm going to try to clean up a little. More later.

~ li(thium, please.)

cherry water and codeine.

2011-02-06T04:35:00.005-05:00

it's 3 in the morning. you just went to bed and now i have to spend the rest of my night watching you to make sure you don't choke on your vomit and die in your sleep, which is how the night always ends when you do this. i won't be sleeping anymore for a while anyway, so why don't i fucking tell you EXACTLY what i wish i could right now.

alright, so, let's see. i lost my job, which has me very upset. i've been clearly depressed for a few days now. and yet, you still thought it was perfectly okay to invite s- over and get blind stinking drunk on hard liquor (which you said you weren't going to drink anymore, i guess we know that when it comes to alcohol, you can only speak in lies anyway) and then go out to get MORE alcohol, and then stay up until 2:30 in the morning blasting your music, making a huge mess, stumbling around and falling over, spilling shit, and laughing obnoxiously.

so then... well, okay. first of all, you know how much your drinking bothers me, so that goes without saying. next, you cancelled plans with r- by telling him that you didn't want anyone to come over because i was upset over losing my job. you know, that is what a NORMAL boyfriend would do, by the way, except you were only using me as an excuse because you knew that if r- came over it would cut into your drinking time. oh, and third, even though you know i worry obsessively about your health and safety, particularly because you have no health card, no intention of even trying to get one, and are showing signs of liver distress, you took my tylenol 1s while drinking and then attempted to lie about it. but that's okay, you lie constantly when you drink.

i spent most of my night in the bedroom because, quite frankly, i'm finished with watching you kill yourself and i want nothing to do with you when you drink, but that didn't stop you from coming in repeatedly to try to push me into drinking too. or snorting ritalin. or to call me a bitch (and once, a stupid cunt; that one always makes at least one appearance.) or to make some incredibly fucked up accusations. or to ask me the same four questions over and over again. you know, the usual topics of conversation between you and i when you are inebriated.

i really hate the fact that i can never feel comfortable inviting you to things i've been invited to because i can't trust you. yeah, i really don't trust you. you had my trust for a long time, and you were really the only one who did, but i don't trust you anymore. you drink and lie about it fairly frequently, and your behaviour is atrocious. how do you think i feel when i have a boyfriend who is a drunken, slobbering trainwreck who can't even stay on his own feet? any shred of dignity i have is completely blown to hell. you have no class, you are rude, you have zero empathy, and when you drink, you treat me like absolute shit.

do you have any idea how much it hurts me to see you this way? obviously you don't give a shit. you have NO idea what you are like when you drink. i have known that for a while. you are in so much denial it's unbelievable. you get so drunk that you can't form words properly. you just get angry and yell things that don't make sense. you tell "jokes" that are usually either incomprehensibly stupid or personally offensive, and then you call me a stupid bitch when i don't laugh. you make GIANT messes- you obsessively dig through your stuff and throw it all over the floor. you spill things. you lose all your motor skills and you stumble and fall constantly. i'm very worried that one day you are going to knock out your tooth or permanently lose your contacts, to say nothing of other injuries you could sustain. you smell horrible and you drool. you usually try to push me into fooling around because you get horny when you drink, but the thought of doing anything with you when you're drunk just disgusts me. you can't get it up when you're drunk anyway, so it's not like it matters. NOBODY likes you when you are drunk except for your other drunken friends. everyone else thinks you are just a fucking tragedy.

~ li

Brilliant, resilient. Fanmail: 27 million.

2011-02-01T13:53:00.006-05:00

Well, I'm unemployed again.

I wouldn't say I'm exactly a TIMID person... but I'm definitely not the kind of person who likes to get in people's faces and try to get them to spend money they don't want to spend. The two top sales reps in our division do things to get sales that just don't sit well with me. My moral compass doesn't point that way, and my manager basically sat me down and told me to suck it up and do whatever it took to get sales. I did my best, but my best doesn't involve trying to flirt and/or intimidate people into giving me money.

I tried to get sales, but I didn't have what it really takes, apparently.

To be fired was almost a relief...

I'm really disappointed in myself for losing this job, so I'm searching for something else. I've blanketed the area with resumes, but it's a slow time of year, I think. So I'll keep you updated on that.

Let's see, what else. Oh, I started seeing a chiropractor and WHAT A DIFFERENCE. Wow. I can't remember the last time I had this dramatic a reduction in my pain, and I've only had three sessions. The guy is my hero, although I'm too shy to tell him that. I met him at a health and fitness expo I had to attend for work, and since it was a slow time in the afternoon we talked a bit and he told me to come in a few days later for a consultation. When I did, he was able to give me some idea of what was going on, and he even did some adjustments for free, for which I am eternally grateful because I wasn't getting paid for a few more days. Anyway, the relief was almost instantaneous, and I have felt much better ever since.

So yeah, I'm just home and relaxing. I'm actually getting ready to tidy up a bit. I just took Ritalin (bad, I know, but I rarely do it anymore) to give me a bit of energy. They are calling for a blizzard tonight, so I'm glad I don't have to go anywhere, although I hope T- gets home from work before it really gets bad. They may shut down the buses.

I'm miserable, but I'm taking it in stride. I'll find something else.

Alrighty, I feel that Ritalin now. Off we go.

~li

Like a boss.

2011-01-17T08:22:00.004-05:00

(That's cool, eh? It's a geyser in Australia or something, I don't know.)

It's 8:21 a.m.

The sun is shining, even though the world is absolutely frozen at the moment. The sky was beautiful this morning, clear blue with a few jet trails and wispy cirrus clouds here and there (highlighted hot pink and fluorescent orange from the first rays of the sun).

Yesterday, I consumed two forkfuls of spaghetti carbonara, one slice of salami, one peanut butter cup, and a glass of orange juice. I woke up extremely dehydrated and hypoglycemic. So anyway, I'm drinking a glass of milk (skim, at least) and I had the rest of the ice cream (which amounted to about five spoonfuls which isn't too bad) and my vitamins earlier. I've been up since 6:45, by the way.

Anyway, I feel a bit better now. I'm down to 124, which is okay, but I still want to lose weight. I need to be a bit more careful now, since for some reason I thought it would be a good idea to get a job at a GYM, of all places.

I was sick last week and kinda falling back into depression a bit too, but I had a nice weekend down near the Falls with my family (the first nice time with my family I've had in a while) and I really need to get back into my groove.

I'm going to go do some stretches and get ready for work. If I don't succumb to laziness...

...Alright, I'm gone. Focker out.

~ li

"Why are you dressed like Indianapolis Jones?"

2011-01-13T18:56:00.002-05:00

I didn't go to work today. I had a killer migraine yesterday, but got to go home kinda early since it was a training day.

Today the headache is gone, but I have all the unpleasant after-effects still lingerng today. Heartburn, tingling, itchy skin, and my face feels like it's burning. All of my muscles are extremely weak, and even worse, my joints hurt really badly today.

I start personal training this week, which I hope will help me with my pain and also get me to lose some weight. I had gained a bit, was back to 130, but as of today, I'm 124.

My job is going pretty well. It's hard, because it's primarily sales that I'm doing. One of the other membership consultants, C-, is also brand new, so I mostly hang around with him since we're both sorta on the same level, but my other colleagues are pretty cool too. I fit in there on a personal level, but I'm not so sure about how I'm actually DOING, yet. I'm sort of scared that I won't be able to make it, since there are sales quotas and stuff.

Not much else, really. T- has been drinking pretty much every day since New Years. Did I write anything about New Years? I forget. Anyways, it was hell. This is a big source of stress in my life now. I'm pretty scared that one of these days, he's going to die from how much he drinks.

I feel sort of empty, lately, because of this. Not exactly sure if I'm happy, sad, angry... what. Nothing, I guess.

More updates later, maybe.

~ li

Lady Million... new fragrance.

2010-12-15T11:13:00.003-05:00

I had a dream last night that I won $7.1 million in the lottery. If I won $7.1 million for real, what would I do?

Well...

First, I'd put it all straight into my savings account to start accumulating interest right away. Even a million bucks in a high-interest savings account (mine is like 4%) will generate enough money to live off of if worst comes to absolute worst.

I'd pay off all my OSAP, as well as T-'s, plus whatever's left on my credit card.

I'd give quite a bit to my parents, as well as T-'s. I'd also think of one really nice thing I could do for each of them, and do it.

I would immediately get a car. Possibly two cars, one for regular driving (good mileage, not too fancy) and maybe a BMW or an Audi for once in a while.

I would buy a nice house, maybe in the $750k range. I don't want something too huge or fancy.

I would go to university and complete med school so I could become a hospital psychiatrist. It would be perfect, because I wouldn't need to work at the same time and I could concentrate fully on my studies. Plus later on I'd be paid when I become an intern and then a doctor (that's right, I want to win the lottery so I can get my dream job and still work anyways.)

I would get a good financial advisor and do some investing. (One of the Dragons from Dragons' Den would be AWESOME.)

Yeah... I'd get a dog. Maybe two.

I would try to start my business with the idea about the customizable canes and medical equipment for kids (not just kids, whatever.) Again, the Dragons would come in handy here.

I would put money aside for my kids, too (future kids, of course.)

I could be a good person... if I could afford it, that is.

(Oh, and the other half of my dream involved me falling and landing on a screw, which got stuck in my forehead. I had to pull it out.)

~ li

Sledzie shots.

2010-12-11T17:39:00.004-05:00

Thursday night sucked.

It was A's birthday. A- and her boyfriend R- are some mutual friends of my boyfriend and I. They are a very nice couple, the most straight up and responsible people in our age group that I've ever met. They don't smoke weed, they don't drink excessively (well, R is Russian, so he drinks vodka, but I've never seen him get really blasted, and A drinks almost nothing) and they're very prim and proper. Anyway, it was A-'s birthday, so the Boy and I went over there to have a nice dinner with them. We ordered delicious pizza and garlic breadsticks with cheese... and I had one slice of pizza and half a breadstick. Aside from that, I hadn't eaten all day. I was happy about that, but it later turned out to be a really bad thing that my stomach was practically empty.

I'm not going to get into the details of the earlier part of the evening, because it was pretty uneventful. But at dinner, I drank a 200 mL mudslide and vodka thingy that was 13.5% alcohol. Then another, same size, but 20%. Then I had a celebratory shot of Goldschlager. Then R- brought out these insane Russian shotglasses that are actually about twice the size (speaking in terms of volume, if that makes sense... fuck mathematics, I say) and I decided to throw caution to the wind and go shot for shot against a Russian guy (R-) and a Polish guy (my boyfriend) both of whom are not originally from Canada, so they literally grew up on strong European beer and the craziest vodka in the fucking universe. I mean, yeah, I'm Italian, but I did not spend my childhood in Italy drinking Grappa... I spent it here in Ontario sipping watered-down wine.

