How do I convince myself?

I feel horrible right now. I feel tired, unmotivated, dehydrated, and fat fat fat. I know, fat is not a bad thing. But right now, in my brain, I can concentrate on nothing but the bulges of my body and how my clothes don't fit right and how I had a double chin in a picture that my brother's wife took the other night. I haven't been this big in years, and it's really getting me down. I keep wanting to revert, to give in and start counting calories again, if only just until I've lost weight again. At very least, I would like to fit my clothes properly. I don't have money or desire for a new wardrobe.
I know it doesn't make sense. I know there's nothing wrong with fat. I know that I think that certain people in my life are fat and I love them think they are beautiful and I love that they're positive about it. But when it comes to my body, even at my skinniest I felt like I had fat, jiggly, cellulite-pocked thighs. I used to dislike being fucked in ways that made my back fat crease (or, as some would say, my skin.) And now, now when I am (or I feel I am, I don't actually know) as big as I was before I reached my goal weight in second year of uni, I have a hard time reconciling myself with it. Fat is what I blamed all of my problems on in middle school and high school, why I stayed in a relationship that I probably should have gotten out of, why I felt the need to slut myself out to people that I wasn't really attracted to at all. Fat has been blamed for rather a lot in my life, and it doesn't help to have so many people around me buying into the shit that I hate but subscribe to as well. How was I supposed to feel like I was enough for JF when I was fat/chubby when his comments about how hot I was increased a thousandfold when I lost weight? (It should be said that he said that I was enough, but I think you can see the disparity in the pattern, or maybe that was just me being overly sensitive to that sort of thing.) How is anyone supposed to feel like they're enough, in this bloody society where putting yourself down has become a spectator sport? I honestly and truly hate that I feel this way about myself. I want to love my fat. I want to be able to feel like I can be whatever and I will be loved no matter what, but there's something in the way, and I don't know what it is. But in the end, hating any part of myself, whether it's the horrible impulse to restrict (and hate) myself or not, is not conducive to actually getting better and being able to accept myself for what I am.
I need my Sark book back from SC. And possibly to borrow some books from S. And to read Osho. But instead? I have to study for bio, because otherwise I'm going to get another B on my test and I can't have that. Do you think I'm much of a perfectionist? Fuck.

[Blue]berries

I'm back to the same feeling, this inevitability, this shaking (in all probability soon to be crying) sensation of things being ripped out from under my feet just as I am getting my bearings, feeling like things are right. And the blueberries just remind me, make me think of not knowing what to do once the mix tape was made and given, too late to do anything else but worry and shiver and eat the berries until I felt sick, them bursting on my tongue like little hearts (to roughly quote Sinclair on the Sugarbutch Chronicles.)
Then, it was me leaving. I was going to get in my car and drive away the next day, whether I wanted to or not. And if I had stayed, there would have been nothing for me. I left, and I found more than I ever would have if I had attempted to stay put.
And the time before that, with JB: it's the same feeling-- the same inability to look at someone's face, for what seems like six ages I stare at hands, chests, shoulders... I dig my face into them so I don't have to see what I'm leaving behind, so I can already begin to try to forget the strength of my emotions when I see their faces, smell their smells.
At one point I knew the smell of JB and A, could have vivid flashbacks if I encountered those scents-- but now I can't recall them-- I wonder if I smelled them again (without them present) whether I'd be able to link it back to them. I wonder how long it will be before I forget J's smell, whether I'll remember it at all when it's faded from my skin and clothes. Scent has such powerful ability to conjure memories for me, or to spark intense emotions. Today, there was still a whiff of J when I moved my hand near my face and I was struck-- so sad and joyful and fond, simultaneously.

I realize that this post is a jumble of emotions and words wrapped together so tightly they don't make much sense (being the geek I am, I want to make an analogy to histones and DNA and being so closely knit so transcription factors can get in, but I realize that it would just make me seem even more pompous than I sometimes come across, and not everyone is familiar with the molecular packaging of our genome. Yes, I am a nerd of monumental proportions, and I love it.) Notwithstanding, the emotional outpouring is going to continue for today, because I feel all a-jumble, and I don't want to pretend I'm feeling something I don't, or present a person, or anything phoney (oh Holden*, you dickhead, I love you.) like that. I'm also lacking sleep, which helps take off what little filter I have.

I keep hearing a loop of that one line in that (admittedly pretty poorly written) Mae song that says, "this time is the last time, be here, here now"

More Fair

They left me

with your shadow,

saying things like

Life is not fair

& I believed them

for a long time.

But today,

I remembered

the way you

laughed

& the heat

of your hand

in mine

& I knew that

life is more fair

than we can

ever imagine

if
we are there to live

it

--StoryPeople

*Holden Caufield, people. Catcher in the Rye?

Two completely unrelated snippets

I accrue things like this that I like. So I thought I'd share:

And among the crowds, someone asked, "what about of beauty?"
And the prophet responded.

