It is sweltering outside.
I suppose I'll start this post off with a recap from family day at the lake. Overall, it wasn't as bad as I expected. There was much drama going on within the family that deflected the attention away from me. So Little Cousin's mother (Boy's aunt) and father are now separated due to her sudden revelation earlier last year when she dropped Little Cousin's father (perfect dad if I've ever seen one) and shacked up with some woman. Now, I do not have a problem with this, being bisexual myself. However, her decision quickly bred turmoil in the family.
We'll call her Aunt#2. Well Aunt#2 decided to bring said woman to the lake under the pretense that her son, Little Cousin, had invited her. This may be true and it may not. I'm leaning towards the latter. From the moment we arrived at the lake, the drama began. Grandmother was not pleased. There were words exchanged including the word "disgusting." This is where I kinda got a little edgy. I understand completely if Grandmother was pissed that she brought this woman on her SON'S lake trip with his FATHER there. That is understandable. But to be enraged that she is with a WOMAN, not so much. I should point out that Grandmother is a very nasty person at times. She basically engraved disordered eating into all 3 of her daughters, including Boy's mother (who went to prison for awhile due to meth and human trafficking, but we'll get to that another day). Throughout the whole day, Aunt#2 was nowhere to be found. She trekked off with Woman, saying they were off to do a "photoshoot." That's when Little Cousin asked, "where's my mommy and that other woman?"
He invited her, but doesn't even know her name. Hmmm.
Besides the family drama, the day was okay. When we arrived they unloaded the food and I was relieved to see bags of sliced cucumber, carrot sticks, hummus, and watermelon. Then they brought out the tray of cupcakes. These were no ordinary cupcakes. These were Frosted Cupcakes from the shop downtown. Decorated to the tee, no doubt the most delicious cupcakes you ever had the opportunity to consume. I froze.
Uncle#1: "Cupcakes for breakfast, anyone?"
All: "Yeah! I'm starving!"
Me: *silence*
The tray was then passed around for everyone to choose from. When it came my way, I swear those motherfucking red velvet sins were glaring at me. Eat me.
Me: "I'm good for now. I don't like sweets in the morning. I'll save mine for after lunch."
All: *much protesting before finally giving up*
At lunch I ate 4 cucumber slices, 2 tsp of hummus, 3 tsp of spinach artichoke greek yogurt dip, 7 carrot sticks, and a few slices of watermelon. (And I didn't even eat the cupcake afterwards) Don't applaud ya girl just yet. I pigged out when I came home. I wish I could slap myself.
I got my belly button re-pierced the other day. Creepy old patron at my work gave me a $25 gift certificate for a piercing at a local tattoo shop. Said he didn't need it. Obviously, since you're 60-something, dude. He did mention that he would give it to me under one caviat, I let him see my new piercing once it was done.
The fuck?
Whatever, I wasn't about to turn down a perfectly free piercing that I've been meaning to get re-done for five years now. (I'm lazy)
I went to the tattoo shop stoned as one could be and made, what I presume to be, a complete fool of myself in front of both employees and 5 customers. When he gave me the contract that states I hereby swear that I am not under the influence of alcohol or illegal drugs I paused and actually questioned signing it.
*2 seconds later* I sign the paper and march right up to the guy. When the piercer struck me with the needle, I was preparing for the worst. I've heard from everyone, including the piercer, that piercing scar tissue hurts worse that regular skin. And if my memory serves right, the first time I got this done, it wasn't too pleasant.
That may be due to the fact that I got my lip pierced 4 seconds before getting my navel pierced the first time.
Anyway, when I got pierced, I felt no pain. It felt soooo good. This is how I know it has been way too long since I've cut. Especially due to recent events, I've been craving the razor for quite some time now. Sigh.
(By the way, I never showed old creepy dude my new metal)
What else has happened? Oh. Boy was socked by tweaker neighbor and insanity ensued. I think I'll save that story for my next post.
I'm quite stoned right now, I admit. I'm flawed, but aren't we all?
*edit*
I'm too lazy to go back and correct any mistakes from the post above. I just got some happy pills. Shhh. Boy and the crew came over and we did a few lines. I did not smoke this time in fear of being left alone with the whole kitchen. I'm hoping to get out of the house with the newly acquired Friend. Hopefully this way, the only calories I will be consuming will be from the alcohol.
New friend is okay. She's a good time. Not a dumbass, which is obviously a plus. I can actually hold a conversation with her. Also, she can hold her alcohol- another plus. I've had enough of dragging girls heads out of the toilet or out of some random guy's pants. It's nice not having to always be on drunkwhitegirl watch.
I just need to get out and do something. I've gained all this goddamn weight from sitting inside and smoking all day long. Munchies are a motherfucker. Mary Jane helps me turn off the constant thoughts reverberating through my brain, so I'm not about to give her up.
Since being back on blogger, I've regrettably noticed all of my favorite blogs are no longer active.
:(
I hope all you girls are okay. I'm glad to see some of you are still around. I'm not sure which is worse. I want to say maybe it's better most of the community has up and left. They could possibly be on the road to recovery, which is much more than I can say for myself. I feel like I'm moonwalking down the road that brought me this far, and delving back into every sick habit from the past. Sad part is, I wish I could moonwalk faster.
Satansvomit.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Drugs are bad, kids.
Two posts in two days? I'm on a roll.
Work today in 2 hours. I usually dread going to work and performing my proper slave duties, however, today the anxiety is (mostly) subsided. The reason being I have drugs to facillitate the process. Drugs are bad, kids.
