We'll take a cup of kindness yet...

I had to laugh today when I saw an Internet ad starring Derek Jeter. The ad was for a new cologne called Driven:Black. The humorous part? It’s distributed by Avon. I guess I consider Derek Jeter to be a fairly high caliber brand. I wonder how much money Avon paid him to be the face of their new cologne. Hopefully enough to replace the testicles he must have lost to agree to an ad campaign with Avon. Seriously.

My tummy is a rumbling today – partially from a lack of sleep and partially from a purge session I had last night. I think it was mostly triggered by the double combination of phone calls from my mom and my brother. I really need to figure out how to distance myself from the drama happening with my family. It’s a double edged sword because I want there to be peace and I feel like I need to facilitate that peace. The problem is that I’m not a good facilitator. I’m too emotionally involved. I spent last night working on the letter to my mom and much to my surprise, I feel like a huge load has been removed from my shoulders. I’m starting to feel like maybe this is something I can do. That maybe it’s not going to be this huge emotional tidal wave and I can just plug away at working on myself and come out on top. It feels good; it feels refreshing.

Being that it is the last day of 2007, I feel like I should do a little reflecting on the events of this past year. I really think that it’s important to focus on the good parts of life. 2007 wasn’t perfect, but I feel like I’ve come a long way personally.

In 2007 I…

…reconnected with a few close friends who now live in various parts of the country.
…bought myself some new wheels.
…made friends with two women who inspire and motivate me.
…explored four major league baseball fields.
…celebrated my 26th birthday.
…discovered that I don’t have to be ashamed of who I am anymore.
…watched The Bridges of Madison County for the first time.
…made my nephew laugh.
…chopped, cooked, and ate an onion for the first time.
…discovered my new favorite city with my new best friend.
…bought the most comfortable pair of boots I’ve ever owned.
…started reading the Harry Potter series.

All this is to say that when I look back on the past year, I feel like I’m getting started on the right foot for the new year.

Cheers.

Ready to Investigate

I'm home now and I feel like I can breathe. I want to say that I know I'm lucky. I have a family who loves me and cares about my well being and supports me. I have two bitingly hilarious brothers, a very sentimental and caring father, and a nephew who is so completely adorable he makes Dakota Fanning look like a snot-nosed brat. And then there is mom. I love my mom - so completely and so deeply and wholly that as I write this I can't help but tear up. As a child, I spent hours sitting on the edge of her bed as she laboriously french-braided my hair. She spent many a moon making alterations to my dance costumes so I would be the flashiest and most well presented during my recitals. She helped me practice for my choir auditions and competitions. She helped me learn to drive, write English papers, and paint my toenails without getting any polish on my skin. She was there, even when I thought I didn't need her to be.

So now I find myself in a bit of a crisis which is further highlighted during trips to my hometown. I know I'm essentially a part of my mother; everyone I meet tells me how alike we look. Family members inadvertently call me by her name. I'm mistaken for her when I answer the telephone at my parent's house. And the thing that plagues me the most is that most of my behaviors toward food were learned from her. I feel sometimes like she is clawing at me, trying to keep me like her and to keep me from pushing past the issues that keep weighing me down. This last trip was most difficult and I won't pretend that I wasn't hurt by some of the things she said to me. I feel like she's making a deliberate attempt to carve away the self confidence I've busted my ass to achieve. And why? That, I have no answer to. Some of my closest confidants think it's jealousy and I'm not sure I disagree. Our lives have taken very different paths, and a part of me wonders if she is wistful about the freedom with which I live my life. I'm not sure that my mother's life is what she would like it to be.

All of this leaves me feeling, for lack of a better word, lost. I feel like I've hit a plateau in my recovery and that if I don't deal with all of this 'mom stuff,' I'm going to be stuck here indefinitely. I'm not much for New Year's Resolutions, but I think in this case I'm going to make an exception - only this will extend beyond 2008. I am going to confront this part of myself. Maybe it means I have to lay it on the line with my mom, and maybe it means it have to resolve it within myself. For as long as I can remember I've tiptoed around addressing a part of my life that is probably the most definitive. And I think that 20+ years of tiptoeing is enough.

I am unwritten
Can't read my mind, I'm defined
I'm just beginning
The pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Cancel my Subscription

This week has kicked my ass. And considering that I'm only a few hours into Thursday, that's saying a lot. Last night I was driving home in the rain and I kept having to maneauver around debris that had blown into the road. I feel like this week has been the same - I've had to navigate through a series of emotional obstacles that have left me worse for the wear.

Christmas is right around the corner, and I had started this season with a sense of excitement that I haven't felt in awhile. I'm trying to keep that excitement alive despite some family conflict, a bump in my recovery, and some other personal changes.