"We have heard her shouting among the mountains,
And with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions."
At night the watchmen of the city say,
"Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east."
And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say,
"we have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." In winter say the snow-bound,
"She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." And in the summer heat the reapers say,
"We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." All these things have you said of beauty.
Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied, And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy.
It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, But rather a heart enflamed and a soul enchanted.
It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, But rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, But rather a garden forever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight.
People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Khalil Gibran

And this one:

"When two people of few words get together you'd be surprised how much gets said. There's a lot of staring off into the distance or down at boots rolling spark plugs around in the gravel, but it is all part of a mutual understanding of quality patience that is really beautiful to witness." http://jasperjvalentine.blogspot.com/2009/02/first-annual-ellington-pride-festival.html

Beautiful.

Mardi Gras, indeed

(just in case you are not familiar with what Mardi Gras means-- aside from boobs, king cake, and beads-- it's French for Fat Tuesday)

There are several things on my mind, but I've been too tired and/or busy to focus and try and process. (Note that I still should be busy, but am not doing my work.) In no particular order:

I have been reacquainting myself with peanut butter, which used to be a trigger food of mine. It's been ok for the most part, but I had a little (subjective) binge yesterday, which was mostly out of boredom and desire to avoid work, plus anxiety about going out to eat with my brother and his wife (yes, I know, I never said my impulses were smart.) I'm trying really hard not to berate myself for it, and to remember that when I go for a run it's not to earn back calories but to enjoy myself and be healthy and present. This morning I remembered that Osho says something about removing yourself from thinking of whatever you're deriving pleasure from is the cause of your happiness, and recognize that it comes from yourself, not some external force. So my goal is to do that when I'm thinking about food and doing my usual quest for a specific taste.

In a similar vein, I was talking to my mom about how I feel like she's always sending me mixed messages about food, because at one point she'll talk about how skinny she thinks I am, and then the next minute she'll say something about me eating so much. She told me that the two are not related: yes, I eat a lot, but I am also skinny. She also went on to say something about how my brother thinks that I am a rail and he's worried about me still (he was extremely worried when I met up with him in April two years ago, which is when I was at my skinniest [and scariest]-- my other brother who, incidentally, also had an eating disorder, never said anything except a few snide remarks about being on a diet. You may be able to tell which brother I like more.)I told her that I have put on weight, which she acknowledged, and that it had gone past the point (for me) of feeling like it was good to gain weight, that I felt like I was as big as I was at the beginning of my second year of university. Which is true, that's how I feel. But instead of freaking out and doing what I did back then (restrict, over-exercise, hate myself) I am trying to make this into something new. I cannot sustain myself, hang my idea of myself on this image of me as something that is not healthy for me. And even in the thick of my eating-disordered haze, it was all under the pretense of being healthier. Now, I need to remember that I am healthy. I can run, jump, play... I am able-bodied and I want to be able to love my body for what it can do, what it does, what it is at this exact second. Wasn't that what I decided I would do around New Years? (I don't do resolutions, but I came to a realization that I need to love myself exactly as I am now, no preconditions, and no waiting.) While I have made some leaps (no more writing down everything I eat-- it's been just over 4 weeks!)I constantly feel like there's so much to do, so much "self-help". In reality, that's bullshit. I am worthy of loving right this bloody second. Yes.

(I'll keep telling myself that.)

Also in the category of leaps, I've been on half of the dosage I was on for meds for three weeks now. I decided to stick it out, and it feels good. Especially to think that I could potentially go off of them and not feel so freaking dependent on them all the time. As so many people forget, meds are not supposed to cure you, they're a crutch. And I've always been one to get off of crutches as fast as possible. I've given it since December '06. I'm in a much better place than I was then, so the time for this peach is ripe. (Ha! oh, I do apologize.)

Right. I'll admit I've been putting off blogging about this, because. That's right, just because. Sunday night was J's leaving party. First thing that happens: knock on door, door opened by SS (no, not Nazi brute force. It's just the way the abbreviating thing happened.) It's immediately apparent that both of us are appraising each other, familiar with J's proposition of a group encounter. We settle down on the couch for some awkward conversation (NB: surprisingly un-awkward considering my record.) Party proceeds, lots of fun happens. By the way, telephone pictionary rocks my socks. There's interesting people around, J is fucked up (remnants of last week's brownies, plus some booze.) SS and I interact for little bits at a time, mostly teasing J and acknowledgments of each other's taste/humor/whatever. At some point in the night, I start to get a horrific headache, which (I'll admit) was probably due to not eating. At the end of the night, we gave S a big hug and... stood around awkwardly. Commenting on the awkwardness, but not really doing much to dispel it (thus build-up of awkward, as Jeff from Coupling would put it, grows like the blob from space. There are no puppies trapped in a car in this case, though.) Eventually, things got awkwardly started (I don't know much about it, since my only other group sex experience went awry when one of the girls decided her boyfriend mackin' on her best friend was too much for her [might I add that her 'boyfriend' was not exclusive and that I was fucking him?], but I get the impression that there's not really many cases when there's not a little bit of awkward.) I won't give a blow by blow, but it was hot. I was reminded of quite how much I love women's bodies, of how much women freaking intrigue me all the time. --Ok, so I'm intrigued by so many people, not just women, but the whole women aspect of it was particularly present at that point. Might I also note that although I identify as not entirely straight (that's the easiest way to put it) I haven't had the opportunity to be with a woman except in this and the aforementioned foursome-gone-bad. So there's that aspect of not really knowing exactly how to do things, an element of exploration, if you will.--
I'll admit that I wasn't expecting that much. I wasn't feeling well to begin with, and I was worried [when I had been thinking about it before] that I would spend the entire time comparing myself to her and generally being anxious. Which was not true at all-- because it wasn't about (for me, at least) just sharing J, it was about sharing her as well. And that was amazing. The only thing that worried me were that she didn't get to come enough. How's that for anxiety? As for possible lamentations? a)we were all tired and/or messed up, b)other people not involved in the house [I like noise. Yes, I do.] c)not being able to do it again, because like with any lover [or at least, good ones] you learn more about how to please each other as you go along.
C'est tout. (I don't know whether you can use it in French, but in English slang translated, c'est chaud.)