Anyway, it gets a bit hazy. I remember that for my fifth shot, I wanted to do something "cool," so for whatever ungodly reason, I poured the juice from a jar of sledzie into a shotglass, filling it halfway, then filled the rest with vodka. I stirred it around with a fork (whose, I don't know) and did the shot. Now I'll tell you what sledzie is if you don't already know. (If you have a weak stomach, maybe you shouldn't think about this for too long.) It's raw herring fermented in vinegar and oil. It's Polish food. Anyways, it's pretty decent when you eat it with bread or something, but when you mix it with vodka, it tastes like hell and death.

So I did two of those, hah.

It comes in flashes from that point onward. The next thing I know, I'm slapping my boyfriend across the face. I'm opening the door to the balcony and leaping into a three-foot drift of snow in my t-shirt and jeans. R-, who is closest to me at that point, grabs me and pulls me inside, probably afraid that I'm going to jump over the railing. (Maybe I should have.) I pace back and forth between the washroom and kitchen. I'm fighting with my boyfriend about something, but I don't remember what. I'm screaming "fuck you" at the top of my lungs. A- and R- are quite stunned, and they probably have no idea what is going on. I grab my shit and stumble into the hall, screaming incoherently. Literally screaming. A neighbour comes out- a little old lady, panicked- and asks if she needs to call the police. I am hunched against the wall by the elevator, pressing the buttom repeatedly and begging for forgiveness. I'm leaving, it's all me, I apologize. A stream of words comes out of my mouth but I'm not aware that it's me talking anymore. My phone and pill box fall out of my bag and Seroquel and tramadol scatter everywhere and my phone's battery flies out and skids across the floor. I realize that someone is in the elevator with me, but I have no idea whether it's A-, R-, or my boyfriend. I'm trying to pick up the pills on the floor but my fingers won't work and the last thing I remember is tasting blood.

I woke up at five in the morning. The hangover was monstrous. I threw up over twenty times between five and nine a.m. and still couldn't keep water down for several more hours afterward. It turned out that I was badly injured- judging from the pattern of bruises and scrapes on my body, I took a very bad fall on some ice or possibly pavement. My left hand is bruised and swollen, with an abrasion on the palm where I must have tried to break the fall. My left knee is bruised. My right knee is grotesquely swollen and very severely bruised. Whenever I move it (and my range of motion is slim to nil,) I feel a sickening squishy sensation. If I put my hand on my kneecap at the same time, I can feel something crackling around in there. Hospital today, since it's still really swollen. I might need an MRI.

T- and I have no idea what happened or why we were fighting. T- remembers less than I do. I have still not gotten up the nerve to write an apology email to R- and A-.

I have been in a VERY bad mood lately, and I know myself well enough to admit that it is like playing Russian Roulette (ha?) if I drink while I'm in this kind of state. I'm more likely to drink excessively, and I'm FAR more likely to be belligerent and aggressive. I am very, VERY surprised that nobody called the cops or had me put in the psych ward. I probably should have gone.

On the plus side, T- seems to have completely lost his interest in alcohol for once in his life. That never happens, even after particularly hard nights and bad hangovers. I'll enjoy that while it lasts.

Oh, also: 120 lbs. All that throwing up, I guess.

~ li

the pursuit of success.

2010-12-06T07:42:00.003-05:00

i always knew i was going to be successful. just KNEW it. unfortunately, it's never happened. for me to be successful, you see, i need money. i can't get back into university until i have money. i figured maybe one day i'd either win the lottery and go back to school, or i would do something that i'd be known for. like getting published.

i always wanted to write a book, and now i think i can. i finally pieced something good together. it's going to be a memoir, it's going to be about psychology, it's going to be controversial, just the way i like it.

maybe i don't need to be rich to be successful; i just need to put my mind to really writing this book. now it's like i have two jobs... my stupid daytime call centre one... and now, my book.

hmmm... (maybe i've got some hypomania coming, but i don't think so.)

~L.I.

Pull the trigger.

2010-12-03T10:44:00.005-05:00

Please note: This pic is not of me. I just find it very triggering... I remember when my size 3's hung off me, too.

Anyways.

I'm going to continue getting up at 7:30 a.m. and cleaning the house before work, like I have been doing, which is awesome.

Who cares, anyway. As long as there's food in the house that he likes to eat. We can't afford much, because heaven forbid he go without beer, so I'll just eat less anyway.

I had a migraine the other day. I threw up seven or eight times and it felt good. Even better because I knew I had a free pass to literally stuff myself with food and then throw it up (Of course, once the headache itself hits I can't eat a thing, but I generally have pretty severe nausea for about ten hours before that point, and I always binge because I know it will come up quickly and efficiently whenever I want it to.)

I am still hovering between 126 and 130. I need to push myself to get below that. I miss being 110. Even 120 would be nice, and I would like to be 120 by New Year's Day.

That's it. That's my goal.

- L.I.

Don't call the doctors, they'll say just let her crash and burn. She'll learn, the attention just encourages her.

2010-11-29T08:18:00.003-05:00

If he can drink... then I can starve. If he wants me to quit, then he should too.

- LI

I'm an analog person in a digital world.

2010-11-16T17:33:00.005-05:00

I did this to my finger the other day without even realizing it. I pulled a strip of skin almost all the way to my knuckle... the strip was about a half-centimetre long or so. It bled like crazy and wouldn't stop, so I pressed the strip back into place over the raw wound, essentially using my own skin as a bandage.

I have more to say, but I have no energy to say it. I'm in so much pain- my shoulder as well as my finger- and I can't really focus. Maybe I'll write some more once the codeine kicks in (yeah...)

... okay. better now.

this is a recent me. btw pardon me if i sound strange. codeine. it has been a while. at least my shoulder feels better. anyway, that is me from within the past month. i think i look okay, but not skinny enough yet.

i don't want to go by foxycontin anymore.

pain. drugs. more pain. more drugs.

jesus, J... if a doctor told you to jump off a fucking bridge... would you do it??

- Fo- ... not anymore.

~ l.i.

And anyone will tell you I'm a girl who's got class. I listen to some weed when I smoke my jazz.

2010-10-19T18:26:00.006-04:00

This is what everything looks like right now.

To my left, out the window, is the sky. Light blue. The waxing moon hovers in the distance, its darkened half swathed in blue as if it is nestled into the sky itself. Wispy cirrus clouds in the distance turn peach and purple.

To my right is the far wall of the living room, pale cream. The dying rays of the setting sun shine through the sliding doors and the kitchen window, casting outlines of themselves onto the far wall that glow in shades of orange and red. The various small bottles and trinkets on the kitchen windowpane cast shadows that look like ancient artifacts.

I am baked out of my mind and watching Billy the Exterminator. I'm also chatting with my Australian friend about giant Australian spiders over MSN messenger. I'm considering a few different food options, trying to decide what is more important, ease of preparation or amount of calories.

I'm fidgeting with the necklace I'm wearing. I just made it this morning out of various other bits and pieces of things: A black cord with sterling silver clasp from an old necklace; a small silver disc from a charm bracelet; a tiny crystal flower from an earring; a spire of white quartz crystal that I wrapped in silver wire. The quartz feels cool against my skin, which is hot. I feel feverish.

I'm considering taking a bath. The evening is very cool, but I have the window open because the fresh air smells deliciously invigorating. My right shoulder aches constantly, now and then sending a lightning bolt of pain shooting into my neck and down my back. I'm craving pain relief but I ignore the full bottle of Tylenol 1s sitting on the table and instead opt to smoke a little more of the White Widow my friend sold me yesterday.

I light a small tea candle and set it into a metal holder shaped like a small lamp. There are stars cut into the sides of the metal lamp shade, and the flame of the candle throws flickering stars that dance across the walls of the dining and living rooms. The lamp sits on a small, white table.

I like our apartment. We do not yet have much furniture, and our belongings are piled in neat stacks on the floor against the walls of the rooms for now, but the place itself is nice. It's large and spacious. The tiles on the kitchen and bathroom floors are large and have a nice colour and texture. They give the appearance of being more expensive than they are. The carpet and walls are cream; the baseboards, ceiling, cabinets and appliances are white. A simplistic silver chandelier-type light hangs from the dining room ceiling, each of its three arms ending in a white bell-shaped glass shade.

I will add more later, but right now, that bath is sounding good to me.

- FoxyC

Take this job and shove it.

2010-10-13T21:47:00.006-04:00

So, let's get this straight. You're 24 years old and technically working the same job as you were when you were 19 and fresh out of high school. Are you fucking kidding me? You don't have a car. You have bad credit. You haven't established a home yet. And you're nowhere close to achieving any of this. Bipolar disorder and joint pain are NOT AN EXCUSE. There are plenty of people who achieve more with even worse problems!

People are not going to do everything for you for the rest of your life. This is not hard stuff, here. This is not raising the bar too high. It is normal for a 24 year old to be able to afford a car, have at least a fledgeling career, and be at least on the way to being established. You can't do this shit anymore, or everyone WILL think you're a failure.

You're afraid people will think you're a failure anyway so you never try, but time is running out now. If you don't do something soon, then you WILL be a failure. And everyone will know it.

Do you want to be the tired, angry-looking girl limping onto the bus every night at 10:45 p.m., worn out from 10 hours of incredibly tedious, boring, non-challenging drudge work? Call centre agents are not held in high regard by anyone. And even though you have a guaranteed decent pay check (if you aren't in too much pain to get there) and benefits and all of this other wonderful shit, it is eventually going to drive you insane. As it is, all you want to do when you get home is smoke weed and try to forget how much you despise yourself for not BEING something.

I think a better image is that of a confident, healthy, active young woman, getting into her car and driving to her beloved job at a pharmacy or a hospital. She enjoys every moment of her shift, she doesn't have to worry about money, and she is finally happy with what she does.

Right now, you have already entered step 1 of the process. You've secured the idiotic but well-paying job. You need to start saving up some money and make the switch. This stupid fucking call centre job will seem far less maddening when you begin using it to fund your education. These schools are GEARED towards people like you- people who haven't done well up until now but who want to make a change. They allow you to work and study at the same time, you know. And once you finish it (and it's only, what, a year long?) you can blanket the city with resumes until you are accepted at a pharmacy, clinic, or hospital. You will get paid better, have better shifts, and best of all, you will be BACK in that environment that you love!