Taking the high road is a difficult step. For some reason, it's become more difficult for me in the past few years. I was telling a friend last night (who is also a native northerner) about these difficulties and I think I've realized that in an attempt to fit in, I've compromised pieces of who I used to be. I'm not going to get into a big discussion about the cultural differences between southern and northern women, but I will say this. We are different in practically every way, our moral code is hardwired on opposite ends of the spectrum. And it's difficult to be told that everything I learned during my formative years is incorrect. Because it's not incorrect, it's just different. Not amount of gossip, or scheming, or backpedaling is going to change that. That said, it's really difficult not to be tainted by underhanded negativity - especially when it's thrust in my face on a daily basis.

I'm a firm believer that when I have trouble articulating what I'm trying to express, that I should let someone else do it for me. So here you go - from everythinglori.com/blog.

When someone reacts to you with the verbal tone equivalent of twisting a daggar in your right eye, then they fucking care a lot. They may hate you, but point is, they care, care enough to hate you. And when shit like this goes down – for me? It’s reeeallly hard to not respond. Really hard. Why? Ready for my answer to Why? Because it’s not fair. Isn’t that stupid? When I shared the details to this exchange to others, 3 people responded identically – "Why do you care? What does it matter? That’s such a waste of time and energy. Why are we even talking about it?" Well, it’s this whole being a bigger person thingy. It’s just…sooo hard. When you’ve been kind to someone and they’re mean to you? Don’t you have the right to fight back? But what I’m slowly realizing is that no person who wants to be mean to you is worth ever speaking to, much less responding. Why don’t these lessons come to me AT the time rather than after the fact?

But who you associate with is who you are, and I think that certain people can bring you down and others can make you better. I’ve recently come to associate with a person who has a level of kindness, generosity, and patience that I find to be both refreshing and inspiring. It both highlights to me where my flaws still radiate and what I need to work on to become more like that. When you meet good people who are not just good deep down, who are not just intending to be kind but who are practicing kindness on a daily basis, well, it definitely teaches you that there is always room for growth. Sure, I’m embarrassed right now that I’ve so often and too recently traveled on the low road, and somepeople find their way up there earlier, so good for them. When you meet people who are about 48 times more mature than you, you bust your ass to mature as quickly as possible – all while hoping that person sorta thought you were that mature all along. :) Point is, it’s never too late to climb on up and join the good folks up on the high road, and I’m surely on my way. I aspire to finally become the Bigger Person. Call it my preemptive New Years Resolution. Less negativity, no more seeking out what does not matter to me, no more looking back. Enough of my time has been spent on the childish exchanges with those not worth my attention. I’m turning 29 in 3 months. It’s about time I grew up, don’t you think?

All of this is to say that I think I used to choose friends out of necessity. And not that I don't need friends now - I still need people in my life. I think I'm realizing now that I deserve to have friends who love, respect and care for me unequivocally. I compromised in the past because there was some amount of buried shame that told me I didn't think I deserved it. The difficult part now, is learning how to move on without feeling like I need to get even. But I know that in the end I'll be more than even.

It’s like going to confession every time I hear you speak
You’re makin’ the most of your losin’ streak
Some call it sick, but I call it weak

You drag it around like a ball and chain
You wallow in the guilt; you wallow in the pain
You wave it like a flag, you wear it like a crown
Got your mind in the gutter, bringin’ everybody down
Complain about the present and blame it on the past
I’d like to find your inner child and kick it’s little ass

My Departures Were Old

Is it an insult to my generation that I do not like pop/rock versions of holiday music? There is something about curling up on my couch in a pair of big, fuzzy socks, hot chocolate and a skein of yarn and listening to my friends Nat, Johnny, and Frank. I could not imagine the same scene playing out to the vocal interpretations of Christina Aguilera. Although, the fuzzy socks might be a bit much right now given that it is in the 70s outside. So maybe I am curling up with a glass of iced tea and flip-flops.

Dr. Gray wants me to write a letter to my mom for our next session. I really do not want to write a letter to my mom. I don’t think I realized I had as much anger as I do until our last session. Mom stuff is tricky. There’s all of this guilt and sadness and anger juxtaposed next to love, apathy, and pity. I am really not sure how to start this letter, henceforth, I’ve been putting it off all week. It has not been the best couple days. I think the anxiety of actually addressing these issues is sending me into a tailspin. And I think my behavior is reactive to this anxiety. Which leaves me feeling uncertain and kind of nauseated – no pun intended. I’m going to write the letter, I’m going to write the letter.

I bought a new book and some new music tonight in an attempt to cheer myself up. I know this too shall pass, but I’m nervous that I might be stuck in a rut right now.

At that particular time...

No Golden Calculators Need Apply

I've spent the last few hours in an attempt to complete my holiday shopping with my friend Caroline. Shopping is the truest test of a friendship for me. I'm not the stereotypical female shopper. I only go to the mall if I need something specific. I have a very methodical and efficient way of trying on and purchasing clothing. I have no real weaknesses with the exception of housewares. That said, I knew tonight might be a test of my patience.

Caroline and I did yoga before our shop-fest. We centered, we breathed, we stretched. We set out with a calm purpose. And then we went to Toys R' Us. It's been a long time since I've set foot in a toy store. I'm not one of those people that's nostalgic for the days of my youth, when my parents would take me to the toy store and let me pick out that one special thing. Nonetheless, I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into.