I also heard from A last night, he was wondering why he hadn't heard from me in a while (which is weird because I thought I texted him on Tuesday and our communication is usually lots in one go and then nothing for a week. Which typically has to do with the kind of communication it is, really.) He's not the planning type, but I wonder if I could wrangle a rendez-vous from him during spring break... (wrangle, A's in TX, get it? waa-waa.)

Et maintenant, je cours. (Oh, que j'adore Francais)

Some new-age wisdom

I got this off of Heather Corinna (http://femmerotic.com/journal/) and it touches on a lot of stuff I've been contemplating of late:

"There is a Tibetan teaching that is often translated as, “Self-cherishing is the root of all suffering.” It can be hard for a Western person to hear the term “self-cherishing” without misunderstanding what is being said. I would guess that 85% of us Westerners would interpret it as telling us that we shouldn’t care for ourselves—that there is something anti-wakeful about respecting ourselves. But that isn’t what it really means. What it is talking about is fixating. “Self-cherishing” refers to how we try to protect ourselves by fixating; how we put up walls so that we won’t have to feel discomfort or lack of resolution. That notion of self-cherishing refers to the erroneous belief that there could be only comfort and no discomfort, or the belief that there could be only happiness and no sadness, or the belief that there could be just good and no bad.

But what the Buddhist teachings point out is that we could take a much bigger perspective, one that is beyond good and evil. Classifications of good and bad come from lack of maitri. We say that something is good if it makes us feel secure and it’s bad if it makes us feel insecure. That way we get into hating people who make us feel insecure and hating all kinds of religions or nationalities that make us feel insecure. And we like those who give us ground under our feet.

When we are so involved with trying to protect ourselves, we are unable to see the pain in another person’s face. “Self-cherishing” is ego fixating and grasping: it ties our hearts, our shoulders, our head, our stomach, into knots. We can’t open. Everything is in a knot. When we begin to open we can see others and we can be there for them. But to the degree that we haven’t worked with our own fear, we are going to shut down when others trigger our fear.

So to know yourself is to forget yourself. This is to say that when we make friends with ourselves we no longer have to be so self-involved. It’s a curious twist: making friends with ourselves is a way of not being so self-involved anymore. Then Dogen Zen-ji goes on to say, “To forget yourself is to become enlightened by all things.” When we are not so self-involved, we begin to realize that the world is speaking to us all of the time. Every plant, every tree, every animal, every person, every car, every airplane is speaking to us, teaching us, awakening us. It’s a wonderful world, but we often miss it." --Pema Chodron

It's also closely related to the Osho I've been reading-- he's talking about something different (happiness vs. pleasure), but it boils down to the same essentials:

"If you are strong, then you are ready to fight. If you are weak, then you are ready to fly, to take flight. But in neither case are you becoming stronger. In both cases the other has become the center of your mind. These are the two attitudes, fight or flight, and both are wrong because through both the mind is strengthened.

Patanjali says there is a third possibility: Don't fight and don't escape, just be alert. Just be conscious. Whatsoever is the case, just be a witness. Conscious effort means, one, searching for the inner source of happiness and, two, witnessing the old pattern of habits. Not fighting it, just witnessing it."

It may seem like these really aren't all that related, but they both come down to what Osho calls cessation of mind, and Pema Chodron calls becoming friends with yourself. To giving up the fight in order to win it. This has a lot to do with many things in my life, from my tendency to want to run away from responsibility(moving from England to WA to Atlanta and possibly back again?), the ways I try to deal with my eating disorder (alternately fighting and fleeing), relationships, the way I communicate... the more I read things like this the more I get sucked in by this promise of calm, of balance.

I must admit when I first started reading things on the same sort of wavelength (the Alchemist, Siddhartha, Osho, the Tao te Ching, etc.) I was more than a little skeptical. But then, despite my doubts, something resonates with me and I feel like they're bringing me back to the resources of my own soul. Which is what I need, and what I want: it always has been my goal to be independent. (I don't mean fiscally.) Reading these has made me realize that I don't need to be isolated to be independent.

-----------------------------

Ok, "deep" stuff aside, I've been making some plans with some of my friends for my visit to England in May, and I am so excited. I get so hyper about it that I will literally scream and clap my hands. Yes, I am a big kid. Yes, I love it.

Did I mention? Don't pay me any attention...

Apparently I suck at using my scanner, and there is no way to rotate my image. So, I apologize, but if you ignore the Garfield and don't mind swiveling your head 'round, today's Stone Soup made me giggle, so I thought I'd share it. Oh, Beyonce, you do make me wiggle.

