Somebody prescribe me some Xanax

There is something you guys don’t know about me. I’m a thug. At least that is what it looked like last month when I got pulled over for speeding, expired registration and tinted windows. Truth be told, I was speeding but so where all of the 10 cars around me! I was just going with the flow of traffic. And my tags are up to date. I had to get a smog check this year and with the sickness and all the OT I ended up getting it done on the last day possible and so my tags were in the mail. And I was hung over. It was a shitty morning.

Another 10 foot wave happened in the work flow and I put in 29 hours of OT. Exhaustion. I looked at my ticket after the wave. I hadn’t gotten anything in the mail and it had been 3 weeks. Three days had gone by since the court date, I read the back of the ticket and freaked. the. fuck. out. Did missing the court date mean that there was now a warrant out for my arrest? I was a delinquent? ME? I really am a thug.

It was like the floor fell away beneath me. So I did what any thug would do, I called my mom. I wanted her to tell me to calm down. The court date is no big deal, I just missed my opportunity to fight against the ticket, and that I will get something in the mail that would advise me on how to handle the ticket. She didn’t. I believe her words were, “Oh. Shit.” So I stepped up the freak out a couple notches and tried to convince myself that it will be okay. That I can take care of this and everything will be fine. Except for my bank out. My bank account was sure to be in a state of sad, sad sadness.

My heart was beating out of my chest and I started crying (like a thug). I felt out of control and lost. I made a pitstop for a pack of cigarettes and chain smoked two while I feverishly read all I could on my current situation. I read up and came to the consensus that I’ll probably be okay. That date is not mandatory for people in my situation. The cigarettes helped me to numb my feelings and be somewhat rational. I was texting the wifey and she told me what I had wanted my mom to tell me.

I still felt numb. I poured a glass of wine and ate dinner. The glass of wine took me over an hour to drink because I started painting after I ate. Do you know what is missing? A binge and purge. The initial ticket didn’t send me into a tailspin but surely this episode was. It’s happened in the past. Last time, I got shit faced in Vegas and lost my iPhone. Tailspin. 

I call this progress. The last time I was doing well in terms of bulimia, but I was severely restricting. Not this time. Thanks to eating quality foods my brain chemistry is much more stable. Bingeing and purging was only a passing thought that was quickly dismissed. I didn’t want to eat or throw up. With the thought came the feeling of the NomVom aftermath the spiral of misery what would suck me in and none of it seemed the least bit desirable. Dismissed. 

I had planned on going out to Burbank for the weekend and see my friend while I was near. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think of how it would affect me for the weekend. I thought of how I didn’t want my friend to see my face all puffed up. I thought of how I didn’t want Burbank to see my body so bloated. My vanity worked in my best interest in this case.

I’m better-improved-but there is still so much that needs improvement. I’m still having a hard time with keeping my calories high. Well, to me they are high. I eat between 1400 and 1800. Apparently, this is in the dieting zone, not the normal one. I thought I was in the normal zone! I’m 5’3″ and I sit at a desk all day! I’m lazy! Sure, I do zwow about 3 times a week, that is what? 45 minutes of exercise a week? Pathetic.  I’m terrified of eating more than I am. I already feel big and fat. I’m afraid that eating 1800 to 2000 calories everyday will make me a Goodyear blimp. 

I gave up coffee for Lent. For what? I’m not religious. I do it to prove to myself that I can. I gobbled up all the chocolate in the office for the first two weeks. The next two I took up to putting creamer in my Chai Tea and snacking on peanuts. I feel like I’m missing something. I want my coffee back.

I’m going to raise my calorie intake. And I’m not happy about it.


Massa Recovery! I am your Grasshopper.

Along with eating more calories. Which I am still struggling with. I don’t even want to count my calories today cuz I’m pretty sure they will not be sufficient. Since this ED weaseled it’s way into my life eventually taking over I have become more and more secluded. Which is saying something since I have never been Ms. Popular Butterfly. Things began to change last year and now it seems they are gaining momentum.

ED definitely makes for a moody brood (and moody cocks too but that’s another story). I’ve noticed that my moods are way better these days, more stable. It makes it easier to socialize even when I’m not feeling super social it’s way easier to fake it now a days. I’m communicating more with my friends and family and, naturally, this leads to “let’s get together!” It’s also easier to not eat shitty foods because of my skin but I’m still a lush. Cheers! 

Speaking of Cheers and socializing. I was butterflying on New Years Eve and I met a guy. We’ve been texting since and the occasional phone call. He is suppose to come out on Saturday. And then he text and said his friends were getting together on Sunday and would I look to come too. So now we’re basically spending the weekend together. I guess. I don’t know if Sunday is in lieu of Saturday. I hope not but you know I over think and try and think of all the possibilities! Ever. In the world. I’m actually looking forward to hanging out with him and seeing how things go.

But then…not. My body is a mess. I have “eliminated” in a week and a half. I’m full of shit. And I’m 10 days late on my period. There is a small chance. I’m hoping that it’ll show up during the weekend. The wifey poses the possibility of my calorie intake not being sufficient and that is what is throwing things off. Let us hope. And pray. And do rain dances and shit cuz HOLY HELL. And the worst part about all this shituation is-oh wait…is not actually the worst part. Whatever! The problem is my fatness! I’m bloated as fuck! My belly protrudes like I’m 10 and a half months pregnant with shit baby! And the rest of me is complying with chub and bloat.

I know it’s not the worst part. Not really. My weight shouldn’t matter. My ED addled mind is screaming! RESTRIIIIIIICT!!! EXERCIIIIIIIISE!!! And then there is recovery, logical, stern and calm. Recovery is in it for the long run. It sees the big picture. ED means being alone. ED smothers me into solitude. If I want the life that I want (with people in it!) then I’m going to have to suck it up and focus on being healthy. I’m going to have to try and get past the fact that I’m big and soft and try to look the best that I can get big and soft to look. And then forget about it and be thereThere as in, “in the moment.” (I listen and retain Wifey!)

Things are going well over all. I feel like I’m on the right track. My cousin is moving to Oklahoma to be with a guy. She feels stuck and needs a change and this man is offering her what she wants, and so she’s taking a chance. I’m happy for her. I was reflecting on our conversation later on while I was arts and crafting it up in my apartment and I thought again how I’m good. Sure, I wish I had more friends and I wish my body weren’t so fucked up and more money would be nice! But I’m so grateful for what I do have. My apartment. My relationships with family and friends. My relationship with my MOM (she drove me fucking insane before I moved out). My job. When I was caught up in ED these parts of my life were just…there, ignored and collecting proverbial dust. Now all these aspects in my life are improving and I attribute this to the lack of ED clogging up my brain space. Just imagine when ED is gone! GONE! GAAAAAWWNE!!!!!!

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