The store was a complete mess. Discarded Barbies and Matchbox cars were strewn through the aisles. Board games were stacked haphazardly on shelves which held either no toys, or too many toys to support. The bicycle section was mayhem. All around me were the sounds of 'test me' buttons being pushed. And the children. Oh god, the children. I told Caroline I'd meet her at the check-out counter and made my way over to the book section. To my surprise, the book section was like a zen garden. No children, no noise, no debris. Just me, a rack of neatly stacked literature, and another browser. I was kind of annoyed that this was the only quiet and neat and subsequently untouched section of the store. I wondered if books were really that antiquated and un-trendy. I think out of sheer principle I bought more books than I have gifts to give. I fought my way back through the sea of exasperated parents and marched myself and my books out of that store.

The shopping center that houses the Toys R' Us also houses a Lifeway Christian Bookstore. I think the name of the store needs to be of some emphasis in this story. As I was pulling out of my parking spot, I witnessed quite possibly the most disturbing scene. A woman in a minivan peeled out of her Christian bookstore parking spot. She then sped towards the exit, but not before sideswiping a loose shopping cart. She hit the cart so hard that it flew into the air and landed on another car. Maybe landed is the wrong word. It sort of bounced against the hood of the car, and then smashed the windshield before toppling onto the concrete. Caroline and I sat frozen, dumbfounded. What further confounded us was the fact that the minivan driver stopped, looked around, and then drove off. Drove off! Caroline and I played good citizen and made note of her license plate information. It turned out the car she obliterated belonged to some teenager who works at the store. O' Holy Night indeed.

The rest of the shopping expedition went well. Caroline and I mesh quite nicely as a shopping duo. We came, we saw, we conquered. We treated ourselves to holiday libations afterwards. We vowed to do all our shopping online next year.

Who's House?

If I could choose any celebrity to hang out with, I would choose Rev. Run and his family. I know I'd be excited to meet the Rev, but the idea of chilling with his family gets me just as pumped. Me and Justine could bust a move, I could play video games with Diggy and Russy. Angela and Vanessa could do my makeup. Seriously. Let's make this happen.

I talked to my mom tonight, and she was telling me about all the crafty projects she has going on for the holiday season. I didn't inherit one crafty little gene from my mother. This woman can make a holiday spread out of a toothpick and a maraschino cherry. I can knit lumpy scarves and pre-heat the oven. Would I consider myself creative? Sure. But crafty? Only by the Beastie Boys' definition.

On a heavier note, I had group today. I was going to give the rundown of today's events, but it's too emotionally exhausting. So I'll say this. If you read this, and you pray, or meditate, or even send up smoke signals, please keep my friend Sherri in your thoughts. She is a kind soul with practically no support system and she's having a really hard time right now.

For blaming myself for your unhappiness
And for my impatience when I was perfect where I was
Ignoring all the signs that I was not ready,
And expecting myself to be where you wanted me to be

To whom do I owe the first apology?
No one's been crueler than I've been to me.

Feces to Fertilizer

Graphic, I know. But just roll with it a moment.

One of my oldest and dearest friendships is with a curly haired cello-playing goddess by the name of Liz. Liz is flaky. Flaky McFlighty. It's a wonder our friendship has survived for 14 years, but it has. I love Liz something fierce and no amount of flake or flight will change that. Growing up, Liz had bunk beds in her bedroom. She and I would lay on the lower portion of the bunk and write memories on the exposed natural wood beams from the upper portion of the bunk. One of our favorite quotes at the time said something to the effect of true friends seeing you not as a you are, but as what you wish you could be. We loved that quote. Wrote it everywhere, including the graffiti'ed bunk bed. And I think that sums up why no matter how flaky Liz is, I will always love her. And I know that no matter how judgemental, or condescending I can be, Liz will always love me.

Fertilizer, I know. I'm getting there.

The past 48 hours have been rough. But I dug in...deep. I went to group today. I meditated. I threw myself into my work. I talked through my hurt with someone I trust and love. I knitted. I talked on the phone and watched reality TV. And in the end I did it. Instead of taking all the crap I was wading in yesterday and making it deeper and uglier and scarier, I changed it to fertilizer. I had some help along the way, don't get me wrong. But I still stopped, looked around, and decided that flowers are a lot prettier than dead weeds. And I'm counting on tulips.

Self magazine voted San Francisco as the healthiest city in America. Ironically, it also is ranked number one for the fewest number of people per capita on a diet. There were more positive statistics regarding the city in the article I read, and this wasn't just an independent study done by the editors at Self. It makes me feel like the universe is collaborating to will me back to the scent of salty air and soreness in my thighs from stomping up hills. I'm coming back...I promise.

We bring ourselves down
And build ourselves up in disappointment
How fragile we are
So fragile we are, we just don't show it
We'll shake up this town
And shoot down the stars for our enjoyment

I'm having a really hard time today and I'm not sure what else to do but write.