Bloggosaurus regina

Ok, so maybe not quite queen, but I don't know the Latin for princess, all right? I just like the sound of it anyway, it's got nothing to do with the caliber that I think my blog is at.

For my peace of mind (ha! I just typed 'for my peach of mind') I decided to calculate the calories I have burned this week from all my running (Mon, Wed, Fri, and today-- woot!) and try and roughly see if I was balanced in terms of eating calories (I know, I should be focused on what I eat, not how much it comes up to... I'm working on it.) I have burnt around 2,600 calories on those four runs and the little bits afterwards. More than feeling proud about the number of calories I've burnt, though, is this beautiful blooming sensation of happiness that eschews from my chest and radiates through my body. I knew I liked to run, but I forgot how much I love it. It's kind of like the Osho book I'm reading (Yoga: the science of the soul-- I know, it sound hokey but it's got some interesting points.) He talks about how sex is a glimpse of happiness:
"For a single moment you feel at ease. All the miseries have disappeared, all the mental agony is no more. For a single moment you are here and now, you have forgotten all. For a single moment there is no past and no future. Because of this [...] the energy flows from within you. Your inner self flows in this moment..."
I definitely feel this way while I'm running. (Yes, and during sex, too.) I am just there, my feet pounding pavement or earth, breathing and smelling and seeing and smiling.

My dreams know more than I do

I remembered, whilst rummaging for a piece of scrap paper to do my (food) calculations on [I didn't do them! I'm going to continue to try not to] a scrap of paper on which I had written the synopses of two dreams that I had wanted to write short stories out of. Maybe one day they will blossom into stories, but I quite like the synopses (even if the first one doesn't make a whole bucket load of sense.)

1) A girl, daughter of 2nd or 3rd generation Auschwitz survivors, who desires to have the experience of being in the death camp-- not to learn from it, but to be punished-- to be starved to death and worked literally to the bone. To garner some punishment she goes to Germany and dresses up as Gestapo/in Nazi uniform to provoke the government to arrest her. They do, but their punishments are not enough for her and they have no death penalty, so they send her back to the US for trial, where she cannot be accused of anything earning her the "electric chair" so she stays in jail.
[obviously, this is unfinished--it is a dream, after all. I vaguely remember there being an intense lack of closure, like being in the mollycoddling American jail was not enough pain for the girl. I've got some stuff to work on if I'm actually going to make anything of this eventually.]

2) A girl, just sitting at a piano, someone sitting on her left. Her mother comes in and hands her sheet music, stands on her right. The girl doesn't start, and explains that she doesn't play piano. The mother insists that she remembers the daughter playing excellently, and the girl goes on to inform her mother that when she did play piano it was entirely by memory, that she doesn't know the names of the keys or how to read music. The mother asks about the girl's two brothers, and she replies that none of her mother's children were child prodigies. The mother, almost in realization (but calm) says, "you never were very good at anything, were you?" The girl, just as calmly, hands the sheet music back to her mother and says, "no, I was enough."

"I look so strong when the weight of all the world

don't take it's toll" --Bayside

Today, when sitting down to lunch awkwardly with my post-bac pre-med cohorts in the tiny, windowless "events support" room, the subject (as it so often does, in this company) of applying to med schools came up. H was saying something about doing research because it looks good and the schools want someone more "scientific minded" (I don't know about you, but to me that logic doesn't follow: you certainly don't have to hole yourself in decapitating lab rats or fiddling with test tubes to be scientifically-minded.) When she said that, a wave of disgust washed over me. Why the hell should I make myself miserable trying to bend over backward to please some impersonal school admissions committee, when in reality what I'm trying to do is follow (quite literally, in my case) my dreams? Then, after some time had passed, the conversation continued on to talk about specific schools and whether they have the option of being taught in the 'inquiry-based' (case study) style or not, and Q got out a freaking checklist. A checklist! I know intense, I do that. She's been in the pre-med-contemplative game longer than I have... but the way she goes about it, you'd think that it was a list of people to get killed before she can make her way to the throne. The whole tone of it just makes me physically nauseous. So, I got up and left. When I came back, they were still talking about it. So I left again. The third time, I came back and H asked me if I had looked at bridge programs in Ireland. I said something (I don't even remember what. Probably something along the lines of 'no, I am not... no... I can't talk about it') I then proceeded to run away to right outside of bio lab, where SC asked me how I was (which is of course my cue to start crying. Salt and water, hugs, texts, and some meticulous gel electrophoresis, and I'm feeling a little more set. But if I think about it too long, I feel like everything is going to come crashing down.

What I feel is futile. And not just in applying to med schools and trying to get the right pre-requisites (extra-curricular, I mean). I feel futile in a lot of the efforts I am making right now (or was making not too long ago): being vegan, persisting in reformatting things before I print them (double-sided) to save paper, trying to get myself to think in different ways... I feel ineffectual, like I could be trying this hard for years and years and the only thing that would happen is I would burn out.

I know this is melodramatic, and that is not totally true-- but, regardless, it is how I feel, and that is true too.