I shall try to avoid food at work, as per usual. It's exceedingly more difficult when you working in fucking KITCHEN. My boss is constantly trying to feed me. Says I'm a twig. I try to hold back laughter when he makes comments like these, as he so often does. I'm a fucking whale. Every part of my body is growing exponentially. I've gained weight and apparently I'm not stopping anytime soon. I've been getting into a destructive routine lately. Wherein I successfully avoid food all day long, come home completely void of hunger, somehow decide it's wise to smoke a bowl to relax me and help me sleep, and end up eating the entire contents of my pantry.
:(
I need to snap the hell out of it.
Especially because tomorrow I will have no opportunity to starve myself. It's Boy's little cousin's birthday. He could be turning anywhere from 4 to 8, I don't really know. They all look the same to me. Kids, that is. Small and whiney. We will be going for a day-long trip to a lake to spend the day fishing and barbequing. Little cousin has taken a liking to me, as most young boys do. Yeah, yeah it's cute and all, but it poses quite a few problems:
"You're too thin. Eat something" To which I'm thinking: Fuck you. I just ate your goddamn burger.
"How's work?" To which I'm thinking: It makes me want to kill myself.
"How's school?" To which I'm thinking: It makes me want to kill myself in a calculated manner.
and my favorite:
"Sooooo, any kids in the future? *wink*" To which I'm thinking. I fucking hate kids. Read above.
Like Jesus H. Christ, I'm twenty fucking years old. Boy is 21. Why in the hell would kids even cross our mind? And honestly, they're better off. I'm doing a grand favor to them by not passing on my defective genetics to another generation. Let alone my deep seeded daddy/mommy issues. I need to stop before I start spiraling. Kid talk does that to me.
On the romantic front, (if you could even call it that) L is being distant as I've come accostomed to, and Boy is oblivious as ever. Not much to report, other than the overwhelming urge to take a knife to my chest, rip my heart out and thus avoid this nonesense altogether. I don't have a sharp enough knife, so I'll just push that urge to the side.
Sigh.
Welp, my head is tired. Time for my 8th cup of coffee. (And no, I'm not exaggerating) Possibly a few lines. Shhhh. Drugs are bad, kids.
Hopefully I don't eat myself into a stupor tonight, especially since I have to be in a bikini all day tomorrow. gag.
Satansvomit.
Work today in 2 hours. I usually dread going to work and performing my proper slave duties, however, today the anxiety is (mostly) subsided. The reason being I have drugs to facillitate the process. Drugs are bad, kids.
I shall try to avoid food at work, as per usual. It's exceedingly more difficult when you working in fucking KITCHEN. My boss is constantly trying to feed me. Says I'm a twig. I try to hold back laughter when he makes comments like these, as he so often does. I'm a fucking whale. Every part of my body is growing exponentially. I've gained weight and apparently I'm not stopping anytime soon. I've been getting into a destructive routine lately. Wherein I successfully avoid food all day long, come home completely void of hunger, somehow decide it's wise to smoke a bowl to relax me and help me sleep, and end up eating the entire contents of my pantry.
:(
I need to snap the hell out of it.
Especially because tomorrow I will have no opportunity to starve myself. It's Boy's little cousin's birthday. He could be turning anywhere from 4 to 8, I don't really know. They all look the same to me. Kids, that is. Small and whiney. We will be going for a day-long trip to a lake to spend the day fishing and barbequing. Little cousin has taken a liking to me, as most young boys do. Yeah, yeah it's cute and all, but it poses quite a few problems:
- I have to watch my mouth. I curse like a sailor, but I never realize how much I curse until I'm put in a situation where I can't.
- I can never get away for more than 2 seconds before he starts screaming for me. Which consequently means I can't get away for my hourly dose of nicotine. I wouldn't dare smoke in front of Little Cousin. Family knows I smoke and of course despises it. Normally I wouldn't give two fucks, but in situations like these, they have the perfect opportunity to use Little Cousin as a tiny human guilt trip. (Giving me side-eyes while I'm sneaking a drag and he's whining in the distance)
- I HATE KIDS. I don't care if this makes me a bad person. I love Boy's Little Cousin, and treat him like my own.. but after 2 hours I start scanning the room for his parents to get him away from me before my brain goes into overdrive. I just cannot handle that much stimuli, let alone try to be littlemissnicealmostauntie. I have little patience and an even shorter temper. I can only play caretaker for so long before I start throwing out sarcastic insults to Little Cousin, knowing he doesn't understand a word I'm saying. Okay, maybe I'm a bad person. Add it to the list.
"You're too thin. Eat something" To which I'm thinking: Fuck you. I just ate your goddamn burger.
"How's work?" To which I'm thinking: It makes me want to kill myself.
"How's school?" To which I'm thinking: It makes me want to kill myself in a calculated manner.
and my favorite:
"Sooooo, any kids in the future? *wink*" To which I'm thinking. I fucking hate kids. Read above.
Like Jesus H. Christ, I'm twenty fucking years old. Boy is 21. Why in the hell would kids even cross our mind? And honestly, they're better off. I'm doing a grand favor to them by not passing on my defective genetics to another generation. Let alone my deep seeded daddy/mommy issues. I need to stop before I start spiraling. Kid talk does that to me.
On the romantic front, (if you could even call it that) L is being distant as I've come accostomed to, and Boy is oblivious as ever. Not much to report, other than the overwhelming urge to take a knife to my chest, rip my heart out and thus avoid this nonesense altogether. I don't have a sharp enough knife, so I'll just push that urge to the side.
Sigh.
Welp, my head is tired. Time for my 8th cup of coffee. (And no, I'm not exaggerating) Possibly a few lines. Shhhh. Drugs are bad, kids.
Hopefully I don't eat myself into a stupor tonight, especially since I have to be in a bikini all day tomorrow. gag.
Satansvomit.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
I'm back? How many times have you heard that?
It's been over a year. My weight has fluctuated from 95 all the way up to God knows where at this point. I've not a clue. Too pussy to weigh myself. I know just how deeply I hate myself once the fear to step on the scale overcomes me for months at a time. Helpless. Defeated. Worthless.