Dr. Nash won a Nobel Prize... and he is a paranoid schizophrenic. Keep that in mind the next time you start thinking you CAN'T do something.

- FoxyContin

A Eulogy.

2010-09-16T11:26:00.007-04:00

Yeah, that's right. If you don't like it, just skip on over. I didn't get the chance to write when this first happened, because I didn't have internet here in the new place yet.

This is a post in memory of my male veiled chameleon, Cricket.

I got him in March of 2006. I had searched around for about a year beforehand, researching husbandry and getting an idea of what it would cost to get everything I would need. I bought him at a "Petland" in St. Catharines, I remember that. He was not a baby at the time, just a few months shy of a year old, but one of the smallest out of his cage-mates. There was another male, large for his age and already displaying prominent colours, but I liked the little guy with the pink crests on his head who would sit on the feeder's shoulder and eat mealworms fed by hand.

When we brought him home, I named him Mr. Anderson because of the haughty, stern look that would appear on his face when he was nervously eyeing you, trying to determine if you were a threat. Later, I would start to call him "Cricket," since that was his favourite food and it just seemed to fit.

He was, like most male veiled chameleons, slightly aggressive at first. He would puff up and hiss at anyone who came close to him, and make a head-butting motion towards your hand as you reached into his cage to refill his food bucket or to pick out some debris. Later, he began flicking his tongue at my face and fingers when I came near.

I would let him out of his cage frequently, and he became quite a bit tamer. He liked to climb up the curtains and sit at the top, bathing in the sun coming through the window, for hours. I would even take him outside to walk around in the grass on hot summer days.

I bought a much larger cage for him when he became full-grown; a mesh cage that, when assembled, stood four feet tall and was two and a half feet deep by two and a half feet wide. Even with his new, larger home, I still took him outside on warm days. Otherwise, I would let him crawl around on the little potted tree that I had, or sit on my head.

It was only about his final four months or so that were bad. He didn't want to climb anymore, so eventually I took him out of his large cage- ironically, now too tall to be safe for him- and kept him in a medium sized cardboard box with soft pillowcases in the bottom to give him a comfortable place to stand. I kept his heat lamp on, just attached it to the box, and fed and watered him by hand. He was starting to go blind, and I had to wash his eyes every day.

He stopped eating after a while, even if I tried to put the food directly in his open mouth, and so I resorted to putting calcium and vitamin D powder into his water and putting the mix into his mouth drip by drip and waiting for him to swallow. I would take him out of the box and hold him, wrapped up in the cloth, a few times a day, just so that he would at least know that I was here and I would keep him safe.

I was a total wreck when he got that bad. He did not suffer long, but for that few days before he died, I was out of my mind about it. I thought of inquiring about how much it would cost to have him euthanized at the vet's, because I couldn't stand to see him laying there, presumably in pain, anymore. There was no way I could do anything myself. I even contemplated smoking a joint and trying to literally hotbox his box, just so that he could maybe get a little stoned and feel some temporary relief. I didn't do it, and it sounds like a cruel thing to even consider, but my mind was on cancer patients... because that's exactly what he reminded me of.

When he finally did pass, I cried for a good two hours, and a few more times over the next several days as well. He is now resting down beside the river, in the forest.

I have never dealt well with losing pets. While it is true that every pet I have ever owned seems to have had an exceptionally long life (I even had goldfish that lived for over two years,) I still always feel like there's more I could have done.

He was just over five years old when he passed away. My reptile-expert friends tell me that the average lifespan of a male veiled under the care of a novice reptile owner (that would be me) is only two, so that means I must have done something right. That helps a little, but not completely...

I miss him :(

I don't want another pet. Not any time soon. I still have the snake, and he is healthy. If all goes well, he should be around for another 15 or 20 years. My dogs, who live at my mother's house but I still consider "mine," are also young and healthy. I miss them every day. I love animals, probably too much. If I was rich and didn't have to work, I would own a houseful of animals, all different kinds.

I have to go to the pet store weekly for food and other small things for the snake (he doesn't require much) and find myself squealing over the puppies, the kittens, the weird hairless guinea pigs, the birds, and even the fish and reptiles. "Get a turtle," urges that little voice in my head. "Get a betta, a siamese fighting fish." I've had two before, and they were easy to care for. It's so tempting. Turtles and fish are easy to care for. But I just can't do it right now.

Nothing could ever replace him, anyway. <3

Rest in peace, "Kix."

- Love, FoxyContin

Taking the high road.

2010-09-16T11:17:00.002-04:00

Day off number three. Back to the grind tomorrow. I intend to spend the day smoking weed, taking massive amounts of Ritalin, and trying to achieve that perfect mix of speedy and stoned. If I can do that, it creates what is basically a synthetic mini-manic episode. Not only do I feel GREAT, man, but I also have the energy and drive to clean up the house, do research, write, fold laundry, and lots of other great productive stuff, but I also feel nice and chill while I do it.

Can't get my hands on anything else right now, so I need to be creative.

It's 11:20 a.m. and I just ate three hashbrown-and-onion patties (baked, not fried) with some ketchup and tabasco sauce. That's 450 calories. I also just took Ritalin, so I probably won't be eating again until evening.

I wish it would stop raining so I could go for a walk- I need to buy a mouse for the snake. Oh, and I'm not sure if I mentioned this... my chameleon passed away :( I miss him a lot, even though it happened over two weeks ago now. You know what? Stay tuned.

- FoxyContin

Days off.

2010-09-15T14:10:00.003-04:00

I am on day 2 of my three days off; Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday of every week.

I am quite happy to sit at home with everything I need right by my side- my phone, my computer, a book, the remote, and a cold bottle of diet iced tea- and relax. The weather is turning cool now, so I open the screen door to the balcony wide, letting that fresh, cold air flow into the room. Gives me an excuse to bundle up cozy on the couch in baggy jeans and oversized sweatshirts.

I'm down to 126 lbs now, officially. People aside from T- are starting to notice. I'm starting to watch cooking shows obsessively, eat weird things like toast with hot sauce, and take a little bit too many pills, keeping my stomach in a permanent state of upset. To counteract the munchies I get from smoking weed, I dose myself with Ritalin and tramadol beforehand. Same shit as usual. It's normal for me to go into a bit of a weird mood around fall, as I've mentioned before. I always lose the most weight at this time of year.

Yesterday, I made two sandwiches- salami and hot peppers on rye toast, no butter- and ate only half of one. Later, I made two waffles... and ate only half of one. I ate about five freezies, but they were the tiny little 15 calorie kind. The uneaten food is still in the fridge. Might be why the scale is reading low today.

I feel fairly content. That much I know. I hope that it lasts.

- FoxyContin

One twenty-eight.

2010-09-10T19:22:00.001-04:00

Eh, I don't know. I guess I look a little bit skinnier. Do you think so? I don't know. But anyway, I am 128 now. Was 126 at one point but 128 seems consistent.

I'm at home with a fever, watching this weird channel on the TV where they ask questions and people text in their answers. Has really bad music playing. I'm stoned and bingeing on dry toast with tabasco sauce and diet Pepsi. I am wearing a giant mint-green sweatshirt because it is cold out. It even looks cold, with the haze in the air highlighted by the setting sun. I can only browse the internet for short snatches of time because there is a problem with my wireless connection and I have to keep resetting it.

What else is new... oh. This guy I knew from a forum I was on... oh man, starting from ten years ago... well, we used to talk a lot and stuff but we lost contact a long time ago. Haven't talked to him in six years. He found me on Facebook- at first, I had no idea who he was, and I have no idea how he remembered my full name after six years- and I'm incredibly flattered. He was awesome to talk to, and now he's got a Ph.D and is a professor of finance. Believe it or not, I had a huge crush on him way before he was a professor, haha. He's still just as cool as he ever was. I love blasts from the past like that.

I haven't done much else but work. I despise my job, but I love the people I work with. It figures. I'd probably never see some of those people if I wasn't working with them, the shifts and hours are so ridiculous. That's pretty much the only thing keeping me there (yet another call centre. Make me vomit.)

I don't really have much of value to say right now, so maybe I will continue this later.

- FoxyContin

Paralysis by Analysis.

2010-09-08T11:07:00.003-04:00

Yeah, it's been a while. Sue me, the internet wouldn't work even after we hooked it up. Damn you, Rogers.

Fall is coming. I'm down to 129 lbs. That is, well, since I moved here... what was I, 143? Higher? Let's say 143. I've lost 14 lbs, I guess. I still feel fat, although T- says I look and feel kind of bony, which is a possibility since all the time he's known me, which is over a year now, I was at my highest weight range, usually in the mid-to-high 140s. 129 is still quite a bit higher than I care to be, but at least I'm out of the 130s and... ugh... 140s. Could be because I take a lot of Ritalin and any opiate I can get my hands on, both of which cause nausea and just overall loss-of-appetite. Hell, the only time I really ever eat is if I'm stoned and have the munchies.

Anyway... I have three days off of work. I'm sitting in the apartment, watching the Sunset Channel, and I can feel the chill September air drifting in through the window. I have literally a handful of T1s sitting in a pile to my left, and a giant bottle of Diet Coke to my right. Who knows what kind of damage I'm doing to my liver every time I swallow 10, 20, 30 T1s at a time? But if I can't find Oxy- even Percocets would suffice- there's nothing more I can do. I'm in pain, granted, but mostly I just want to slip back into that delicious, beautiful numbness. I'm too edgy, too mercurial, when I am sober. Weed, opiates, benzos, antipsychotics... they keep me contently sitting on the couch and drawing in my notebook rather than shredding the skin off my fingertips or pressing the sharpened edge of a chef's knife against my arm to see how much pressure is required to split the skin.

I am not depressed. That's the thing; I have nothing to be upset about, and I know it. T- treats me better than any other guy I've dated, with respect and courtesy. He listens to and remembers everything I say. He helps clean the house. He's fun to be with. I have really cool friends. I have a job that pays the bills. I have a far better sense of who I actually am as a person than I used to, which is great. But there is some part of me, deep inside, that is not the same as the rest of me. There is a split between the Me who is friendly, charismatic, creative, and likeable, and the other Me who gravitates towards self-destruction at all costs. Why is she trying to kill me? I've still yet to figure that out.

Anyway, I'm going to take these pills and find... something to do, anyway. I'm home alone today. We know what happens during times like this.

- FoxyContin

Yesterday SUCKED. Today... seems quite a bit better in comparison.

2010-07-23T12:57:00.004-04:00

So yeah. T- and I might not get the place we applied for after all, since the information my dad was supposed to fax to them apparently was not recieved. And guess what? He left to go to PEI yesterday, and I can't get a hold of him, and he won't be back until 8 days after the apartment needs to be secured. We don't have another guarantor.