-------------
JF called me in lab. It makes me so mad when he does that. He can't freaking look at his watch and subtract 5 hours from his time, or just doesn't care or listen when I tell him I have school until 5 on Thursdays and he can't call me then. It's the same old bullshit that I dealt with when we went out, and I'm pretty fed up with it by now. After 5 years of knowing him (~3 of which spent dating him) I have had quite enough of not being listened to [there are countless times I have had very long, one-sided phone conversations with him.] I may not speak often, and sometimes what I say can be quite silly, but that is no reason to not listen to what issues from my mouth. If anything, that should be reason to pay attention even more (importance or amusement. Come on, isn't that compelling?) I'm on the same old rant I always am on about him, so I'll stop.

As usual, there's so much hanging over my head to get done, so I'll be on my busy little way.

Where is my mind?

At this moment, I should be doing some restriction mapping of some recombinant DNA. Instead, I am going to blog. I am excellent at procrastinating, I know. There are a few things on my mind that I feel the need to relieve before I can get anything done efficiently (and I need to wake up a bit more, to boot.)
So I reassessed Saturday night/Sunday morning, and I think I was just being over dramatic and there was still fondness... but as much as I enjoy his company, I don't think I'm falling as hard as I thought I was before. Maybe it's just me doing my usual distancing thing, or maybe that's just the way it is, but either way I think it's healthier for me, so I'm a little relieved. That being said, I'm still planning to keep very busy as soon as he leaves --including during Spring Break, which I believe will not be spent at Cocoa Beach with some of my cohorts because I'm just too different from them. Maybe I'll convince S to go to Fort Lauderdale or something. Or go camping. Or maybe I'll go see A in Texas (ooh v. good distraction)... anything to divert myself, basically. I suppose I should crack down on my studying, too.

A few days ago I sent Ju an email apologizing for being so rubbish about keeping in contact with him. I didn't explain anything about J, I just said some stuff about being a little emotionally messed up and that I appreciated his messages. He sent me back an email yesterday that said that he had been a little worried about me, and that he thinks I'm an amazing person that he has enjoyed spending time with... and then he asked me if I had an eating disorder. His sister and some of his last girlfriends have apparently had troubles with this, and he recognized it in me. He said some (intelligent and eloquent) things about it, and about how he understands in some ways because he's had similar issues except with sex (which definitely raised my eyebrows) and that he's figured it out a bit recently with the help of Osho book he lent me (among other things.)
It hit me really hard, that I am that transparent (at least, to him. There was something later that I'll touch upon.) I certainly don't try to hide it, since I feel like that just feeds into it, but I didn't think I was that apparent (and, it just hit me, I probably think this because I feel like I'm not skinny enough for it to be physically apparent.)

Then, later, when Q was talking about her friend that weighs out everything she eats and is obsessive about exercizing and eating right, I got really alarmed-- it sounded so much like how I used to be-- and said something (almost on the verge of tears) about how I was recovering, and that was why I got so worried. There I was, with Q, M, and H, telling them this, and they had little to no reaction. (That being said, I think if I was alone with M she would have. Q and H are kind of awkward around me, though. Or just in general.) I guess it was kind of out of place, and I didn't want a large reaction or anything... I just expected some kind of response. Like an indication that they didn't expect it, or even something that told me that they did. It just felt odd to have nothing said about it at all.

With all that said, I'm really having trouble these days with my eating. I've been eating when I'm not hungry, when I'm bored, when I don't want to work, when I need a break in between working, when I come home... whenever. I'm not listening to my body, and then I get upset about putting on weight, as much as I think that it shouldn't matter. I don't have a problem with other people having fat. I'm not even attracted to skinny girls (I am to skinny boys, though, strangely enough. But my attraction to guys has always been kind of weird and not about their body at all.) When it comes to my body, though, I don't want it. Or, at least, not this much. I can run again (which is amazing and I love it) which makes me feel like maybe I'll lose a bit again, but at the same time I don't want to fall back into the pattern of binging and then compensating like I used to do. I'm going to try hard to regain my balance without running as a crutch: to be able to enjoy running and not use it to rationalize the crap I stuff into my mouth without thinking, or to feel like I must go for a run to make up for overeating.
I also feel really shitty about my decision to go vegetarian to cut the cost and stress that catering to a vegan was causing my family. I like cheese and yogurt, yes. My choice to go vegan was never about likes or dislikes. The first few days it felt like my relationship with my mom was less strained than it has been in a while, so that made it feel a little better. Now, though, I'm just feeling like I'm gratuitously eating stuff that I don't agree with eating. I know that part of the reason my mom thought I went vegan was to make it easier to have my ED... and on some level she's right, but it's not what she thinks. It's about control, about being able to choose to have something that I am ethically all right with and not have to deal with the rich foods that she cooks sometimes. Maybe it's a hangover from the idea that her cooking is part of what made me chubby in high school (even though in reality I know it was the eating patterns that I picked up from her.) The control aspect of it was that I knew I wouldn't get to cook in her kitchen, no matter how often she says that she'll let me. Now that I've taken away the vegan part, I feel like I have less control than ever, so me being scared about that is, ironically, fueling some binges that make me want to fall back into my ED all over again. I did have a bit of a lapse of writing down everything I eat, but not to the extent it was-- really just generally trying to sum up how much I was over and (I'll admit it) thinking about how much I would need to earn to not gain any more. I'm trying to reign in that impulse, though.

One step back to take two steps forward-- isn't that how the saying goes?

Moderation? What's that?