I digress.
Instead of giving a lengthy overview of the past 17 months (because let's be honest, no one wants to sit through that), let me give a few key points of interest:
Calm yourself.
I should preface this by saying, since I moved from Az and in with Boy two years ago, I have been 100% faithful. I became a different person when I moved up here. Vastly different than the shred of a girl I was before. During Boy's and I long-distance portion of our relationship (1 1/2 years) I was still the same girl he left in Az. Boy and I started "dating" when he had officially moved away from Az. We had a maximum of 4 days total together, introduction included, before he left. I'm not sure if it was a desperate attempt to keep some semblence of a human relationship, or sheer insanity on my part, when I agreed to enter into relationship with Boy, never knowing if we would ever see each other again. I'm betting on the latter. Regardless, I agreed and hence Boy's and I faulty relationship began.
He moved away. And I was still stuck in the hell that was my current life. Constant partying, 24/7 drug abuse, (which makes for some interesting stories, but I'll save those for later) a very high level of promiscuity-most likely due to previous sexual abuse- and in a idontgiveafuckgivemeanotherline type of mindset. Twas bittersweet. Nevertheless, I was still where I was and Boy was no longer. Of course, like with everyone else, I put on a happy face and fed him just the right lines to have him believe that I was littlemisshappyfaithfulgirlfriend. HA.
In an attempt to not drag the history out for another 8 paragraphs, I'll just summarize that I ran in the same circle as Boy, even before I met him. (Boy lived elsewhere this entire time and I just met him when he came to visit for a month before taking off again). Confused yet? Hang in there, it'll make sense eventually. Now, just incase you aren't convinced i'm a slut yet, let me add the fact that I slept with not one, not two, but 3 of Boy's close friends. STFU I didn't know him yet! I knew I was a hot commodity in this group of friends, and I relished that fact and milked it to the fullest (drugs, rides, and quickies). Trust me, I hated myself as much as you probably hate me right now. I digress.
L was not one of these friends. In fact, L and I didn't even talk to each other. Sure, we were around each other every fucking day, but L was never on my radar. Why? L was the type of guy that I would have never even considered would give me a second look. He was so far out of my league, that I didn't even try, in attempt to save myself from the inevitable rejection and humiliation that would closely follow. In all the 2 years I knew L, prior to Boy's appearance in my life, I never saw L with another girl. I figured he just kept his personal life under wraps, or given my luck, he was gay.
If I had a specific type of man I preferred, L would be it. Perfection from head to toe. Perfect hair. Perfect skin. The cutest nose I think I've seen on any human being, and eyes you could get lost in for hours. Did I mention he moved to America from the UK? I am such the anglophile. Despite all this, he is the most intelligent man I have ever had the good grace to be associated with. He has the same dark humour as me, and often communicates via quotes from movies and tv shows. OH MY GOD he is perfect. I try and rack my brain to find even the smallest imperfection in L, and I always come up empty-handed. So yeah, needless to say, I never would have thought he would give me a second look.
Remember how I mentioned my luck earlier? Here is a prime example of how it operates: Boy leaves. A week later, I get L's number. Nothing scandalous, I just needed some drugs, and my Guy was otherwise incapacitated. Soon, our routine drug exchanges turned into something more. Next thing I know, I'm meeting L in a park nearby and engaging in a twisted form of adultery. This continued on for a year at least. He would visit me after work and we would do unmentionables in the laundry room of the apt. complex down the street from my work. (I see you giving me the side-eye again) Throughout, I was also sporadically hooking up with no-names on the side. Given the platonic nature of the "relationship" between L and I, I saw no problem with this. He wanted sex, and my weak-willed self could never turn down his perfection, thus I gave it to him. L had never given any indication that our engagements were anything other than purely superficial, which is why I was taken aback when he professed his love for me. I handled it like the cold-hearted bitch that I was; I went about my merrily way, scattering his feelings on the ground before stepping on them. Our pseudo-romance ended abruptly and without closure. (I never felt the slightest bit of guilt for L or any of the no-names, funnily enough. I think the area of the conscience that facillitates guilt was clouded by mass quantities of MDMA) Boy never found out.
Fastforward 2 years later, I hear L is coming to visit. Heart stops. Blood curdles. Stomach spins. There is no way in hell he's coming. He hates me. Lo and behold, come May, I hear L is officially on his way to our house. My nervous system shuts down, my brain ceases to function, and all I can think about is L. My plan was to politely avoid him. Plan went to hell. The moment I saw his face, it was over. I was his. Every feeling I had previously suppressed with my impressive drug collection had surfaced. Fuck. We avoided each other successfully for the first few days. The sexual tension was unbearable. We slowly gravitated towards each other and had the most amazing, thought-provoking conversations I've ever had with anyone. One day, while Boy was at work, I skipped school and stayed with L. The moment he kissed me, it all flooded back. It felt so right, so natural. Double fuck. And we did it.
He left. Not without exchanging numbers, and we've texted everyday since. He says he loves me. I say I love him. I feel like I'm right back where I was 2 years ago, progress shot to hell. He says he'll come back for me. However, when that day comes, I know I'll have a choice to make. I just don't know what I will choose.
Lengthy post, I know. I owe it to you after disappearing for so long. In other news, I'm fat and plan to starve myself the rest of the day. Oh, and incase you haven't figured it out yet- I'm also a slut.
Satansvomit.
I digress.
Instead of giving a lengthy overview of the past 17 months (because let's be honest, no one wants to sit through that), let me give a few key points of interest:
- Quit old job with Boy. I was within an inch of stabbing someone, and the last thing I need on my record is attempted murder. Incidently, Boy quit. I am now working at a private club as a slave, Boy is head cook at a rehabilitation center.