Fucking Thanksgiving. It's bad enough that we celebrate one day solely by overeating. Instead of just ending with one day, it's like the world is given carte blanche to extend in to the weekend. I purged last night. And I am so twisted up from it that I can barely breathe. The thing I hate the most is that it just hit me so hard, and so familiarly that I can't re-center myself. There I was, 4AM and still on a rush from the endorphins. And now here I am, physically sore and emotionally depleted and I just wish I could make it go away. And this is the worst possible to week for me to feel anything but on top of my game.

I'm so tired.

Freddie Prune Gives Good Head

I now have a new reason to love Oliver Platt. His character on Nip/Tuck is helping restore my faith in a show that was quickly turning from debauched and depraved to dismal and disappointing. Alliteration, you are my friend.

It's not just Olly that is sparking my mini-masms, no. The show has taken back its acerbically sexual undertone and tortured man-glam from one Dr. Christian Troy. The world, my friends, is once again as it should be.

Thanksgiving festivities have commenced a whole 48 hours in advance for me. Today was 'Potluck Day,' at the job and I left work feeling beyond satiated. I'm staring down the barrel of my worst fear right now - an excuse to overeat in a social setting. So what then is stopping me from completely losing my mind during all of this gluttony and gravy-based camaraderie? The fact that I am just breaths away from going four months without purging. This is the longest I have gone since I've been bulimic. I feel too triumphant at this point to let a little tryptophan high stand in the way of four-motherfucking-months (yep, I said it) of recovery. So fluff off cheesy potato casserole. Love don't live here no more.

And can someone puh-lease explain the rationale behind wearing denim miniskirts and Ugg boots at the same time? I hail from a region of the country that is battered by about eight solid months of winter. I mean snow, ice, more snow, bitter temperatures, icy roads, snow, wind-chill factors, and frost bite. Oh, and more snow. Wearing giant Eskimo boots with exposed ass cheeks is like a slap in the face with an ice scraper. Either it's winter or it's not. And we all know your feet are sweaty and smelly despite your attempt to look saucy. The gig is up.

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
Ooo, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay
Wastin' time

Bored at Work

1. Are you ready for 100 questions? As ready as I’ll ever be.
2. Do you watch college football? Yep – especially Big 10.
3. Who will fill this survey out after you? Umm, I’m not sure that anyone will.
4. Who was the last person to send you a text message? Dan
5. Do you love anyone? Yes
6. Are you happy? Yes
7. Where was the last place you went shopping? Publix
8. How do you feel about your hair? I yike it.
9. Where do you work? Kroll
10. Last thing you ate/drank? Reese’s Pieces (thanks Julie!)
11. Do you wish you were someplace else right now? Yes, home and under my covers.
12. Do you have any pet peeves? A few…
13. Do you have any expensive jewelry? Yes, at my mother’s house.
14. AIM or Yahoo? MSN
15. Do you like math? I like numbers, but not math.
16. How many hours on average do you work a week: 50
18. Favorite baseball team? Detroit Tigers
19. Favorte NBA team? Detroit Pistons
20. Do you watch the Olympics? Yes! I love the Olympics.
21. Last restaurant you went to? Amerigo’s
22. Who was the last person to call you? My mama
23. What’s your sign? Aries
24. Do you have a favorite number? 4
25. Last time you did volunteer work or made any donations? Last month for the Diabetes Walk in Nashville.
26. What do you spend the majority of your money on? Rent and my car.
27. Where does your family live? Michigan, Chicago
28. Are you an only child or do you have siblings? Two little brothers
29. Ever been called a bitch? A few times.
30. Got any guilty pleasures? More than I care to admit.
31. Do you drink beer? More often than I care to admit.
32. Whats your favorite color? I don’t really have a favorite – I like lots of colors.
33. Did you ever collect Beanie Babies? No. Stop it.
34. Ever bought anything online? Of course.
35. Myspace or Facebook? MySpace.
36. Do you have T-Mobile? I do! I love it.
38. Do you sometimes wish you were someone else? Not someone else perse, but in a different situation.
41. Last time you saw your parents? Last month.
42. Do you have any talents? I can play the nose flute and I do impersonations.
43. Ever been in a wedding? A few.
44. Do you have any children? Nope.
45. Last movie you watched? Friends With Money.
46. Are you missing anyone at the moment? Very much so.
47. Did you take a nap today? No, but that sounds wonderful.
49. Ever been on a cruise? I have!
50. Did you notice number 40 was missing? Actually 30 and 40 are missing. Douche.
52. Do you have any wealthy friends? All my friends are wealthy in love.
53. Ever met anyone famous before? I have
54. Favorite actor? Edward Norton
55. Favorite actress? Frances McDormand
56. Are you multi-tasking right now? I am
57. Could you handle being in the military? Nooooo way.
58. Are you hungry or thirsty? A bit thirsty.
59. Favorite fast food restaurant? Hmmm…probably Taco Bell.
61. What is your average cell phone bill? $75.00
62. Do you own a camera phone? Nope.
63. Ever had to take a sobriety test? Nope.
64. Do you believe in Karma? I believe in the concept of karma.
65. Can you speak any other languages? Not really. I can read conversational French.
66. Last time you went to the gym or worked out? Last week
67. How many pairs of shoes do you own? Somewhere around 20
68. Do you have a photo hosting site that you use? Nope.
69. Last place you were? Before work? My house I suppose.
70. What is your college mascot? Trojan.
71. Ever been to Las Vegas? Sadly, I have not.
76. Have you ever been gambling? Yes.
77. How old are your parents? 49 and 54
78. When is the last time you updated your blog? Last night
79. Do you have your wisdom teeth? I have two left.
80. Favorite place to be? The beach
81. Have you been to New York City? Yep, a couple times
82 Favorite sit down restaurant? Park Café or Peter’s for sushi.
83. Ever been to Disney Land? No
84. Do you have a favorite cartoon character? I used to be a big fan of Rainbow Brite.
85. Last thing you cooked? Pasta
86. How is the weather today? Kind of cloudy and balmy.
87. Do you email? Do I email? Is this a trick question?
88. Last letter/piece of mail you received besides junk or a bill? My Netflix DVDs.
89. Last missed call? J-Balla
91. Last voicemail you received? J-Balla
92. Do you drunk dial/text? It’s my specialty.
93. Stupidest thing you ever did with your cell phone? One time I dropped my phone in the toilet at a party. I was too grossed out to fish it out so I just left it there.
94. What is the best city in the state that you live in? Nashville I suppose.
96. Did you just die? What?
97. Are you bored right now? Yes – I cannot concentrate on work.
98. Last concert you went to? Green Day.
99. What do you think about before you go to bed? This really tall, dark, and handsome drink of water that I am so lucky to have in my life.
100. What are your plans for tomorrow? Work, work, and more work. And my TV night.