Last night was bizarre (zarbi, as French slang of several years ago would have me put it)
Partook-- too much: I had my moments of euphoria, but in between that were intense bouts of feeling like my throat was closing up, like I could never drink enough water to quench my thirst (still feels like that, actually), like I was so out of place on the couch with S and J watching artsy trippy porn next to me. Like I was back to the same old middle-school feeling of intense social paranoia. A lot of this is staying with me, actually.
The interaction between J and I seemed a little sour last night. As if it changed somehow; there wasn't the usual fondness involved. Maybe it was the influence of the brownies... I don't know, I guess I'll find out eventually.
After thinking about it more, I am quite happy be doing this casual thing. I'm not in a place to have a serious relationship right now. Hell, if A was in town I know I wouldn't be sticking to one person either. Or J.B... man, the other day I was fantasizing about a threesome with J and J.B-- that would be sooo hot.

Now I am stuck with this fucked up feeling (and physical sickness from binging when I got home) and trying to focus on the test I'm supposed to be taking. I suspect I may end up taking it tomorrow (or at least napping before I take it.)

Oh, man.

how my heart is feeling

Today, I woke up with an overwhelming desire to go for a run. Though my toe has been aching and hurting me a lot recently, it didn't seem to when I was walking in my running shoes, so I gave it a go-- and went for a proper run. It felt amazing, but my heart is definitely still beating faster than usual, and I have that fun clenchy feeling in my chest from breathing in cold air. Notwithstanding all that, I'm so happy about it.

The other way my heart feels: sinking. I didn't expect to have actual valentine's plans with J, but we did arrange to meet up, and there was mention of cooking dinner together and possibly going dancing, which got my hopes up... Now, after sending a text asking about when we're going to meet up (it's 7:30pm, mind you, which is around my dinner time and past most people's) I got a call saying that he's just returning from a Manhunt thing (which I'm still adjusting to) and that S and him were going to make some special brownies and go to a sketchy store someplace. While he invited me, and I'm going because I love S and certainly don't mind being around them both, that is NOT cooking and dancing. Those kinds of brownies don't count. I don't know if I'll partake or not, especially considering I want to take my Chem test tomorrow. I just don't want to feel this down the whole night. I mean, I'm sure we'll get to fool around, and it will be fun with S, I just... well, I expected too much. To quote Ariel?Ariel!, I have been at this moment before. Many times-- but I won't go into that, because it's too whiny, even for me in an emo-depressed state.
So now, my mission is to cheer myself up before I go out. Hiphoppopotamus vs. Rhymenoceros it is.

Decisions

Tomorrow will be the marker of 2 weeks since I started trying to wean off of my meds. As much as I hate being on them, I feel really horrible without them, and if I really want to get into med school, I need to be able to focus. The whole physics test debacle is just a testament to it (not a fail, and not even as bad as my worst test last term.) I would have just attributed that to being distracted with J, but then my bio test grade convinced me that I really need to get my butt in gear, and coming off my drugs in the middle of everything may not be the best idea. (OK, so the bio grade was only a B, but I've always made an A on every bio test previous to this. I don't want to mar that.) So tomorrow I'm hunkering down for some seriously scary study time, so I can take my (take-home) Chem test on Saturday morning, and possibly enjoy some of my hard-earned weekend.

Also, I quit behavioral endocrinology (which I was only auditing anyway) because I just can't deal with the workload, and I'd learn more from just reading the book on my own time than attempting to kill myself for the class. I'm just not into that. Oh, not to mention the 6 group presentations we were supposed to give. I did one, and messed up, and that was more than enough.

On a similar note (at least, in my head) someone was talking to me about how I'm doing well in speaking French to her and she thinks that I have the vocabulary, there's just something holding me back. Then, later on, I was thinking about the time in high school when I auditioned to sing Christina Aguilara's Beautiful (okok, but I have self-image issues so it pertains to me, and the two guys making out in the video is hot.) Anyway, I was supposed to improvise a solo at one point, and I just. could. not. do. it. Nothing. Maybe a squeak, and then a sheepish look. Needless to say, I didn't get to sing it (aside from in the shower/otherwise not in public, of course.) So that just made me wonder about my shyness, and how people are surprised when I say I'm shy (probably on account of my hair color and flamboyant dress sense.) What is it that I'm afraid of? In French, if I go wrong, I can get corrected-- it's not the end of the world if I say something wrong (I do it in English from time to time, and that's my native tongue!) As concerns singing in front of people, granted they could say I'm horrible, but is that really all that scary, when it comes down to it? If I'm having fun, who gives a rat's arse?

And now for something completely different
(number one, the larch*)
*Monty Python, people!

I haven't called Ju back, because... well, because I've pretty much forgotten about him. I still have his books, so I'm going to have to see him at some point. I'm too preoccupied with J (notice the distinction, however slight.) Whenever I get a bit of free time off, I want to spend it with J, not Ju. Ju was a bit of fun that provides fun conversation and plays similar word games that I do... but he give sloppy kisses and just... well, it just doesn't fit.

(Conversely, that's how it feels with J; it fits, it feels right.)
I don't even know if it's really just my tendency to be monogamous-- since I still am flirting with A every once in a while... though far less frequently, because I'm more focused on J who is here, rather A who is in TX. Maybe it's a function of my obsessive personality, who knows.