- I enrolled in school, completed my HS credits, and am now in my second year on the Pre-Pharmacy track in college. An entirely new realm of head fuckery, but that's for another post.
- Visited Arizona this past Summer and ended up sending my mother on a bus for Tx, fighting with my incompetent father, and staying with Boy's mother for the remainder of the trip. As much hell as I went through last Summer, the highlight? 95 lbs. Yes, I know I'm fucked in the head. That's been established.
- Boy's mother, sister, and best friend came to visit this past May. Did I mention Boy's best friend (we'll call him L) and I were hooking up while Boy and I were long distance? Don't judge me. Well, it'd been 2 years since I saw L, and much to my dismay, while he was here for a week.. let's just say old habits die hard.
- I'm back on drugs. And fat. Again.
Calm yourself.
I should preface this by saying, since I moved from Az and in with Boy two years ago, I have been 100% faithful. I became a different person when I moved up here. Vastly different than the shred of a girl I was before. During Boy's and I long-distance portion of our relationship (1 1/2 years) I was still the same girl he left in Az. Boy and I started "dating" when he had officially moved away from Az. We had a maximum of 4 days total together, introduction included, before he left. I'm not sure if it was a desperate attempt to keep some semblence of a human relationship, or sheer insanity on my part, when I agreed to enter into relationship with Boy, never knowing if we would ever see each other again. I'm betting on the latter. Regardless, I agreed and hence Boy's and I faulty relationship began.
He moved away. And I was still stuck in the hell that was my current life. Constant partying, 24/7 drug abuse, (which makes for some interesting stories, but I'll save those for later) a very high level of promiscuity-most likely due to previous sexual abuse- and in a idontgiveafuckgivemeanotherline type of mindset. Twas bittersweet. Nevertheless, I was still where I was and Boy was no longer. Of course, like with everyone else, I put on a happy face and fed him just the right lines to have him believe that I was littlemisshappyfaithfulgirlfriend. HA.
In an attempt to not drag the history out for another 8 paragraphs, I'll just summarize that I ran in the same circle as Boy, even before I met him. (Boy lived elsewhere this entire time and I just met him when he came to visit for a month before taking off again). Confused yet? Hang in there, it'll make sense eventually. Now, just incase you aren't convinced i'm a slut yet, let me add the fact that I slept with not one, not two, but 3 of Boy's close friends. STFU I didn't know him yet! I knew I was a hot commodity in this group of friends, and I relished that fact and milked it to the fullest (drugs, rides, and quickies). Trust me, I hated myself as much as you probably hate me right now. I digress.
L was not one of these friends. In fact, L and I didn't even talk to each other. Sure, we were around each other every fucking day, but L was never on my radar. Why? L was the type of guy that I would have never even considered would give me a second look. He was so far out of my league, that I didn't even try, in attempt to save myself from the inevitable rejection and humiliation that would closely follow. In all the 2 years I knew L, prior to Boy's appearance in my life, I never saw L with another girl. I figured he just kept his personal life under wraps, or given my luck, he was gay.
If I had a specific type of man I preferred, L would be it. Perfection from head to toe. Perfect hair. Perfect skin. The cutest nose I think I've seen on any human being, and eyes you could get lost in for hours. Did I mention he moved to America from the UK? I am such the anglophile. Despite all this, he is the most intelligent man I have ever had the good grace to be associated with. He has the same dark humour as me, and often communicates via quotes from movies and tv shows. OH MY GOD he is perfect. I try and rack my brain to find even the smallest imperfection in L, and I always come up empty-handed. So yeah, needless to say, I never would have thought he would give me a second look.
Remember how I mentioned my luck earlier? Here is a prime example of how it operates: Boy leaves. A week later, I get L's number. Nothing scandalous, I just needed some drugs, and my Guy was otherwise incapacitated. Soon, our routine drug exchanges turned into something more. Next thing I know, I'm meeting L in a park nearby and engaging in a twisted form of adultery. This continued on for a year at least. He would visit me after work and we would do unmentionables in the laundry room of the apt. complex down the street from my work. (I see you giving me the side-eye again) Throughout, I was also sporadically hooking up with no-names on the side. Given the platonic nature of the "relationship" between L and I, I saw no problem with this. He wanted sex, and my weak-willed self could never turn down his perfection, thus I gave it to him. L had never given any indication that our engagements were anything other than purely superficial, which is why I was taken aback when he professed his love for me. I handled it like the cold-hearted bitch that I was; I went about my merrily way, scattering his feelings on the ground before stepping on them. Our pseudo-romance ended abruptly and without closure. (I never felt the slightest bit of guilt for L or any of the no-names, funnily enough. I think the area of the conscience that facillitates guilt was clouded by mass quantities of MDMA) Boy never found out.
Fastforward 2 years later, I hear L is coming to visit. Heart stops. Blood curdles. Stomach spins. There is no way in hell he's coming. He hates me. Lo and behold, come May, I hear L is officially on his way to our house. My nervous system shuts down, my brain ceases to function, and all I can think about is L. My plan was to politely avoid him. Plan went to hell. The moment I saw his face, it was over. I was his. Every feeling I had previously suppressed with my impressive drug collection had surfaced. Fuck. We avoided each other successfully for the first few days. The sexual tension was unbearable. We slowly gravitated towards each other and had the most amazing, thought-provoking conversations I've ever had with anyone. One day, while Boy was at work, I skipped school and stayed with L. The moment he kissed me, it all flooded back. It felt so right, so natural. Double fuck. And we did it.
He left. Not without exchanging numbers, and we've texted everyday since. He says he loves me. I say I love him. I feel like I'm right back where I was 2 years ago, progress shot to hell. He says he'll come back for me. However, when that day comes, I know I'll have a choice to make. I just don't know what I will choose.