Into Marvelous Light I'm Running

Today at church, the pastor talked about the idea of authentic community. Authentic community is a big catch phrase amongst Christian hipsters, but its fundamental meaning is of something to take note.

I've lived in Nashville now for over four years, and I am just getting to the place where I feel like I am establishing something resembling an authentic community. What has become blatantly obvious to me over the past few weeks, is that friendships formed based on a common interest may not always be the most fulfilling for me. I used to try to surround myself with people who I thought were a lot like me. What I find is that I tend to let my personality - my being - take a backseat to make these friendships work. I'm finally starting to see that I'm missing out on a lot of great human interaction and causing myself a lot of hardship in the meantime.

I made friends with a girl named Sarah when I first moved to Nashville. We quickly hit it off because we were both from Michigan and subsequently both experiencing the culture shock of life below the Mason-Dixon line. We remained friends for just over a year, and then as quickly as we bonded, we broke apart. I tried for months to patch things up with Sarah, but it just wasn't going to happen. I finally realized how much I'd been settling in our friendship; I finally realized how much of myself I'd compromised to keep Sarah's ego in tact because I so desperately thought I needed her friendship.

I'm going through a very similar experience now, only with a lot more pain involved. When Sarah and I parted ways, I turned to my eating disorder to cope. Now, I'm actually dealing with the way I feel about a friend who has betrayed me and who has hurt me to the core. Forgiveness is a really tough pill to swallow. Probably worse than forgiveness is forgetfulness. I think in this case I'm trying to forgive both myself and my friend. It hurts deep and true and so real that sometimes I'm mad at God for creating us as such fallible creatures. I hate that I have to feel so disgusted at someone. I hate that I have to feel like such a failure as a person.

All of this is to say that I don't think authentic community stems from people gathering based on a commonality. I have found the unlikeliest of friends from simply opening my mind up to the idea of getting to know someone because they are different than me. If nothing else, I think I'm experiencing a lot of pain right now to learn that friendships can be mutually fulfilling. And that I am loved because of who I am, not because I serve as some sort of puppet for the emotionally malnourished.

'Cause this is a battle
And its your final last call
It was a trial, you made a mistake, we know
But why aren't you sorry, why aren't you sorry, why?
This can be better, you used to be happy, try!

Like A Sneaker on a Live Wire, Dangling

It is a sad day when one of my guiltiest pleasures leaves me feeling…well, without pleasure. I had approached fall with an unbridled sense of excitement over the promise of a fabulous Tuesday evening television lineup. My two favorite programs – House and Nip/Tuck – are now scheduled on Tuesday night, one right after the other.

The last two weeks, I have come home on Tuesday night, made a delicious dinner and adjusted my bed pillows to achieve maximum comfort. I settle in, remote control in hand, and wait for that comfortable feeling of numb brain to sink in. The last two weeks, I have been sorely disappointed.

First, can we put some more characters on House? Last season, House’s entire staff either quit or resigned. This season, we pull out all the bells and whistles to hire a new staff – complete with hottie Olivia Wilde, and that dude who is either Harold or Kumar – I can’t remember which. Now this week, we bring out the quasi-famous Michael Michele? Weak. Weak! How many medical dramas can this woman guest star on? ER, a couple cancelled pilot episodes of a random doctor show, I think I even remember her on Chicago Hope. What the H?!?! If the writers of the show end up creating a romance between her and House’s characters, I may have to consider burning my television.