--------
Sleepy time for the girl who hopes to get her Chem test done early in the weekend, but still be prepared enough to get an A (asking too much, maybe?).

My suitcase heart*

(*full credit to the Weepies for this beautiful image)

This weekend was rough. I don't know if it was just the J thing, or if it was contributed to by my attempts at weaning off of my anti-depressants (and skipping one night, by accident) Either way, I feel shitty and empty and exhausted (oh, and getting 3 hours' sleep to study for my physics test this morning doesn't help either.)

This is something I started last night, and added a little to today. I may well keep adding to it (this is certainly something I've done before.) It's addressed to him.

------
I like it when you wrap yourself around me, when our skin meets and melts and we trade each other's body heat, when you pause in the middle of a make-out session just to look at me, when you kiss my nose, go up on your tip-toes to kiss my forehead. When you ask me to touch you where you said you're not always comfortable being felt. When you say things like you want to cuddle and play all night and wake up next to me.

Sometimes I feel like you're distant, sad, detached, like you'd rather be somewhere else (but only for short snippets of time, and usually not in the thick of it.) Those are the times that make me realize that I just can't read you as easily as I can some people. I wonder at the things that go through your mind, know they must extend farther than just thinking about how hot I am or something along those lines.

My first impulse is to not see you again, now that I've spoken to you about it (somewhat.) To leave you a mixtape, a primal strip, and a brief note and disappear into my studies until I know I really won't be able to see you, and then I can attempt to deal with whatever this is.

And now there's this silence, that radio white noise that ensues from expectation of something coming through. This is what I expected, this awkward part (or maybe I'm just making it that way.) See, that's the thing: being so cerebral, I have a disconnect with what I'm feeling (which has really just been widened by years of depression and eating disorder.) So maybe this isn't as strong as I initially thought or maybe just as I phrased it to you. Maybe I just like you as a person as well as like to fuck you, and you make me feel like every little bit of me is is acceptable and lovable and it feels so good not to hide parts of who I am just to please a lover.

And that, dear, gentlemanly, J, is part of what tumbles through my head when I say that I am smitten.

Life moves too fast, but hot tubs don't heat up fast enough (or at all.)

Thursday was crazy, class from 8-5 day, with the added bonus of a Bio exam. It was grueling but I got through it, and I think I may have even done well on my test (ok, I am a smarty-pants.) Then, thoroughly mentally exhausted and well aware I wasn't going to get any work done, met up with J
(Note: I realize there are too many Js in my life for this technique to actually have any distinguishing factors between them. Even if I did the first 2 letters, that wouldn't work. Since no one I know [insofar as I am aware] is reading this blog anyway, I am tempted to put full names, but then it's just going to become a saga of what's happening with certain people. And while I'm aware that I'm doing that right now, I also want to, for right this second: it's going to be short-lived, since he's leaving. So for right now, J refers to the person I've been calling simply 'him/he' in previous posts. If anyone I do know actually reads this, they will know exactly who I'm talking about. Which has its drawbacks.)
Anyway, blogging-about-real-life semantics aside, it was awesome. We never had the talk that I had asked if we could have (or rather, he asked if I wanted to have, because I was upset on Monday) but that's because I didn't feel the need to initiate it. Everything I wanted to know was written in the way that he interacted with me: the little looks, the cuddles, the particular ways he kisses me... He actually brought up that we didn't talk about it yesterday (when we were-- once again-- taking advantage of someone else's couch) but I didn't say anything. He said that he wished he had met me sooner. While I know it's going to hurt when he leaves, I'm trying really hard just to enjoy what it is now-- and I know, from these brilliant deductions, that I'm not just a good fuck and nothing more, which makes dealing with it a little easier.
So not much work for my upcoming tests, but loving and living. Fair trade, I'd say :P Now if only the hot tub would have worked...

I hate the phone. Hate it.

Just got off the phone with him. The phone is evil. It turns me into a babbling fool, I feel so self-conscious and slow. It doesn't help that I just took my medication (which makes me sleepy), so my mental function is not at its peak. Plus the added pressure of wanting to impress him at every turn. Oh, man.

*deep breath* I am not an idiot. He does not think I'm an idiot.
I am going to bed.

oh, and

an addendum: I do like those one-line ends to posts, don't I?

to the max

This evening I find myself, yet again, full far past the point of satiety. I am having a really hard time of it, the past few days, and I can't exercise to compensate for the excess because of my toe and because of the time constraints that school creates. Also, I feel like I need to not try and compensate, because I need to learn how to eat what my body needs, when it needs it. I don't want to restrict myself, since I know that will only make me binge more, and I'm not going to create a plan, since that's really just a form of restriction.

Really, what I need to do is accept myself. The way I am. I am a healthy weight, and even if I put on a few pounds I am still healthy. What would putting on weight do to me that I fear so much? I've been there, what effect did it have? I felt less attractive. Not really a problem right now, I feel attractive and if others see that diminished with extra chub, then they don't deserve my attention. I felt like I couldn't do as much physically-- well, right now I feel that way anyway, because of my toe. Beyond those two, I can't really think of much else. So I have nothing to be afraid of, except maybe not fitting all of my clothes (which, if you know me, might be a cause of fear, since I do love my costuming) but that would just mean I'd have to get a little more creative. So there: I have nothing to fear by gaining weight.