Lengthy post, I know. I owe it to you after disappearing for so long. In other news, I'm fat and plan to starve myself the rest of the day. Oh, and incase you haven't figured it out yet- I'm also a slut.
Satansvomit.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
You always win
I got a job a few days ago. I'm working at the resturaunt that Boy works at. I have less hours though considering my position as a dishwasher is far less pretigious than a cook/plater. I have mixed feelings about this for many reasons. I'll line out the pros and cons.
Pros:
Money. The most important if not the only reason why I took the job in the first place. Currently Boy and I have been relying on his income alone. We've honestly been living paycheck to paycheck barely making it. Extra income certainly wouldn't hurt.
Burning calories. I actually debated on listing this first. I've been going bat-shit crazy sitting idle for hours on end just waiting for Boy to get off work. His work is clear across town. With no car or any reliable transportation (transit stops running before we're off work) he resorted to skating and I would ride the bike. This is both a pro and con. Pro for burning massive calories and con for killing me slowly. I honestly feel like I'm going to pass out 1/3 of the way through.
I literally cannot think of anything else for pro.
Losing my alone time. Most of my day is centered around Boy. My sanity is being threatened without isolation. I love him but I NEED TO BE ALONE sometimes. Which leads me to my next con..
I'm becoming resentful towards Boy. Since the day I started working (not even a full three days) I've grown silent and standoffish towards everyone,Boy especially. I can't pinpoint a singular reason,it's more of a compilation of many things. One being he treats me like I can't do anything for myself which inevitably leads to our boss believing he's carrying my weight. I don't fucking need him to do my job.
K. A co-worker of ours. See,I've always been leary of this bitch. I knew she worked with him for about two years and they've become friends. She has a boyfriend,but that doesn't quench my doubts in the slightest. She is blonde,blue eyes,perky,and thin. THIN. The complete opposite of yours truly,not to mention Boy's "usual type." That was enough to nearly throw me over the edge. The day I met K we exchanged a look. "The" look that all girls understand, (I don't like you,and you better watch the fuck out.) I brushed it off and moved on.. until I started working with her. She looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth and throws backhanded compliments that make me want to drive a shiv into that perfect pearly little smile on that bitch's face. Also,to even more royally piss me off she's always flirting with Boy and gushing how he should be a chef. She shifted her attention to me at that point and asked what I was studying for in college. When I muttered "I don't know" she went full force into how it's pointless to even be in school if you have no goal. Uh first off,I can get my basics out of the way and second off,it's none of her fucking business. Bitch,shut up and sit the fuck down. Needless to say,I don't like her. And it's quite obvious she has a problem with me. We'll see how this turns out.
So as you can tell,mixed feelings all around.
[Edit: Two days later]
On another note,I got paid yesterday. Granted,it wasn't much,however it was only a week's pay. The first thing I bought? A bathroom scale. Yes. I've gone over six months without weighing myself and this was both an exciting buy and an anxiety-filled shopping trip. I bought it at the store down the street from my work. It is a digital "Biggest Loser" scale and retailed for $49 but I got that shit on sale for $29 so that was nice. I won't lie,I took it out of the box as soon as I got back to the breakroom and stepped on. Deep breath. 107.8. I was relieved to be truthful. Considering I binged all weekend I was thankful for anything under 120,let alone under 110. Of course Boy stepped on and shamed me with his almost-non-existent-weight. I told him if he ever goes below that weight I'll starve myself. He laughed.
Funny story time:
I was at work yesterday and grabbed my usual monstrous cup of coffee and started to head back into the breakroom when I was stopped by a co-worker of mine. "Do you ever eat,or just drink coffee all day?" I was actually taken aback. I just stood there. Then I explained how I don't want to get in the habit of eating food from the workplace because I heard the employee before me had a problem with eating all day at work. Then she started to explain how it was different and she would overeat and blah blah blah. I was already in the breakroom before she finished her sentence. Bitch let me drink my coffee. Go eat tacos or something. That's all for now. Have to head in for the first shift. Hooplah.
Satansvomit.
Pros:
Burning calories. I actually debated on listing this first. I've been going bat-shit crazy sitting idle for hours on end just waiting for Boy to get off work. His work is clear across town. With no car or any reliable transportation (transit stops running before we're off work) he resorted to skating and I would ride the bike. This is both a pro and con. Pro for burning massive calories and con for killing me slowly. I honestly feel like I'm going to pass out 1/3 of the way through.
I literally cannot think of anything else for pro.
I'm becoming resentful towards Boy. Since the day I started working (not even a full three days) I've grown silent and standoffish towards everyone,Boy especially. I can't pinpoint a singular reason,it's more of a compilation of many things. One being he treats me like I can't do anything for myself which inevitably leads to our boss believing he's carrying my weight. I don't fucking need him to do my job.
K. A co-worker of ours. See,I've always been leary of this bitch. I knew she worked with him for about two years and they've become friends. She has a boyfriend,but that doesn't quench my doubts in the slightest. She is blonde,blue eyes,perky,and thin. THIN. The complete opposite of yours truly,not to mention Boy's "usual type." That was enough to nearly throw me over the edge. The day I met K we exchanged a look. "The" look that all girls understand, (I don't like you,and you better watch the fuck out.) I brushed it off and moved on.. until I started working with her. She looks at me like I'm the scum of the earth and throws backhanded compliments that make me want to drive a shiv into that perfect pearly little smile on that bitch's face. Also,to even more royally piss me off she's always flirting with Boy and gushing how he should be a chef. She shifted her attention to me at that point and asked what I was studying for in college. When I muttered "I don't know" she went full force into how it's pointless to even be in school if you have no goal. Uh first off,I can get my basics out of the way and second off,it's none of her fucking business. Bitch,shut up and sit the fuck down. Needless to say,I don't like her. And it's quite obvious she has a problem with me. We'll see how this turns out.