So let us discuss Nip/Tuck, shall we? My loyalty runs a bit deeper for this program; I have watched it since its inception, and Dr. Troy has been the subject of many a masturbatory fantasy for me. That aside, I am nervous that the writers may be grasping this season. Last year, Troy and McNamara moved their practice from the sultry beachside of Miami to the vapid and contumelious Hollywood. This move apparently warrants the onslaught of guest appearances from an odd combination of B-listers, impersonators, and Lauren Hutton. I will contend that Portia DiRossi looked wicked hot in last night’s episode, but she only appeared for about five minutes of the show. But Daphne Zuniga? Marilyn Monroe look-alikes? The gay mafia? And to top it all off, we have to run a story-line about Dr. Troy being a middle aged has-been? Show a girl some love!

I turned off the TV last night and rolled over to a feeling of uncertainty. How can the world be right without the cocky swagger of a lady-killer like Christian Troy? How can I fall fast into a satiated sleep without the snarkey rebuttals of Dr. House dancing through my dreams? Why is the world plotting against me?

It's a longshot
She's got the truth and her tongue for a slingshot
But she's taking steady aim at the big shot
It's hard to miss the rolling bullets on the blacktop
Better mark it, your turf

She's coming up from, coming up from, coming up
Coming up from Behind. Yeah.
She's coming up from, coming up from, coming up
Coming up from Behind

Luckiest

I saw Ben Folds today at the diner where I had lunch. He was sitting on the same side of the booth as the girl he was with, and his cool quotient dropped a few points because of it. Couples who sit on the same side of the booth weird me out. I like to look a person in the eye when I’m talking, not stare down the depths of an ear canal.

I love Nashville in November. It smells woodsy and fresh and crisp outside. I can wear a jacket without getting warm, and boots without looking silly. November also brings the promise of the holidays. I’m so excited for Christmas this year. It’s not even that I love Christmas itself, I love the time surrounding Christmas. I love decorating, baking, shopping, and listening to Christmas music. But mostly I love the onslaught of clay-mation movies that pop up during the holidays. There is nothing better than sipping some Baileys and hot chocolate and watching Rudolph get his feelings hurt.

I decided I’m going to submit something to the Burnside Writer’s Collective. Which means I may actually have to grow balls and possibly a beard to build up the cahones necessary to submit a piece. This also means I’m going to have to write something BWC worthy. My friend sent me a copy of Free Will, and it inspired me to write like the good philosophy major I played in a past life. But I don’t want to straddle the religion/spirituality line too much. I think instead, I’m going to do something on eating disorders or social body consciousness. I’m feeling very analytical on that topic as of late.

What if I’d been born 50 years before you
In a house on the street where you lived
Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?
And in a wide sea of eyes
I see one pair I recognize
And I know…

Oh, Ani

How is that a little Kanye West and Cheetos can become the cure-all for an emotionally ravaging day? I submit that Cheetos are made in part with crack, as there is no other logical explanation for their deliciousness or addictive quality.

Group today was rough, and I think it had to do with the fact that I’m actually doing pretty well. It’s a strange guilt I feel to know that I’m moving past all of the mental angst I feel in regard to myself. Things aren’t wonderful by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m feeling sad for all of my friends in group who are where I was one year ago, or two years ago, or three years ago. The problem is that there is not a formulaic response to recovery; it’s sort of trial and error to find your groove and then when you lose your way, you go back to square one and look for your groove again. It broke my heart a little bit to hear about the struggles my friends are facing. It broke my heart to know that I can’t fix it for them. What I can do right now is keep on plugging away at this. Maybe at some point I can be an inspiration to my friends at group.

I wish I had an internal switch that prevented me from being nauseated by desperate women. I wish I wasn’t affected so greatly by the behavior of immature bottom-dwellers who lack any morsel of self preservation. Mostly I wish I could stop caring about those who do not have my best interest at heart. The fact is that we all have our own stuff; almost without exception everyone has experienced some type of pain or bitterness or unfortunate circumstance in his/her life. At some point, you chose not to expel your own existential crises onto others. At some point, you chose to just live for yourself whether or not anyone is watching. At some point, you make peace with the universe and eventually you make peace with yourself.

i gotta beeline double time

leave my home sweet home for your honeycomb

then i show up steady, ready and proud

and i find I've forgotten how to talk out loud

isn't it just like you to bring me to my knees

in my brand new stockings

while the cat is out with my tongue

isn't it just like you to bring me to my knees

in my brand new stockings

love makes me feel so dumb

Last Time I Checked, I Was None of Them

I just returned from an unexpected visit to the motherland - this time for a funeral. My grandpa passed away at the lived-in age of 90. He lived through The Depression, a couple wars, marriage, kids, several relocations, and more importantly a lot of love. As sad as I was that grandpa is gone, the more relieved I am that he’s not suffering anymore. And he was ready; he told his pastor just days before he died that he was ready to see his wife and Jesus. I can’t help but believe he’s right, and that after such a long and productive and inspiring life, he gets to be reunited with the people he loved and dwell in the most perfect place.