It doesn't help this uncomfortable feeling to come to that realization, though.

Try to make me go to rehab...

Today someone was talking about Amy Winehouse and how she might potentially be sorting herself out because she gave her parents control over her money (or something along those lines. Basically so she can't spend it all on drugs.) The person talking then went on to say that she's never really going to be clean until she learns why she's numbing herself and deals with that.

That's what I'm doing, I'm numbing myself. Why? I'm jealous of the other people included on his adventures, I'm afraid of falling (but who can help that?), and I feel like I'm feeling more for him than he does for me. Wallow, wallow, wallow, I know. This is how I feel. Almost all of today I have been down-- some of it has to do with caffeine crash after yesterday's shenanigans, mixed up with a helping of self-hatred and guilt, but a large part of it is because I know that I don't mean all that much to him, and there's nothing I can do about it. Even just hearing from him for a little bit cheered me up, and then I remembered that he spent last night with some other chick (who I have no hatred against-- in fact, I'm fairly certain she's awesome) and that he's leaving all too soon.

To be entirely honest, I don't know how I'm going to react.

Oh, and another thing: none of this seems real. Any time I leave, the memories fade like the ephemeral nature of dreams-- if I don't write it down, I won't remember it. If I write it down, it's corrupted, edited, changed in a way that I can't reverse. What's the better way to deal? Forget, and lament the passing of my memory as well as whatever this is? Or cling to whatever image of the past I can, fallible as my written accounts are? Isn't it healthier to just move on? Maybe I should attempt to begin this "moving on" process before he goes? Or maybe that will just end up being the same old pushing techniques I demonstrated with J and A and so many others. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous. I need to live. And if I'm hurting, then I am, and I'll experience it fully.

Go on, hit me where it hurts most.

In which I give in

Here goes, the beginning of my blogging career. Oh, sure I had a LiveJournal account way back, and a myspace blog too, but both were very short-lived. They were too accessible to everyone I know. I want to be able to blog and have that possibility of it being read by anyone, but without the certainty that anyone I mention will definitely read it (and subsequently confront me about the extent of my TMI-disease.)

When it comes down to it, this blog is as emo as it gets, in the scene way-- bare emotions, left out in the open for anyone to comment on, because the attention is wanted. In reality, I have a journal, and I certainly have broached some of the subjects that are going to come up here, but I find it satisfying to share with others. Maybe it's my extroverted nature. At very least, I'll get some more practice with composing straight onto the computer.

There is a revolution going on in my life.

Part of me, the storyteller, wants to set this up, wants there to be a brilliant exposition so that the entire blog can be a series of rises and falls, plot climaxes (among others) and denouements like an EKG monitor. But that would require explanation, to the extent that I'd feel like it was too much, like ruining a perfectly good joke. So I'm just going to jump into the thick of it, like I do with so many things.

Things from last night that are particularly memorable: How, for once, I didn't want to be pushed around and told what to do; how I couldn't get wet because I was almost afraid (maybe it has something to do with actually seeing how the real BDSM crowd works.)
I'd overstimulated my clit earlier in the day and so couldn't really come from just him playing with it; that made me feel bad for him, like I wasn't as responsive as I should be (I don't know how I thought I should be. Ridiculous expectations, as per usual.)
I tried fucking him, and I liked how awkward yet powerful it felt to wear a cock.
I loved hearing and seeing him come (it almost made me come, in a small way.)
How fond I felt; how I told him that I'm getting too emotionally attached; how he asked me to touch his chest, even though he's sensitive about it; how he said he wanted to come inside of me. I already know I'm in trouble. I feel like I'm falling but it's such a bad situation: he's poly (not that I have a problem with being poly as such, but it's kind of hard for me to reconcile the idea with my preconceived ideas of love or whatever this is), and (much more significantly) he's leaving. Moving away. Bye bye, no more.

Tonight, I am anxious. Too much sugar and caffeine coursing through my body, too many sources of energy from my binges throughout the day. I didn't get enough work done. School is tomorrow. I have a test soon, but I can't focus. He's with her tonight.

This is very different than with T. With him, I knew about the others but didn't care; all I did was take. But this one... this one, I am getting emotionally attached to. This one is having a huge impact on my life. This one is managing to distract me from my studies, even. Big fucking deal, you say. In my world, it is. The funny thing is, before we did any fooling around, the talking was so much more difficult, more awkward. It's like the sex was our way of opening up, of getting to know each other and thus talk more, rather than the usual reverse function that seems to be most other people's mode of action.

In theory, I get the whole polyamorous argument-- I too, have felt, that I have a lot of love to go around, and that it's unrealistic to expect one person to meet all of my emotional and sexual needs. But in practice? I can't really tell: I don't know how much of this is just me being anxious, and how much of it actually bothers me. I do wonder if he compares lovers, though. How could you not? She's skinnier than I am. I hate that it bugs me. Fuck this. I don't want a competition. I am just doing what I usually do, wanting the person that I can't have. Common theme.

Speaking of the body issue thing, today has been my worst day in a long time. Mindless eating, knowledgeable binging, so much energy in my body it feels like my heart might burst if I stand up for too long-- this is not how I want to be.

This is not who I want to be.

What a start to National Love Your Body Month.