[Edit: Two days later]
On another note,I got paid yesterday. Granted,it wasn't much,however it was only a week's pay. The first thing I bought? A bathroom scale. Yes. I've gone over six months without weighing myself and this was both an exciting buy and an anxiety-filled shopping trip. I bought it at the store down the street from my work. It is a digital "Biggest Loser" scale and retailed for $49 but I got that shit on sale for $29 so that was nice. I won't lie,I took it out of the box as soon as I got back to the breakroom and stepped on. Deep breath. 107.8. I was relieved to be truthful. Considering I binged all weekend I was thankful for anything under 120,let alone under 110. Of course Boy stepped on and shamed me with his almost-non-existent-weight. I told him if he ever goes below that weight I'll starve myself. He laughed.
Funny story time:
I was at work yesterday and grabbed my usual monstrous cup of coffee and started to head back into the breakroom when I was stopped by a co-worker of mine. "Do you ever eat,or just drink coffee all day?" I was actually taken aback. I just stood there. Then I explained how I don't want to get in the habit of eating food from the workplace because I heard the employee before me had a problem with eating all day at work. Then she started to explain how it was different and she would overeat and blah blah blah. I was already in the breakroom before she finished her sentence. Bitch let me drink my coffee. Go eat tacos or something. That's all for now. Have to head in for the first shift. Hooplah.
Satansvomit.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
I hate birthdays
I haven't written in awhile due to my lack of creativity and overall lack of self-worth. Sigh.
My nineteenth birthday was this past week. The twenty-second to be more precise. And let me tell you,nothing else quite makes a gives a person a nice dose of introspection like a birthday. Not for me anyway.
See,my history of past birthdays seems to take on a recurring pattern. I decide about two weeks before my birthday that some blast of fucking miracle will somehow make this birthday magnificent as opposed to the hellish nightmare that it always ends up to be. Then about a week before my birthday I have One Of Those Days. You know what I'm talking about,a day where you look in the mirror,deconstruct every single flaw that inhibits your body and face,and eventually break down into a crumbled mess of a being. It was That Day. Two years ago on my birthday I was hovering around 100. I fit perfectly in my size zero jeans and I effortlessly picked at my food during my traditional birthday dinner. That is not to say that the other areas in my life were anywhere close to satisfactory. I was dating P,possibly Lucifer himself,and that night in particular was a complete and utter tragedy. I'm not exaggerating one bit. That aside,I thought about how much I weighed last year on my birthday. Also hovering around 100. Maybe 105. (Shitty fucking birthday as well.) Now here I stand,clueless to my weight (I have not had scales since I moved states) yet I know I'm atleast twenty if not twenty-five pounds heavier than last year. I died.
After a fewhours minutes of wallowing in my self-pit of shit I picked myself up,threw on the devil horns and developed a new plan. I WILL BE THIN(ER) BY MY GODDAMN BIRTHDAY. I even whipped out the old food diary. I wrote 200 on six pages. Six days until my birthday. Six days I shall not consume more than 200 calories and try to do some form of exercise. Needless to say,I did not follow this plan. Not strictly anyway. I tried my goddamn hardest considering the plethra of obstacles I was facing. For example,on Friday-two days before my birthday and one day before I was ready to even face anybody-Boy's friends decided to bring some liquor and make a night of it. At last minute. Now,I know most people would see this as a kind and celebratory gesture,HOWEVER,my anxiety goes through the fucking roof when I'm given a last minute heads up and practically zero time to get myself looking half-way decent. The fucking roof. I tried on every piece of clothing trying desperately to find one fucking outfit that didn't make me look like a whale. Several disappointing attempts later,I found myself wearing a pear of blue jeans and one of Boy's larger shirts. I was covered in sweat by the end.
I hadn't eaten since the morning so I knew my stomach was empty,save for the occasional glass of lemon water. This was a problem. Drinking hard liquor on an empty stomach is the worst mistake you will ever make. Trust me. And considering I had two of those episodes in the past two months you'd think I'd eat a little something to coat le stomach. No. My logic went a different route. When my anxiety runs high my anger is always one step behind. My frustration led me to refuse food and punish myself with a hangoverfromhell. Mission accomplished. By the end of the night the ground was playing tricks on me. Swerving and shit. Gravity decided to take a night off and soon I found myself lying naked (after undressing for the night,I never wear anything other than pajamas unless we have company or I'm going out) on the couch and hearing Boy repeatedly asking me if I was okay. Apparently my half-ass-grunt-response wasn't convincing him so I used every ounce of power in my pathetic excuse of a body to get up and grab something to soak up the river of whiskey currently in my tum. My fucked up ED mind of course grabbed the lowest-possible-calorie snack of cauliflower and hummus. This was another mistake. This does not soak up alcohol,rather,it makes you want blow cauliflower chunks all over Boy's face.
After awhile I found the energy to get up and get something SENSIBLE to aid my spinning head and hurling stomach. I settled on crackers. Flatbread Italian Herb. I'm pretty sure I devoured 2/3 of the box along with CHEESE. Cheese of all fucking things. I did not need that cheese. The cheese served no purpose. Other than feeding my own disgusting gluttony. I digress.
So then Saturday came along. Had a teensy liquid breakfast and nothing all day. The glorious hangoverfromhell convinced me to eat before I drank that handle of Jack Daniels I bought myself for that very day. I ate seventy calories worth of those crackers and welcomed the night to begin. Several shots,drugs,and hours later it was time to turn in. Not so for this substance-fueled insomniac. I rambled incoherent thoughts to Boy for an hour before he eventually got so fed up with the nonesense that he smoked himself into a stupor. I smoked as well with him but was not granted the same leisure. Naturally,I got about two hours of sleep max.