Visits home usually leave me depleted and in a semi-permanent state of self-loathing. Or maybe I should say that I chose those feelings after my visits home. I’m choosing not to feel that way anymore. Being at home gave me a lot of time to reflect and think and just be. I did a lot of writing and went for long walks with myself and it was nice to just be alone without distraction for a few minutes at a time.

I’m starting to see that a conflicted life is a wasted life. I have this friend who is constant conflict; with herself, her friends, her coworkers, her life. And now this friend is in conflict with me. While I definitely don’t want to just rollover and let her project her issues on to me, I am not going to engage in her conflict. I hate that I have wasted so much time being upset over the person I am. More importantly, I’m resolving to be OK with the person I am. There just seems to be so much natural conflict – universal, spiritual, social – and I would rather make the choice to not be conflicted about the things are unnatural. So there.

Lose the costume
The days of dress-up are gone
Time to join in and put a different outfit on

It's an Infininte World and I Want You...

Ahhh, Duncan Sheik. How I adore thee.

Feeling marginally better today. Partially because I don’t know how anyone could be upset on such a beautiful day like today. Partially because I’m just tired of feeling like poo. And partially because I feel good in what I’m wearing.

I realize that recovery isn’t cut and dry. I realize that it’s a series of good days looped in with a series of bad days. I realize that I’m a work in progress and that weight loss may not necessarily be the next natural step for my body or my mind. That said, I’m not feeling comfortable at the weight I’m at and I think that contributed the most to my less-than-sunny disposition the past week. It’s not just a matter of comfort either – I want to feel healthier and more at ease in physical situations.

There are days when I can look at myself objectively and think that I’m beautiful. I want those days to not be so few and far between. More than that, I want to stop judging others based on how they look. How is that the thing I’m most sensitive and insecure about, is the very thing I’m guilty of myself? I think if I met God today, that’s the first question I’d ask him/ her. How is it that as human beings, we are such hypocrites? How is it that we can completely loathe and detest qualities that we ourselves possess? It just seems so cruel and unfair and completely tragic. But I digress.

One of my favorite pick-me-up songs is The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. I have it on repeat today.

Hey, you know they're all the same
You know you're doing better on your own, so don't buy in
You live right now, just be yourself
It doesn't matter if it's good enough for someone else

It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything will be just fine
Everything will be alright
It just takes some time
Little girl you're in the middle of the ride
Everything will be just fine
Everything will be alright

The Middle

Every time I start a sentence it sounds completely whiny and melodramatic and that's really not how I'm feeling right now. I'm exhausted. Completely and totally. And the kicker? I'm sleeping regularly. And for long periods of time. So maybe I'm emotionally exhausted. Maybe.

I've been kicking ass at work. My non-profit roots have reared their martyr-like head again and I'm helping out with some philanthropic initiatives at work. I'm also getting my team whipped into shape and helping out with some pretty large new clients. I feel confident and together and powerful. Then I go home.

Maybe it's the 90-day rule. I've gone nearly three months without purging, and with only a few binge-eating episodes during that span. I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin. I can't sit, stand, or lay down. I eat, but I feel gross and helpless afterwards, regardless of the type or quantity of food I had. I hate that I'm feeling this way again because it's just so old and done and I'm so over it. But I'm not really over it because I keep reliving it. I want so badly to make it to three months. I feel like that might be what breaks me - I've never, in the last six years made it 90 days without purging. I want to know how that tastes and how it looks on me.

The other shitty thing that I'm freaked about is this weekend. My roommate and I were supposed to do some serious shopping for our apartment, but she's decided to go home this weekend. Which leaves me with, the exception of a few hours, a clear schedule. I feel trapped and it's only Tuesday.

My church started this new podcast series called "Traction." My pastor recommends that I listen to it and go for a walk. So tomorrow, I'm getting up early to find my Traction. Or maybe just a tread.

And the Clarity to See and Stop This Now...That is What I Have Earned

Call the wah-ambulance. I can.not.stop.crying.

But it’s good. I know it’s good because it means I’m feeling stuff and I’m not just stuffing my emotions inside and pretending I’m “fine” and “ok.” Not that I’m really doing that terrible, but my life situation isn’t ideal right now.

I think I may have lost a good friend this week – or maybe I just lost someone I thought was a good friend. I think I’m starting to figure out that maybe hanging out with someone solely because that person makes me laugh is not enough ground on which to build a friendship. But it doesn’t make it sting any less to find out that I’m expendable. It doesn’t make me want to trust and love and believe with abandon.

Tyler and Caroline have moved further away from me – it takes me about an hour to get to their new house. In a way I’m happy for them because they’ve wanted a house for so long, but I’m sad because it’s not as easy to see them during the week. Thusly adding more tears to the Sorrow River I’m creating.