Also, I was retarded and mixed tramadol and booze last night, got a huge migraine, and puked a bunch. On the plus side, I didn't eat anything but a hamburger bun (and the alcohol, but I threw that up) and am now 132.4... almost back into the 120's.

There's a guy on my MSN who is driving me nuts, too. Every SINGLE time I get online, it's the same thing. "I'm doing so bad lately. I don't know what to do. I'm so unstable. My life is so bad." Blah blah blah. I've put up with it for like two years, 'cause I'm way too nice. Now, I'm fucking sick of it, and he doesn't seem to take the hint. He also begs me for advice and then disregards it every time. And then comes whining back to me a few days later when everything gets fucked up exactly like I said it would. (I think I've ranted about this before.)

He's young, like 18. Jesus fucking Christ, when you are 18, LIFE SUCKS. Everything is confusing and you have a million dysphoric revelations a day. I wouldn't mind so much if he didn't fucking keep begging me for advice (which I no longer like to give to anyone) and then always do the exact opposite of what I suggest.

It's kinda my fault for not blocking him, but whenever I do, he finds me some other way. It's fucking annoying.

Oh well, enough ranting. I just had to get that out there.

[EDIT] Wow, I spoke too soon. The landlord just called me... they found the info. It had gotten misplaced. We're approved after all. This is such a weight off my shoulders, I feel like I'm walking on the moon.

- FoxyContin

I can't think of any clever lyrics or sayings right now.

2010-07-20T11:49:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, all I ate was one package of Mr. Noodles. 380 calories. Actually, I didn't finish it, so 300 calories.

That's it. Well, water too, but nothing else containing actual nutrition. (Not that Mr. Noodles are particularly nutritious.)

Tonight, my friend and her parents are taking me to the pub for wings, 'cause this is my final week living with them. I figure if I get the Jamaican Jerk wings, then it'll be good because they are so damn spicy I get full after about 3 or 4 of them. I'll get five, and a diet Coke. The thing that bugs me is I don't know precisely how many calories would be in that, 'cause I don't know their recipe or anything.

It would probably be less calories to order plain wings, but at the same time, I would probably want to eat more. These spicy ones set your mouth on fire and make your stomach feel full. Also, delicious.

Alright, I just looked that up online... FUCK that. 225 calories per wing?!? They have a grilled veggie wrap- I'll go for that instead. Jesus.

Anyway, I'm going to go do some stuff.

- FoxyContin

This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race.

2010-07-19T17:01:00.003-04:00

Been busy, hence the lack of updates.

I am pretty sure T- and I have the apartment we applied for. We find out this week.

I am insanely happy to be moving in with him. I spent the week before last in London, and it feels like home to me already. It's also nice to be with someone who still adores me despite what a headcase I am.

I am now 134 lbs.

I feel depression creeping in again, and all I want to do is sleep, take pills, drink, or cry. On the plus side, I've basically been not eating at all.

I hate stress. I hate moving.

August 1st can't come fast enough.

- FoxyContin

I'm so happy, I could puke.

2010-06-30T15:17:00.002-04:00

Ahh, Sinatra. <3<3<3

Anyway. 3:18 p.m.. So far today:

- Junior-size burger from Wendy's (insisted upon by T-, who is a recovered bulimic herself but still prefers not to eat fast food solo.)
- Large Diet Coke (also from Wendy's.)
- Can of Coke Zero (NASTY SHIT IS NASTY but I'll explain later.)

So... 300 calories thus far, rounded up. (As well you should, fatass.)

Last night, I couldn't sleep, so I took 15 mg of Imovane. I think I mentioned it before in here; the generic name is "zopiclone." It's like a benzo, except it isn't. It works quite nicely for knocking you out, so long as you don't use it too often. The only downside is that it puts a nasty, metallic taste in your mouth the following morning- common side effect. All day, I've been smoking, drinking water, even drinking that disgusting Coke Zero in hopes that it'll wipe some of that taste away. A friend of mine (schizophrenic, so this might not even be a true fact, he could have been hallucinating the "doctor" who suggested this) told me that orange juice helps with that. Sounds logical, except orange juice is one of those things I totally do not drink. They always add so much sweeteners and fillers and shit to it. I'll only drink orange juice if I made it myself. Also, I like pulp, 'cause it's fibre. I don't trust store juice.

But I digress; the taste... it's fading slowly. Can't complain too much, as it does make food taste kinda strange and suppresses my appetite.

I'm going to take 120 mg pseudoephedrine (which is the only stimulant available to me at the moment, aside from all the caffeine I drank) which helps suppress my appetite further.

I ended yesterday at 1450 calories, and I did not get onto the treadmill. That is double what I used to be able to live on for days at a time, but it is at least progress. When I was on the meds- and it was the Epival and Seroquel specifically that caused this- I was usually eating about 3,500-4,000 calories a day. When I actually binged... it was closer to 8,000-10,000 calories in the space of a few hours. (Granted, my binges- REAL binges- are usually about that much anyway, but when I'm restricting, I will even consider 3,000 calories a "binge.")

Who do you think you are, Michael Phelps?

Anyway... here is some food for thought: http://thesugarmonster.livejournal.com/

I was searching for thinspiration. Then, for reverse thinspiration. I came across this livejournal, and I started reading her story. She's clawing her way out of the pit of an eating disorder and desperately trying to achieve normality and happiness... she's just doing it from the opposite end.

Naturally, when I see very large people, I try to use it as motivation for myself. "Gah. I don't EVER want to look like that. See? Stop eating, or you'll look like THAT." But I don't know. After having read this girl's blog for a while... I really don't feel that "reverse thinspiration" is appropriate at all. Many of these people are sick... just like I am... their demons just manifest themselves in different ways.

You just never know. Okay, yes, there ARE people in this world who are indeed lazy, slobbish, and who eat like pigs. And they deserve it when they wind up obese and unhealthy. But the point is this: you just can't tell. One of my good friends has always been picked on for her weight. She's my height, but averages around 220 lbs. She has type II diabetes. She is one of the most physically active people I know, loves vegetables, and is seriously in better shape than I am. She's also bulimic, with the exception of the fact that her binges are not significantly large, and she purges constantly- regular meals and snacks included. I lived with her for a month, and there is no way her intake level is large enough to make a normal person that big.

The worst part is when she does lose weight- and she can't get under 180- people compliment and commend her. Tell her "keep going," and "ahh, you're almost pretty now." They don't know that to lose those 40 lbs she's been starving herself, constantly vomiting, and abusing diet pills. When I lose weight, I LOOK visibly sick. When she loses weight, she looks better- even though she's just as sick as me.

So just think about that for a while. As for me, I'm going out to some concert thing with T-. More later.

- FoxyContin

Wow, holy shit.

2010-06-30T01:20:00.003-04:00

Found this old picture of me... I think I probably posted it on here at some point wayyyy back, but anyway, it's been a while. This is what I looked like just shortly before I went on the meds:

That was not my lowest weight; I do remember that much. I have been skinnier than that. But wow... I looked ill.

That's all for now. Just something to chew over.

- FoxyContin

If you don't think I'm pretty, I'm gonna kill myself.

2010-06-29T20:38:00.002-04:00

Excuse the title, but I fucking LOVE Kevin Gilbert lately.

Today, I had a bowl of noodles (those fucking things are 520 calories, but they do keep me full for, like, the next ten hours after,) and six small pieces of sushi (the ones that are about an inch tall and big around as a quarter.) They were nothing fancy, just crab meat and rice with seaweed wrapped around. Had some pickled ginger with it. 300 calories. So, I'm at 820 today. In a little bit (after I finish dyeing t-'s hair for her,) I'm going to go on the treadmill.

Oh, and to clear things up:

t- (lower case) = my best friend.
T- (capital) = my boyfriend.

In case it's confusing you.

I feel soooo shitty. I barely slept at all last night- didn't go to bed til almost 8 a.m.- and didn't get the chance to relax much in the afternoon either. Also, I'm probably dehydrated, as I haven't drank anything all day. Why? Well, kind of stupid to admit, but there's nothing I like available. In the fridge there is cranberry juice, which I hate, Coke Zero, which I also hate (Diet Coke only, Zero sucks) and milk, which there's no way I'll drink even at the best of times. And the only water available is a generic bottled kind that tastes disgustingly like plastic and salt. Worst of all, they drink their water room temperature in this house. (I know more and more people who do that, and I can't get my head around it. Water is meant to be ice cold, I don't give a shit what you say. You're crazy.) I can only handle that stuff (and just barely) if it's practically frozen. So whenever I get thirsty, I have to put a bottle in the freezer and wait for about 20 mins. If I forget about it and it goes solid, no water for me. (Also, the tap water here is nasty- no chance.)

See? I'm insanely obsessive about drinks, too. Not just food. This is the kind of shit that goes through my head constantly. And that's just about what I want to drink! Nine times out of ten, if I want a drink, I go buy one, 'cause I'm so particular. I only like Dasani or Aquafina water, and the rest of the time I kinda go by mood. I'm not gonna tell you what was going through my head all day whilst deciding what to actually EAT. Your head would explode.

Anyway... enough for now.

- FoxyContin

Whimsicle fuckery. [sic]

2010-06-29T17:04:00.005-04:00

It's 5:06 p.m. and I haven't eaten yet today. I want to, badly. I want to eat an entire fucking party tray pizza. At the same time, I fucking despise food. I despise the control it has over me. I hate that it is all I ever fucking think about, even during the times when I "seem to be doing better," which is utter, utter bullshit. I want to eat/I don't want to eat. I fucking hate eating. So I've just been chain-smoking and chewing gum until my jaw starts cracking and locking up.

I'm fucking miserable 'cause I want to eat and I hate myself for wanting to eat and I've just become so used to eating more for the past two years or so that even now that I'm off my meds, my body expects a way higher caloric intake than I used to function on. I'm starting over from scratch. 1200 calories used to throw me into a panic; now, I'd be seriously happy if I were eating 1200 calories a day. What the hell do they call someone like me? Fatorexic?

You have no willpower. Fat, lazy, weak... the list goes on. You fucking pig.

- FoxyContin

If what you are is what you know, then I know way too much.

2010-06-28T15:01:00.004-04:00

Now, don't you wish you looked like this?

...

I seriously can't wait 'til I move to London. Not only for the obvious reason (T-, of course,) but also because it's easy as shit to score Oxy over there, and next to impossible here. I got some yesterday, but I had to steal it from my dad... which I hate doing even though he doesn't ever take it 'cause he hates it. :/

Oxy is nice not only 'cause it numbs you completely, but it also kills your appetite. All opiates do. You wonder why heroin addicts are so skinny? Yeah.