Then Sunday finally came. D-day,as I call it. For some unfathomable reason I thought that this birthday would be different. This birthday would not be shite like every other year. I was wrong. I'll spare you the details but by Monday I was drained dry of every tear,every dollar my lovely mother worked so hard to send me (thanks to Boy who somehow had gotten it into his mind that it wasn't my goddamn birthday,but all of his friends who he treated with food and drugs,)and had acquired a level of self-loathing that I have not experienced in two years. This is where the introspection came in.. it wasn't pretty.
I realized that I'm alone. Not the kind of alone that everyone experiences once in their life. The kind of loneliness that leaves a giant ball of despair right there in the deepest pit of your stomach. I spend all day alone. I have no friends. Boy's friends are about as close as I can get,and they don't even say anything to me,not even happy birthday. This could easily be remedied by getting a job or going to school,I know this. However,I'm fucking petrified of going to either. I'm scared to death of being alone and this hinders me a great amount. I hate that I'm this way. I hate that I'm still stuck in the same mindset I was in ten years ago clinging to my mother afraid to step in the school. I hate it. I've always enjoyed my self-induced isolation but it is taking it's toll on me. I wonder if I'll gather up the nerve to change my current situation. Judging from my past though,it's not likely.
I hate birthdays.
Satansvomit.
My nineteenth birthday was this past week. The twenty-second to be more precise. And let me tell you,nothing else quite makes a gives a person a nice dose of introspection like a birthday. Not for me anyway.
See,my history of past birthdays seems to take on a recurring pattern. I decide about two weeks before my birthday that some blast of fucking miracle will somehow make this birthday magnificent as opposed to the hellish nightmare that it always ends up to be. Then about a week before my birthday I have One Of Those Days. You know what I'm talking about,a day where you look in the mirror,deconstruct every single flaw that inhibits your body and face,and eventually break down into a crumbled mess of a being. It was That Day. Two years ago on my birthday I was hovering around 100. I fit perfectly in my size zero jeans and I effortlessly picked at my food during my traditional birthday dinner. That is not to say that the other areas in my life were anywhere close to satisfactory. I was dating P,possibly Lucifer himself,and that night in particular was a complete and utter tragedy. I'm not exaggerating one bit. That aside,I thought about how much I weighed last year on my birthday. Also hovering around 100. Maybe 105. (Shitty fucking birthday as well.) Now here I stand,clueless to my weight (I have not had scales since I moved states) yet I know I'm atleast twenty if not twenty-five pounds heavier than last year. I died.
After a few
I hadn't eaten since the morning so I knew my stomach was empty,save for the occasional glass of lemon water. This was a problem. Drinking hard liquor on an empty stomach is the worst mistake you will ever make. Trust me. And considering I had two of those episodes in the past two months you'd think I'd eat a little something to coat le stomach. No. My logic went a different route. When my anxiety runs high my anger is always one step behind. My frustration led me to refuse food and punish myself with a hangoverfromhell. Mission accomplished. By the end of the night the ground was playing tricks on me. Swerving and shit. Gravity decided to take a night off and soon I found myself lying naked (after undressing for the night,I never wear anything other than pajamas unless we have company or I'm going out) on the couch and hearing Boy repeatedly asking me if I was okay. Apparently my half-ass-grunt-response wasn't convincing him so I used every ounce of power in my pathetic excuse of a body to get up and grab something to soak up the river of whiskey currently in my tum. My fucked up ED mind of course grabbed the lowest-possible-calorie snack of cauliflower and hummus. This was another mistake. This does not soak up alcohol,rather,it makes you want blow cauliflower chunks all over Boy's face.
After awhile I found the energy to get up and get something SENSIBLE to aid my spinning head and hurling stomach. I settled on crackers. Flatbread Italian Herb. I'm pretty sure I devoured 2/3 of the box along with CHEESE. Cheese of all fucking things. I did not need that cheese. The cheese served no purpose. Other than feeding my own disgusting gluttony. I digress.
So then Saturday came along. Had a teensy liquid breakfast and nothing all day. The glorious hangoverfromhell convinced me to eat before I drank that handle of Jack Daniels I bought myself for that very day. I ate seventy calories worth of those crackers and welcomed the night to begin. Several shots,drugs,and hours later it was time to turn in. Not so for this substance-fueled insomniac. I rambled incoherent thoughts to Boy for an hour before he eventually got so fed up with the nonesense that he smoked himself into a stupor. I smoked as well with him but was not granted the same leisure. Naturally,I got about two hours of sleep max.
Then Sunday finally came. D-day,as I call it. For some unfathomable reason I thought that this birthday would be different. This birthday would not be shite like every other year. I was wrong. I'll spare you the details but by Monday I was drained dry of every tear,every dollar my lovely mother worked so hard to send me (thanks to Boy who somehow had gotten it into his mind that it wasn't my goddamn birthday,but all of his friends who he treated with food and drugs,)and had acquired a level of self-loathing that I have not experienced in two years. This is where the introspection came in.. it wasn't pretty.
I realized that I'm alone. Not the kind of alone that everyone experiences once in their life. The kind of loneliness that leaves a giant ball of despair right there in the deepest pit of your stomach. I spend all day alone. I have no friends. Boy's friends are about as close as I can get,and they don't even say anything to me,not even happy birthday. This could easily be remedied by getting a job or going to school,I know this. However,I'm fucking petrified of going to either. I'm scared to death of being alone and this hinders me a great amount. I hate that I'm this way. I hate that I'm still stuck in the same mindset I was in ten years ago clinging to my mother afraid to step in the school. I hate it. I've always enjoyed my self-induced isolation but it is taking it's toll on me. I wonder if I'll gather up the nerve to change my current situation. Judging from my past though,it's not likely.
I hate birthdays.