Anyway, it's 3:02 p.m., I have had 360 calories today. In a few minutes, when I take this mask off (yeah, I'm doing a facial and- shock, horror- gave myself a manicure, too, 'cause if I'm going to be fat, I can at least compensate by making the rest of me less hideous until I'm skinny again,) I'm going to go on the treadmill. Gonna try to burn off at least 200. I'm sore as shit, but whatever.

Don't know what else I'll have today. Maybe some organic vegetable broth, which is practically calorie-free, or some toast and hot sauce, the old anorexic standby.

I've been purging a lot lately and you can tell 'cause my face is swollen and if you look in my mouth, the skin is just peeling off the inside of my cheeks. It's disgusting, but not as disgusting as the rest of me, so whatever. T- deserves a beautiful girl, so I want to be that for him. He always goes on about how I'm perfect the way I am and he thinks I have a gorgeous body and stuff, but seriously, come on. Most of my friends are male, I grew up around guys, and I know how the majority of guys think. Maybe T- does love me the way I am, but he'll definitely find me more attractive when I'm skinny again. That's just the way it is.

At least now I'm off those fucking meds (so far, that's a disaster, and even today though I am in a good mood I'm still having suicidal thoughts and the insane urge to slice myself up with a knife. Fucking gay.)

I feel better now that I have access to my own computer and can write in here again. All the stuff I say on here... all the ranting and bitching and confessions... I never say this to anyone in real life. Everyone thinks I'm happy and recovered and whatever, and I like to keep it that way, 'cause seriously, nobody wants to hear that shit. This blog is my outlet, so to speak. I can say whatever I want and if you don't want to hear it, just don't read it.

Anyway, treadmill time (and diet Red Bull, too.) Ciao.

- FoxyContin

Girls, do you like to ride horses? Do you like to ride them naked?

2010-06-27T20:39:00.003-04:00

It's been AGES since I've updated. Sorry. Lots of shit happened.

Moved out of the apartment in Orillia; currently staying with my best friend t- up near Toronto. I'm moving to London soon, and I'll be living with T- (my boyfriend, hehe. I forget where we left off, here. I broke up with I- quite a while back, finally, thank God, and now I'm officially with T-.)

Let's see, what else? Ah. I am off all my meds- the Effexor, the Epival, and the Seroquel. Have lost a little weight, but not much. Still around 137 lbs. Have been purging (and binging) quite frequently. Started smoking... bad girl, yeah, but it helps suppress my appetite.

I'm kind of scared about it. I have been in a very fucked up sort of mood ever since kicking the stuff. Been having suicidal thoughts and urges to injure myself. That's sorta why I've been purging lately, I guess. It's bad for me.

I am currently nice and buzzed off Percocet and cyclobenzaprine. Some things never change. Feels good, man.

Anyway, yeah. I haven't been updating 'cause I didn't have my own laptop for a while there, and I didn't want to access this blog from my friend's computer. If I cleared the history, she'd know something was up (she's incredibly uptight about certain things,) so I just haven't bothered. Now I have my laptop back, so I'll be updating more.

So those are the main things that have happened. You haven't missed much.

Oh, and a big shout-out to my peeps over at /opi/, too. I really need to get back on there and say hi.

Moar later, perhaps.

- FoxyContin

Dragonflies and Dopamine.

2010-03-11T16:39:00.004-05:00

I'm out of Seroquel again so I can't sleep and because the weather is so gorgeous I feel infinitely great! Dr. J has returned!!

Just took a 3k power blast to Subway for lunch, where I had a six-inch sub on whole wheat bread with nothing but vegetables on it. Oh, and a Diet Coke. 300 calories even. I'm just chilling for a bit and letting my heart rate even out, and then I'm going to do some weights. (I bought 5 lb dumbbells- I don't want to be ripped, just toned. Also, anything heavier than that would probably cause me to injure myself somehow.)

I have three professors, the Dean, and the Assistant Dean all offering me letters of recommendation. Random, just thought I'd share.

Okay, enough. Weights time!

- FoxyContin

Don't stop believing.

2010-03-06T18:29:00.004-05:00

I'm eating lentil stew and watching Disorderly Conduct, lol.

Applied at Downtown Dispensary today- another pharmacy. T- looked online last night and found that they were looking to hire a pharmacy technician. I've been looking for a new job for so long and he's been a huge help to me... now, I just hope they're impressed by me. Heh.

Spent a few days with T- this week; had a blast. It's crazy, but it feels as if we've known each other for years. We're like best friends.

(Then again, I've always related to guys better. That could have something to do with it.)

Nothing much new. Just waiting to hear when the house my friends and I are waitlisted for comes available. I'm thinking of taking a hiatus from university next year unless I can make a FUCKLOAD of money during the summer. We'll have to see. My dad has said that he is going to give me some money- around $1000 or so- but I really, REALLY hate taking money from anyone, even family. Also, T- spent $140 on the bus trip to and from Orillia as well as paying for all of our hotel fees... I'm not cool with that being the case; he shouldn't have to pay for everything.

I just hope so badly that I get this job. I hope that we get approved for the house. I want this to be a fucking awesome summer, god damnit.

- FoxyContin

About to Crash - Dream Theater

2010-03-04T17:56:00.001-05:00

She can't stop pacing
She never felt so alive
Her thoughts are racing
Set on overdrive

It takes a village
This she knows is true
they're expecting her
And she's got work to do

He helplessly stands by
It's meaningless to try
As he rubs his red-rimmed eyes
He says I've never seen her get this bad

Even though she seems so high
He knows that she can't fly
and when she falls out of the sky
He'll be standing by

She was raised in a small midwestern town
By a charming and eccentric loving father
She was praised as the perfect teenage girl
And everyone thought highly of her

And she tried everyday
With endless drive
To make the grade
Then one day
She woke up to find
The perfect girl
Had lost her mind

Once barely taking a break
Now she sleeps the days away
She helplessly stands by
It's meaningless to try
All she wants to do is cry
No one ever knew she was so sad

Cause even though she gets so high
And thinks that she can fly
She will fall out of the sky
But in the face of misery
She found hopefulness
Feeling better
She had weathered
This depression

Much to her advantage
She resumed her frantic pace
Boundless power
Midnight hour
She enjoyed the race.

About a girl with bipolar disorder. Just thought it was interesting.

- FoxyContin

Girls' night out.

2010-02-24T15:12:00.003-05:00

So my best friend T- (not the male T-) and I decided that we were going to have a girls' weekend. We got a hotel in Barrie, did some shopping, and headed to the Roxx for Ladies Night.

It was good times, I must say. The DJ was playing some decent tunes, and I got flat hammered. Seven different guys tried to pick me up (and five tried to pick T- up, which is strange, because she's the hotter of us two and usually she gets more attention) which we politely declined since, well, I have a boyfriend and she just got through a nasty divorce and doesn't like men at the moment.

Despite having their advances turned down, the last few guys invited us to hang with them at their booth anyway. We drank Grey Goose and Red Bull, and I was really drunk and hit one of the guys in the face by accident while trying to explain something. (Italian, hand gestures, severely reduced motor skills...) I sprained my ankle because I can't walk in heels sober, let alone drunk. After the bar, T- and I went back to our hotel, smoked a joint, and raided the vending machines in the lobby for munchies.

Anyway, not much else is new.

- FoxyContin

Excuse me, while I kiss the sky.

2010-02-02T00:20:00.003-05:00

Today was supposed to be T- and I's (grammar?) "date" in Toronto, but it didn't happen because of the fact that the bus schedule is ridiculous- we would have barely had any time together.

It doesn't matter. Soon enough.

I took 400 mg tramadol tonight. It's the first time I've taken tramadol for the first time since my OD.

It occurs to me that I've gone through a 200 count bottle of T-1s this past week. I've been taking about thirty per day. I ran out last night, which is why I turned to the tramadol as a last resort. It doesn't do shit for me anymore, but it helps my joint pain a little at least.

Tomorrow, I'm going downtown to see what I can find. Someone, somewhere, has to have some pills. Half of it is the fact that I hurt, everywhere, every day, and the other half is quite simply the fact that I love how they make me feel.

At least I have T- to talk to. I- and I are through.

- FoxyContin

Dopamine chic.

2010-02-01T02:21:00.005-05:00

Hello, readers. Yes, I am still alive and kicking. In fact, I went on a bit of an online shopping spree today, heh. Let me show you what I ordered.

Some extra serotonin, which I sorely need:

This plum snakeskin pillbox, so I can look classy while I indulge my awful habits:

And finally, a sterling silver dopamine molecule, so I can take a little bit of feelsgoodman wherever I go:

Also, things are changing, and fast. Right now, what I want more than anything, is to be with someone who thinks I'm beautiful and likes me as I am. That's why I've been talking to T- so much. We've become really close, and I tell him everything. I don't care if this makes me a bad person, because lord knows I've tried. In the past week alone I've been criticized, yelled at, insulted, sworn at, and I've been brought to tears at least once almost every day by the man I've given more second chances than I can count. I didn't go with T- on New Years, and I've regretted that decision for a month now.

I want to be with T-, and I'm sick of being hurt by the Boy.

I have secured two wonderful school friends who are all systems go for future roommating purposes. They're fun, smart, and responsible. Within the next few months, I will be living with them and the Boy will be moving to Vaughan. I've already told him that when he moves, I won't be. I don't think he believes me, since he never- without exception- EVER listens to me.

T- makes me happy; the Boy does not. Not anymore. I don't care if this means I am a bad person- I'm a bad person anyway, a crazy, drug-addled bitch. The Boy isn't happy with me, so in a sense, I'm doing him a favour.

I'm not going to rub it in his face. I don't want to hurt him. I'm going to let him down easily. I will miss what we had years ago, but it's not like that anymore. He'll be a lot better off without me, and I will be a lot happier with T-. Fuck, T- knows all about me. My suicide attempts, my eating disorder, my psychiatric issues, my drug abuse... everything. I can talk to him about anything. We've talked for ten hours at a stretch. There is not a single person in this world I have ever felt this open with, and I'm not exaggerating. He knows everything about me that is horrible, and yet he still finds the time every day to tell me how much he cares about me and that he can't get his mind off me.

That's what I want. I want to feel attractive, and wanted, and loved. I want it, the Boy doesn't give it to me, and T- does. That's all it comes down to. I've made my choice.

- FoxyContin

I have so many pills.

2010-01-14T03:34:00.002-05:00

It wouldn't be hard, if I really made a go of it. There's tramadol, at least forty 400 mg tabs of it. There's Epival and Effexor. Probably some leftover, expired Cipralex and Risperidal, somewhere. I have Zoloft. I have dramamine to stop me from vomiting, and diphenhydramine, cyclobenzaprine, and Seroquel to put me to sleep. I have codeine. I have Robaxacet. I have aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, naproxen, and lots of cough suppressants- the good kind, with dextromethorphan to make me hallucinate and keep me distracted while everything shuts down.

I have a 40 of vodka hidden beside my bed. If I took as much as I could, as fast as I could, and washed it all down with that, it might just work this time.

I need to get some fucking sleep.

- FoxyContin

It ought to be criminal.

2010-01-12T18:36:00.003-05:00

I got this message when I logged on to MSN today:

(T--)@hotmail.com said (2:07 AM):
My horoscope: The planets favor this love and now you can't stay away. You're drawn to each other with a force from above, but unfortunately there may be others in the way. The heavens have no right or wrong - they simply are the way things are when your heart is drunk with poetry.

Je t'adore. <3

- FoxyContin

This bitch is indestructable.

2010-01-10T18:36:00.005-05:00

I'm still alive. And what's perhaps most impressive (and stupid) is that I even stayed out of the hospital.

I'm feeling much better, although I find that now I am completely unable to eat. Amazing. No, I'm not going to overdose again to keep my appetite down, but I will admit that I'm happy about this little side effect. Today I ate half a grilled chicken breast with tomato sauce. Yesterday, I ate five chicken wings and a pickle slice. The day before, I ate... uh, nothing. Day before that... nothing. I'm down to about 137, now.

I'd like to give a shout-out to my readers and to those who have taken the time to leave their comments for me, especially Allura, Aragorn (Yes, I remember you, and I'm never on MSN anymore... don't worry, we will talk soon, I hope, haha) and F. It's nice to know that you guys are out there and that you will listen to all the crazy shit I have to say. <3 I don't really have many people to talk to. It really seems like my online friends are better than my real ones.

So, other updates... well, nothing much, really. Although it's really close to breaking point for me and the Boy, now. I think my little moment of nostalgia back in Niagara was a mistake. I wish I would have gone with T- to the Falls... of course, I might just be irritated that the Boy's brother and sister made a giant fucking mess of the house and they all watched movies and played video games and had a grand time while I was lying on the bathroom floor with blood dripping out of my mouth. He doesn't give a shit. While he was at work today, I cleaned up some of the ungodly mess, and I ended up lying on the couch shaking a bit because I'm still really weak, and when he got home the first thing out of his mouth was "where's the food?" Fuck you.

I don't care.

- FoxyContin

Overdose.

2010-01-08T16:32:00.004-05:00

I took 800 mg of tramadol at one time the day before yesterday. Yeah, I caught a buzz, but then things went downhill incredibly fucking fast.

I was so sick yesterday I thought I'd die. I was freezing cold (I actually had a reverse-fever, my temperature was 96.6) and sweating and shaking and twitching... and worst of all, vomiting uncontrollably. And since I had nothing in my system, I was throwing up acid, bile, and blood. I've broken so many blood vessels in my neck and cheeks, I have red and purple spots all over- it looks disgusting. Worst, I think, was the splitting headache. It was like a migraine, but dare I say it... almost MORE painful.

Today, I feel a little better, but I'm still weak and dizzy, since I'm so dehydrated. Trying to drink water and stuff. Oh, and Gatorade. I'm so stupid. Tramadol isn't like other opiates...!

Anyway, on to better things. T- and I are going to try to meet up in the next few weeks- innocently, though. Just to spend the afternoon hanging out. We're going to go to Toronto, which is halfway between where he lives and where I live, and go to the art gallery or the ROM; haven't decided yet.

:)

- FoxyContin

Taking the black pill.

2010-01-06T12:59:00.002-05:00

When I take diet pills, I don't settle for the "gentle," fat-flushing girly kind you get at Shopper's Drug Mart, I look for the unhealthiest, harshest, borderline-illegal thing I can get my hands on. This time, it's these black capsules with ridiculous amounts of caffeine, guarana, and various other things that I got from the bodybuilders' store downtown. (Same place I got the ephedrine from before, except the guy I can get that stuff from wasn't around.)

Diet pills really don't work that well, I know, but these at least give me a lot of energy and kind of kill my appetite because they make my stomach hurt. It's the best I can do without resorting to street drugs or illicitly obtained prescriptions for Adderall or something... which I'm actually going to attempt to do, soon. Apparently, though doctor-shopping for opiates is next to impossible nowadays, getting a scrip for ADD drugs is surprisingly easy, as long as you don't look like a meth addict I guess. This is according to my speed-freak toxic twin, anyway, who says that amphetamines were a huge help when it came to finishing his MA.

So anyway, I took three of the black pills about an hour ago and I feel like shit right now, but I'm glad I feel that way because I have no desire to eat. I forgot, however, that I have an appointment with my shrink at 2:00 today, and I'm shaking like a goddamn leaf right now. I guess I can just tell him I'm cold, or getting over a fever or something. If I'd remembered I had an appointment today, I'd have probably waited to take the pills, or maybe taken one instead of three.

I should cut this short. The Boy's sister is wandering around... and also, I need to get ready to leave for the doc's.

- FoxyContin

i told u i was hardcore~~~

2010-01-04T13:09:00.003-05:00

Fourth day of the new year. I think I'm sick; my stomach is killing me. It might be because last night I got on the elliptical for the first time in... I don't even remember how long, to tell you the truth. I managed to burn off 200 calories at once, which is pretty good considering how out of shape I am. Before, when I first blimped up, I couldn't even make it to 50 without wheezing and doubling over.

I could probably do three runs a day, 200 calories per run. That will burn off an extra 600 calories a day for me. And I sorely need it, since I am still struggling with my appetite. Also, I can't go off my meds again lilke I did last summer, because now I have to get blood tests twice monthly to monitor the levels in my bloodstream. This shrink is clearly sharper than the last one. The last one didn't requisition bloodwork at all, and gave me all the benzos I could ever hope to cram in my face.

Oh well.

The Boy's sister is here, visiting, because his brother, who lives with her in Kingston, is currently in Texas visiting his cousins. His sister (who, by the way, is 18) obviously can't be left alone all by herself, so she had to come here for us to look after her, the poor thing. She's so goddamn sheltered, it's ridiculous. If we're watching a movie and there's even the briefest nudity, she'll either cover her eyes or leave the room, depending. She refuses to speak a word about it if she's on her time of the month. She's shy to the point of actually being rude. I can't say I've exactly enjoyed having her around. It doesn't help that the Boy coddles her and treats her like the little baby girl she seems to think she still is.

But enough ranting. I'm going to update my iPod and then go for my first run of the day.

- FoxyContin

I can't feel nothin' at all.

2009-12-29T17:35:00.002-05:00

The wireless here is being really sketchy. I don't know why. The first little while I was here, I was using a really strong, unsecured signal from someone's house nearby, but now I can't connect to it. Now I have to get what I can out of a measly one bar "linksys" that keeps booting me offline. I'm trying to download songs on Limewire, but it's obviously not working.

Anyway, I'm sore today, so I took tramadol and have been laying around watching YouTube and reading. It's too cold to do much anyway. I have heartburn too, for some weird reason. Usually I only get that when I've been purging, which I haven't been, although I should be. Because I'm fat.

I decided to pamper myself today, though. I did a vanilla and sea salt scrub in the shower and used coconut milk conditioner on my hair. Not to mention that I did a facial with a skin conditioning mask last night. My skin feels a lot softer and my face and hair do look better. Maybe I should do this every day. Maybe that's what I really need. I'm a pretty low-maintenance girl; I don't generally wear makeup, and usually I just wash with regular soap and regular Head and Shoulders shampoo, since that's what the Boy uses and I'm too lazy to get anything else. But what a difference this morning made. I intend to take a hot bath later and read a good book, also put that facial mask stuff on again.

I was decently successful at eating healthy today. I had a craving for ice cream in the morning, but instead of the chocolate-and-chocolate-chip stuff my mom always buys, I opted to have a few scoops of frozen Cool Whip instead, which is 40 calories per heaping spoonful, as opposed to- what- a hundred or so for regular ice cream? As for lunch, I ate some olives and roasted peppers on toasted rye bread, which is lower in calories than regular bread. I think in total, I've had... mm... I don't know, 900 calories today? More than I should have, but fuck, whatever.

It doesn't mean shit anyway, since I haven't burnt anything off sitting around on my ass. I hurt so fucking bad; my left wrist, my left shoulder blade area, my lower back, and both hips, the right side (injury side) slightly more than the left. The tramadol helps, but it's not fixing the problem, only distracting me from it.

But let's not get into that right now. It'll only piss me off.

- FoxyContin

Par-tay.

2009-12-28T18:01:00.001-05:00

Huge party at my buddy P-'s house last night. I'm rather surprised that, despite all that I drank (which was a lot, plus it was a mix of shit, not just one type of alcohol,) I didn't get sick. Let's see, what did I have?

Five shots of Bailey's
A full glass of wine
Four shots of vodka
A pint of Guinness
A Caesar
A shot of... something. Tasted like Southern Comfort
My own concoction of Creme de Menthe, blue Sourpuss, and 7-Up
Something that my friend D- kept shoving in my face every few minutes, which tasted like tequila and some kinda raspberry thing.

Shit, yeah... considering that my meds lower my alcohol tolerance, that's surprising. I have a few unexplained bruises today, but whatever; that always happens when I get drunk. I remember the night, for the most part, plus I didn't have a hangover today- I'm weird like that. No matter how drunk I get, even if I pass out, I never lose much of my memory, and I've NEVER had a hangover. Not even that time I drank a 26er of raspberry Smirnoff to myself and threw up in A-'s wastebasket.

Anyways, fucking awesome party. I also got baked out of my mind, since Z- showed up with about a hundred bucks worth of weed and, since he's the generous type when he's drunk, was more than happy to share it with me. No pills though, alas. For some weird reason, when we were huddling in a circle in the backyard and discussing our chemical preferances- weed, shrooms, acid, etc- everyone seemed absolutely shocked when I asked if anyone else does Oxy or other pills.

"No, man. Shit, that's hardcore." What the fuck, seriously? Seems safer than acid, that's for sure. Oh well. Actually, I couldn't have taken any pills last night anyway, since I learned the hard way that mixing opis and booze makes me black out randomly and fall into bathtubs.