Satansvomit.
Friday, February 10, 2012
The crying kids at Walmart are enough to drive anyone to mass murder
Not having my phone is driving me up the wall.
It's not the lack of communication that agitates me;it's the lack of internet connection. Boy doesn't have a break on Saturdays,therefore I'm home all alone with absolutely nothing to keep me occupied. Which,in turn,almost always leads to me binging. This totally defeats the purpose of being home alone where I have the oppurtunity to starve without watchful eyes around. Today I'm trying my best to keep entertained and away from the kitchen.
If you're wondering,I'm typing all of these posts on wordpad and plan to post them once I get internet. I don't know. It's a form of distraction-I'll take it.
In other news,I can feel my hipbones beginning to portrude out again,a familiar comfort I've missed. I feel so guilty when I look into Boy's eyes and tell him I'm not hungry. I know he senses something is wrong and I cannot will myself to tell him the truth. That guilt is what lead me to this repulsive state I'm currently in. I'm not happy like this and Boy can tell. I think that's why he doesn't say a word when he can hear my stomach practically scream out and beg for nourishment. He wants me happy with myself and it kills me knowing more than likely I'll never reach that point.
What I find odd is that Boy fell in love with me when I was severly emcumbered by my eating disorder,standing faintly at 97 pounds. I admit it made it easier to devote myself to my anorexia once he moved away,although we were still together. A few months before I moved up with him I was having palpitations so badly that I was secretly terrified to step foot on the plane,genuinely unsure if I'd ever make it off. I'd read horror stories about anorexia patients and air travel. I was fainting regularly and barely stepped on the scale. The last time I stepped on I was shocked to see 84 pop up. I'd never been that thin. I didn't feel that thin. I didn't believe I was that thin. Though,the horror in my family and friends' eyes assured me that the scale was displaying the truth. I smiled a sick smile.
Now,four months later I've blown up exponentially. I know where the fault lies. A combination of things really. I won't go into it,but long story short I wound up 20+ pounds heavier and don't feel a bit less guilty than before. Conclusion? Eating like a fucking whale won't ease my concern about letting others down,rather,it almost always ends up in my own disappointment. Time to remedy that.
It's about midway through the day now and not a morsel of food has passed my lips. I did have about 60 calories total due to coffee creamer. I know,a waste. However,I let myself have this one treat because when the holiday flavors come out I'm instantly drawn to them and cannot resist. I'm trying to plan out how I'll spend the duration of the day. I'll probably make an attempt to clean later then probably cap it off with some tea and a cigarette. This lack of internet is leading to dangerous thoughts. Not really but I'm fucking bored. Alright I'm tired of reading my own words so I'll end it here. I hope everyone has a great weekend and remembers to smile.
Satansvomit.
It's not the lack of communication that agitates me;it's the lack of internet connection. Boy doesn't have a break on Saturdays,therefore I'm home all alone with absolutely nothing to keep me occupied. Which,in turn,almost always leads to me binging. This totally defeats the purpose of being home alone where I have the oppurtunity to starve without watchful eyes around. Today I'm trying my best to keep entertained and away from the kitchen.
If you're wondering,I'm typing all of these posts on wordpad and plan to post them once I get internet. I don't know. It's a form of distraction-I'll take it.
In other news,I can feel my hipbones beginning to portrude out again,a familiar comfort I've missed. I feel so guilty when I look into Boy's eyes and tell him I'm not hungry. I know he senses something is wrong and I cannot will myself to tell him the truth. That guilt is what lead me to this repulsive state I'm currently in. I'm not happy like this and Boy can tell. I think that's why he doesn't say a word when he can hear my stomach practically scream out and beg for nourishment. He wants me happy with myself and it kills me knowing more than likely I'll never reach that point.
What I find odd is that Boy fell in love with me when I was severly emcumbered by my eating disorder,standing faintly at 97 pounds. I admit it made it easier to devote myself to my anorexia once he moved away,although we were still together. A few months before I moved up with him I was having palpitations so badly that I was secretly terrified to step foot on the plane,genuinely unsure if I'd ever make it off. I'd read horror stories about anorexia patients and air travel. I was fainting regularly and barely stepped on the scale. The last time I stepped on I was shocked to see 84 pop up. I'd never been that thin. I didn't feel that thin. I didn't believe I was that thin. Though,the horror in my family and friends' eyes assured me that the scale was displaying the truth. I smiled a sick smile.
Now,four months later I've blown up exponentially. I know where the fault lies. A combination of things really. I won't go into it,but long story short I wound up 20+ pounds heavier and don't feel a bit less guilty than before. Conclusion? Eating like a fucking whale won't ease my concern about letting others down,rather,it almost always ends up in my own disappointment. Time to remedy that.
It's about midway through the day now and not a morsel of food has passed my lips. I did have about 60 calories total due to coffee creamer. I know,a waste. However,I let myself have this one treat because when the holiday flavors come out I'm instantly drawn to them and cannot resist. I'm trying to plan out how I'll spend the duration of the day. I'll probably make an attempt to clean later then probably cap it off with some tea and a cigarette. This lack of internet is leading to dangerous thoughts. Not really but I'm fucking bored. Alright I'm tired of reading my own words so I'll end it here. I hope everyone has a great weekend and remembers to smile.
Satansvomit.
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Welcome to Satan's Vomitorium
I've left and returned from this community more times than is possible to count. We all have at some point,therefore,I'll spare you the routine introduction. I've missed the girls I once felt closer to than my own blood. My mind spins with incoherent thoughts and emotions I can't quite pinpoint. Day to day is a constant struggle with my sanity. This is the one place that I can at least begin to sort out the rubbish in my head and spew the result across the screen,void of judgement and responsibility. Welcome to Satan's Vomitorium.
Satansvomit.
Satansvomit.
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