Went home around one or so. Not too late. I could have stayed, I guess, but my mom and stepdad's house is, like I said, just down the street from P-'s parents' place, and I wasn't THAT drunk- I could still walk the two blocks, of course.

This morning, P-, Z-, A- and R- came to pick me up and we all went to the Blue Star for breakfast. We walked, and now my hip hurts like fuck since it's snowing and damp and I kept slipping on the ice. Just got out of the bath, and just took a bunch of codeine. Pain relief, am I right? Haha. Fucking addict. I'm surprised Z- made it, actually. He was really fucked up last night; ended up spending about two hours in the bathroom just fucking dry-heaving like a man posessed. I played doctor, of course, and made sure he had an open window, water close at hand, and constant supervision... I was afraid he'd pass out and choke on his puke, it was that bad. Oh well, it's comforting to know that even when I'm completely tanked, I'm able to perform first-aid competently.

Anyways, yeah. Good times had by all. Today, I'm simply relaxing. I've been spending most of my time with my dad, which is awesome, but today he's doing some visiting with people I don't really know and I think I'm all partied out, too, so I don't think I'll be calling any of my friends tonight. I'm just going to let the T3's do their work, drink my tea, and read The Heroin Diaries, by Nikki Sixx- awesome book. So yeah, ciao for now.

- FoxyContin

Birth of the Cool.

2009-12-24T22:31:00.005-05:00

Now that that's out...

It's Christmas Eve, 2009. I'm sitting in bed at Mom's house, with Russell under my arm. Russell is the smaller of our two Jack Russell Terriers (the larger one being- uh, Jack. Mom's idea, not mine. If it were up to me, the large, loudmouthed one would be Frasier, and the dainty little skittish one would be Niles.)

I'm trying to relax. Tomorrow is Christmas day. I got gifts for Mom, M- (stepdad), and Dad; gifts I think they will all love. I will spend Christmas Day with my noisy, obnoxious, hilarious Italian family. Later, the cousins and I will probably go blaze in the hot tub (which we did the other day and it was fucking awesome- you haven't gotten stoned until you've gotten stoned in a hot tub, out of a water bottle, with christmas lights all around you. Fuck yeah.) My puppy is cuddling with me, I'm glowing on codeine (sue me), I have solved my moral crisis, and for the moment, everything is hanging in the balance... my life is not perfect; it never is, never has been, and never will be, but it is okay, and for the moment, "okay" is more than enough.

To all of my readers, most of whom are as troubled, if not more so, than I, I hope that things are okay for you too. I hope that, in this coming year, you experience new things. Discover something new about yourself that you like. Make a new friend. Solve a problem that's plagued you for a long time. I hope that you keep your health, whatever degree of it you have. I hope that whenever you are depressed, you find something to hold on to. I hope that your life takes an unexpected turn for the better.

As for me, I'm going to watch some Frasier, cuddle my puppy, and enjoy my new fuzzy blanket that smells really, really good. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy Hannukah, Eid mubarak, happy Kwanzaa, and whatever else you celebrate, I hope it's happy too.

- FoxyContin

You were with me all along.

2009-12-24T22:13:00.004-05:00

I have a toxic twin. We'll call him T-. He lives in London (Ontario.)

He, like me, has a great love for chemicals.

He, unlike me, isn't a useless nothing, and he just completed his Masters degree; he's starting his PhD next year.

He likes me. I like him.

I almost cheated on the Boy.

We were making plans to get a hotel together for New Years Eve and the following day and night. We were going to have a few drinks and probably wind up fucking, since we've discussed it and have expressed, in no uncertain terms, what we'd like to do with each other.

I suppose just becoming close with T- is unfaithful in and of itself, but that is neither here nor there. Some time last night, or was it the night before... I messaged T- and told him that plans had changed; don't buy those bus tickets to Niagara, because I wouldn't be able to do it. He was understanding, albeit disappointed.

If I were single, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I can't.

No matter how much the Boy has pissed me off, I have discovered that I simply cannot fuck someone else behind his back, no matter how close I am to the person, how attractive they are, no matter what they can offer me.

T- is a wonderful, if somewhat misguided, young man. He has a lot going for him. But he's head over heels for me, and I'm starting to fall for him too, on the tails of my own failing relationship. Am I going to suddenly elope with the Boy and live out a happy ending? No. Chances are, things won't work, since we just want such different things out of life.

At the same time, no matter how immature, or unreasonable, or irritating he can be... the Boy still doesn't deserve such a betrayal.

And T- doesn't deserve to be led on by a girl who still belongs- if only partially- to someone else.

So there seems to be, at least, a shred of goodness, of dignity, left inside of me.

I haven't forgotten all of the shit I've been through this past year or so, or how angry he makes me, and I'm not saying that I necessarily expect things to even change. I won't tell the Boy about how close I came, because he will never understand. All I know is that if I'd done it, I could never live with myself, and now, I can.

So I resisted temptation; if not for the man the Boy is now, then for the man I fell in love with four years ago, who didn't turn away from me when I told him all my faults, or when I was in the hospital, or the countless times I was a raving lunatic, both figuratively and literally.

I'm not going to hurt you, even if we aren't meant to be. Okay? I promise.

- FoxyContin

Crave.

2009-11-26T16:44:00.004-05:00

The Boy has gone to Kingston to visit his brother and sister for a few days. My Dad is coming to visit me, but not until tomorrow. I didn't have work or school today, so I slept in, talked to my mom on the phone, lounged around in my pyjamas, and snorted Percocet all day long. I feel delightful.

A sad video, linked by a friend of mine on a forum I've been a member of for years:

View it HERE

Very sad. Shocking. Triggering, too, unfortunately. I'm a bad person, but I think we've already established that.

Anyway, I'm really looking forward to my Dad coming tomorrow :) I haven't seen him since my uncle's funeral in the summer... I'm going to show him around the town. We might even go down to Niagara- that's a maybe, though, because he hit a deer and the front end of his car is all fucked up, so he doesn't know if he wants to drive that far (it's, like, 3 - 3 1/2 hours away.) Can't say I blame him.

It's okay anyway, there is plenty to do here. I am thinking I'll show him my university... both the current AND the new (under construction) campus, maybe swing him by work to meet the boss and my friends, take him to the reptile store because Cricket will need food, and if the weather is nice, maybe we will go for a walk on some of the trails! My Dad loves nature, so it'll be great.

As far as food goes, today I have only had some Pillsbury raspberry turnovers. Not exactly healthy, but that's all there was in the house. I doubt I'll eat again. One of the pluses about being away from the Boy is that I'm not constantly stressed and upset, and so I don't want to binge. Whenever I'm away from him, I feel great. It's when he comes back that it all goes to shit. I can't wait until I get my next OSAP payment... then, I think... I'm leaving. I'll have the funds.

Anyway, that's all for now.

- FoxyContin

Taking the green pill.

2009-11-08T22:30:00.005-05:00

Street value of oxycodone in my area is $1/mg, meaning that an 80 mg OxyContin is worth $80.

(and i have one, but i'm not selling it. friend of mine owed me a favour.)

Thursday, the Boy will be in Kingston. I'm skipping school and I don't have work.

I wonder what it'll be like to have a full day of not having to give a shit about anything...

- FoxyContin

Skinned. (Possibly triggering - S.I.)

2009-10-25T03:58:00.004-04:00

It's 3:58 a.m. and despite taking two Ativans, I'm nowhere near tired.

I was looking through some of my stuff this evening when I came across some old razorblades. Without thinking, I stretched out my right arm, palm-side up, and pressed the corner of the blade up against where I could feel a vein bulge. There was a small "pop" as the blade penetrated the skin, and when I lifted the blade away I could see a small divot about a millimetre across, slowly welling up with bright red blood.

So I dug the corner of the blade into the bloody divot and dragged it to the left, making an incision roughly an inch and a half long. The skin split open at the sides, and the subcutaneous fat layer beneath the skin was visible, although the crevice quickly filled with blood.

I cut another, parallel line above it. Another, below. And finally, a fourth line diagonally across- you know, like how people keep score with lines. They bled rather excessively. I let the blood flow down my arm for a bit, every so often stopping to sop it up with a kleenex (then another, then another) so as not to mess my bed.

It occurred to me that I should disinfect myself, so I went to the bathroom and dumped peroxide over the wounds. After rinsing, I noticed that the skin at the corner of where some of the lines intersected was sort of... raised. So I picked up a pair of fingernail cutters, gripped them lightly, and began to peel the skin upwards from the underlying flesh, cutting it off once I'd reached the point where I could pull no further.

I went back to my room and began dissecting my arm with the aid of a pair of sharp nail scissors and a cuticle trimmer. I wasn't aiming for a design, or anything really. What I have now is a strange, starlike patch of tissue surrounded by deep lines and bruised skin (from underlying bleeding.)

Finally, I snapped out of it. I washed it one more time, bandaged it, and now I am wearing an armband over the bandages to keep pressure on it for a while, since it really wasn't clotting too well. Can't help but wonder what kind of scar I'll have.

The strangest part of all this is that I really didn't feel much pain aside from a generalized dull ache. I could feel myself tugging at my skin with the clippers, and the skin peeling away from the tissue beneath... but without the pain that one would assume would go along with it.

And I'm not on any painkillers right now. So that... is... weird.

Anyway, I'm sorry this wasn't very pleasant. As if it ever is. I'm so stressed lately- I'm working FIVE shifts a week, as well as school. And if I don't maintain a 75... no honours for me. I'm trying desperately to hold it all together...

... I just hope everything works out...

- FoxyContin

Postmodern Sleaze.

2009-10-17T16:17:00.004-04:00

My step-grandmother died yesterday. She was one of the kindest, sweetest, most genuinely loving people I've ever met. Even though she wasn't my blood grandmother, she's always treated me like I was family, every bit as important as her other grandchildren. I loved her... I'm going to miss her a lot.

This is my two-hundredth post, by the way. It's funny. I've been looking back at some of my old stuff. Almost discouraging how I've been getting progressively worse instead of better.

I'm high on codeine- again. Not sure how much. I just downed a handful (literally) of T3s. Probably ten or maybe a few more. I don't bother counting anymore.

Not much else to say.

- FoxyContin

Seroquel and codeine.

2009-10-15T23:53:00.005-04:00

The Boy slapped me across the face last night. Yeah. So hard that my head actually snapped backward and I hit my head against the window (we were in the car.) I now have a rather disgusting looking bruise across my left cheek. I, of course, have had to lie to everyone about what happened. I should really blow the whistle on him, I know, but instead I've just been shoveling pills into my mouth constantly; keeping myself numb. Mostly Tylenol with codeine (and my liver is probably dying) and my Seroquel at double-dosage, not to mention some Xanax I got a hold of.

When I'm high I don't really give a shit about anything. I actually scratched the skin off the back of my right hand with my nails until there was blood everywhere. Didn't feel a thing. I love to bleed. It's the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore.

Doesn't matter anyway. I'm nothing but a filthy drug-addicted crazy bitch. It's strange, but I find that depravity can be appealing. I'd like to just go to a party somewhere, snort a few rails and down some Valium, probably wind up in some back room with some guy I don't know. Get all cracked out and slice up my arms with a razor blade. I don't really see much point in living anymore. I'd like to just get drugged up, beaten, sliced, poisoned. Kill myself. It's what I deserve.

That's all for now. Stupid update, yeah.

- FoxyContin

To readers who may get the wrong idea.

2009-10-09T13:39:00.007-04:00

I realize that someone coming across this blog and reading certain posts- especially the last few- might get the wrong idea about what I'm trying to do here. I want to make it very clear that I am NOT pro-ED in any way. I do not want to be eating disordered; I AM eating disordered, and have been for many years.

Yes, I DO use "thinspiration," I am ashamed to say. I have an entire folder full of women whose bodies I envy. I've been hoarding images like this since I was... oh... about nine years old or so. I tend to bust it out at times when I am feeling especially desperate- which has been a lot lately, ever since these meds have made my weight go out of control. That is why, again, I apologize if the "Thinspire me" post I did recently is in bad taste. But this is my blog, and I intend to use it as a direct window into my thoughts, whatever they may be.

I have always tried to be dead honest about the reality that is an eating disorder. I have numerous health issues stemming from my years of disordered eating and certainly don't mind sharing with you how unpleasant they are.

Here's what my face looked like when I was thin. Appealing, isn't it? Does that look like the face of someone who's having fun? Or someone who's about to die?

Heart murmur.
Orthostatic blood pressure.
Liver damage.
Digestive problems.
Chipped teeth.
Flimsy fingernails.
Bone density loss at age 23.
Cramps.
Fainting.
Bruises.
Dehydration.

Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me?

And yet, because of the addictive nature of an eating disorder, yes. I DO wish I was thin again. It all goes back to that. I may be a healthy size now, but I am not well. So while it may seem like a horrible thing to "want to be sick again," I'm sure that all the anorexics, bulimics, and NOS' out there who are in a similar situation will understand completely what I mean.

That's all for now.

- FoxyContin

More of the same.

2009-10-08T20:34:00.004-04:00

I got the job I was after. I am now a pharmacy assistant. It's a fun job. And before anyone asks, no, I haven't stolen any goodies from the narcs cabinet and will not be doing so. Much as I love a good balls-tripping, it's not worth risking my job (and freedom, since I could get a prison sentence) for.

I am still fat. I still cannot stop eating. I have a cut on the roof of my mouth, which makes eating painful as fuck, and I still cannot stop eating. I have eaten 1040 calories today, and knowing my fat ass, I will probably get up in the middle of the night and eat more. There is no use in denying it. I can say "but it's the meds that's causing it" all I want- it doesn't change the fact that I am a fat, ugly, pimply waste of skin.

My skin is breaking out again since I'm under so much stress, so add that to the list of reasons why I hate showing my face in public. Also, all my baggy clothes were in the wash today, so I had to go to class in tight jeans and a tight t-shirt, feeling like a goddamn sausage. I bounce and jiggle all over the place when I move, and today I couldn't even hide it. I am embarassed; I am disgusted.

The only thing about me that is even remotely attractive now is, ironically, my nails. I have been able to get them to grow again. At least I have that.

I'm just waiting for that moment; that breaking point where everything goes from bearable to too-much and I begin to spiral down again. I'm trying to overwhelm myself; I deliberately leave assignments until the last moment, I offer myself up for extra shifts at work, despite desperately needing to study, I've joined the community charity organization and am sitting on a panel of judges for an upcoming writing competition through my school. I deprive myself of sleep. I drink ungodly amounts of sugar-free Red Bull. I skip my pills. I have neglected to see my psychiatrist in over a month, and when the office calls, I promise I'll schedule an appointment "later," which I never do.

I don't want to be human, because a human is weak. I want to be a machine without need of sleep, food, love, or anything else. I want to do nothing but work. I don't want time to stop and think. I want to run myself dry. I want to be sustained by my own congealed stores of fuel until there is nothing left and I am no longer anything but a sinewy, perfect being without an ounce of superfluous flesh. I do not deserve to take up so much space, so I must whittle myself away. I want to be thin again. I need to be thin again. I have to be like I once was; a tiny, slender, breakable thing, lost in sweaters and jeans, able to disappear instantly if needed. When I used to starve, nothing bothered me. I didn't care. I need that again, that hollow absence of feeling. I'm sick of anxiety, I'm sick of craving affection, I'm sick of feeling anything. I'm sick of being healthy. I want to be sick again.

- FoxyContin

Full body shot.

2009-09-27T22:49:00.004-04:00

It's come to my attention that people who read this but don't know me may think that I am exaggerating when I talk about how awful I look. For those who doubt me, here's a recent, full-body picture of me. The Boy (who isn't too bright anyway) thinks that the best way to boost my self-esteem is to take pictures of me posing like a model. That's great and all, except that I'm not built like a model, since models are tall and willowy and I'm short and doughy.

Observe:

How fucking disgusting.

I ate 200 calories today. Good for me. I hope I have a fucking hypokalemia-induced heart attack and die.

- FoxyContin

Thinspire me.

2009-09-26T20:43:00.010-04:00

I don't care who it offends. I don't care if I'm going to hell. I don't care. If you don't like it, skip this post. I need some thinspiration. I eat when I'm pissed off, and I'm pissed off a lot lately. So I need SOMETHING to counteract this shit. Here goes.

- FoxyContin

Nothing changes.

2009-09-24T17:05:00.003-04:00

As of late, the Boy has become even more insufferable- something I never thought possible. He woke me up this morning by ordering me around and swearing at me. Yanked the cord out of my computer and took it away. Even tried to take my breakfast away. Been like this for a few days now.

There was a mountain of dishes in the sink, most of which came from him, his brother, and his sister. On the stove was a full glass baking bowl of shepherds pie which he forced me to make for him (and then ate one serving and didn't touch again,) and a huge wok full of fried rice made by his brother. He didn't wash a single thing, and literally yelled at me to do it, telling me it was my job. (Meanwhile, I'm doing three large assignments and just getting over the flu.)

He won't do laundry, ever. I have to do it. He won't cook, ever. I have to do it. Every night, he comes into my room, stares at me, and says "what are you making for dinner?" If I tell him I'm not hungry right now, or I'm really busy tonight, can't you make something? He will just eat bowl after bowl of cereal or a bag of chips and then whine about how fat he is.

I hate him, I think. I really do.

Anyway, at least right now I'm in the computer lab at school, away from him. I told him I had work to do, citing that as the reason why I wanted to come in an hour early, but the reality is that I just needed to get away.

That's all for now.

- FoxyContin

"Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people" - Carl Jung

2009-09-06T03:39:00.004-04:00

Once again, it's 3:44 a.m. and I'm not asleep. At this point, I don't think it'd really be worth it to try.

I rearranged my entire closet, a favourite pastime of mine when I am feeling particularly antsy. I'm hungry, but I'm always hungry, thanks to these fucking medications. I'm hungry even after eating so much my stomach literally bulges and I'm in pain. Fuck my life.

I guess I shouldn't really complain; after all, there are many out there who have it far worse than I, but damn it, this is my blog, and I'll bitch if I want to.

Bitch about my meds.

Bitch about the fact that I have to get additional bloodwork this month.

Bitch about the fact that I wound up on academic probation and am at serious risk of flunking out of University and becoming certifiably useless.

Bitch about the fact that my boyfriend likes toilet humour and video games WAY too much for someone who is almost thirty. It's like I'm dating a fourteen year-old.

Oh well. At least school starts soon.

- FoxyContin

All the king's horses and all the king's men could never put a smile on that face.

2009-08-27T18:22:00.003-04:00

Ramadhan Mubarak to all my Muslim readers out there.

Today, I'm shaky and having chest pains. Too much ephedrine and not enough food again. I'm fasting in support of the Boy and his brother and sister who are visiting- I mean, I don't want to look like a jerk and eat in front of them while they can't.

Got a haircut yesterday; cut it even shorter than last time. It's up to my ears now; personally, I love it. SO much easier to manage.

I'm back down to 134 lbs from a whopping 149 (FFFUUUUUUU-) which is what I was at when I was down in Niagara.

What else... ah. Bought Ayn Rand's "Atlas Shrugged" yesterday; going to start in on it soon. It's a must-read for pretentious young lit-snob intellectuals such as myself, apparently. It is also 1069 pages long with print that is about half the size of the print you are currently reading. I mean, I read incredibly fast, so I don't care too much, but it's definitely the longest book I have come across yet. (Unless you count Gray's Anatomy, which isn't so much "long" as "full of hard-to-remember information.")

I just requested the preliminary test from MENSA. I'm scared to take it- as it stands right now, my IQ is 139- this being the score that I got when I was first tested. If I score less than that... it will completely change how I feel about myself. I qualified for MENSA when I was young... what if I don't qualify now? A stupid thing to worry about, perhaps, but... whatever.

Ran out of stuff to say.

- FoxyContin

"My equilibrium's off, must be the lithium. I don't have to buy drugs, my doctors give me 'em."

2009-08-22T12:05:00.004-04:00

I'm back.

Sorry for disappearing for so long like that, but like I said... was down in Niagara, and there's no way I was gonna access this blog from my parents' computer.

While I was down, my uncle passed away. I got a call at 3:45 a.m. from my dad, saying that my uncle had just died. He was 51 years old and healthy; after dinner that night, he wasn't feeling well, and told my aunt he wanted to lie down. About an hour later, when she went to check on him, he wasn't breathing. He died of a heart attack in his sleep.

My family- well, my dad's side- are all really close. Losing my uncle was like losing a parent. I was in shock for days. I still don't think it's cleared through the circuits entirely yet.

I spent a lot of time distracting myself as much as possible. I stole a bottle of T3's from a friend's house (yeah, I don't care) and used that to quell some of my anxiety.

Oh, and shortly after I arrived down in Niagara, I weighed myself and was shocked to see that I was 149 pounds. As of today, I'm 137. It's a battle, but I do what I can. I've been stuffing diet pills in my face every day, drinking litres and litres of ice water, fasting for hours...

I don't want to be fat anymore.

Anyway, I'm going for a walk.

- FoxyContin