It’s just that I’m so restless right now. I can’t move without worrying that I am slipping into obsessive behavior. We talked in group this week about the difference between leaps and baby steps. And I know it needs to be baby steps right now, but baby steps don’t get me very far very quickly. I’m not trying to whine, I just wish this would happen for me.

What I’m striving for is a greater connection between my rational self and my eating disorder self. I can sit here at work and know that I am a hard worker, a good leader and a strong contributor to my company. I’m an aunt, a daughter, a sister and a niece, and I know I play an important role in my family. I just wish these things mattered when I put my jeans on this morning. I wish they mattered when I’m surrounded by mirrors during hip-hop aerobics. I wish, I wish, I wish.

Speaking of hip-hop aerobics, I found out that my gym is offering the class again for October! Yay and hooray! So I’m headed back tonight to get my swerve on. Sort of. I also decided that I’m going to buy myself a new athletic-y swimsuit and start swimming one day a week for cardio. I used to swim all the time and I’m actually a pretty strong swimmer. I also like swimming, so I know it’s something I can do and not be bored.

Baby steps, here I come.

...And Consequently So Am I

Yesterday’s group session was really tough. I’ve had a heavy heart ever since yesterday, but it’s mostly because I wish I could change life for the women in my group. A new girl has joined our ranks, and she is a snapshot of me four years ago. I want to just scoop her up and take her away to some place where none of this crap mattered. I wish I could do that for every one in my group, hell every woman who has carried this burden on their shoulders. I know this is coming off as whiny, and it is whiny, but it doesn’t change the what-ifs we all feel. I prayed last night for everything I couldn’t change and for everything I knew I had the strength to change.

I became ill yesterday afternoon during work and ended up going home. I’m not sure if it was something I ate, or just general stress, but I physically became ill. As I’m leaned over the toilet and my chest is pounding and my eyes are watering I think I slipped out of myself for a few minutes. I could not believe that this was something I used to force myself to do. It hit me really hard and really fast and all I could do was apologize to myself and to my body for using something so unnatural to cope.

I’ve made the decision that it’s time to get back into the swing of things exercise-wise. And by swing of things, I don’t mean that I’m going to start the obsessive exercise regime I was doing earlier this year. This is gentle, and in the greatest effort to take care of myself. So I’m starting with three days a week – two days of cardio and one day of yoga or Pilates. It feels good to be decisive about this and not just wing it until I’m out of control. I just hope it stays this way.

Serious...as a heart beat

I love it when people mix metaphors. I used to work with a woman who did it all the time. My favorite was when she said we were all going to ‘hell in a purse.’ Really? I think I’d prefer to meet my destiny via attaché case.

My brother is coming into town tomorrow, and I’m mucho excited. Andrew is my baby brother, and one of my favorite people. It’s weird living apart from my family because I receive far fewer hugs than I used to when I lived near my family. I love hugs. They are probably the most sincere, non-selfish expression of affection that I can think of. I feel like I can read into a person’s soul when I hug him. My friend Caroline gives the best hugs. Caroline is on the short side, and she’s the quintessential petite girl, but when Caroline hugs it is with the force of a pro-football tackle (left or right, doesn’t matter). It’s as though all her determination and love and sincerity are pouring out through her arms. I’m always cheerful after a Caroline hug.

A friend of mine recently told me that next month a production of The Phantom of the Opera is going to be shown at a local venue here in Nashvegas. This isn’t just any production of Phantom, this is the 1925 original black-and-white silent film. And on top of it there is going to be live accompaniment by the Nashville Symphony complete with an organ. Nothing gives me goose bumps like a little organ music. I know some people think that Phantom is generic and sort of the Wal-Mart of musical productions, but I must beg to differ. For me there is still so much romance and intrigue and just general emotive music to this musical that I can’t write it off as cheesy. Perhaps it’s because I used to pretend that I was Christine. My parents house had a loft and I could stand at the top of the staircase overlooking the living room from my perch in the loft. I imagined I was being stalked by a masked man in a tuxedo and a cape. Wow, that sounds really stupid now. But I digress. I still love dramatic organ playing and big-lashed heroines and misunderstood bad guys. That will never be cheesy to me.

I’ve had that Relient K’s “Who I am Hates Who I’ve Been” running through my head all day. But not in a self-depricating way. It’s more of an apology to myself and a resolve to do better next time…which turns out to be this time.

No Pat on the Back, Just Your Mind Intact

I’m feeling a bit frazzled and out of control today, so I’m stopping now to write a little and let the catharsis of that sink in.

When I started this blog, it was mostly to talk about myself and the bounty o’ issues I have surrounding myself, my weight, and my eating disorder. These past few months have given way to so much change, and I feel like my life is molding itself into something a little bit closer to what I thought it would be. Therefore, I’m changing the direction of this blog. I still want to talk about my stuff, but I just feel like I have so much more that’s inside of me that I need to explore through my writing.

I like to play a game with myself where I review the last year and decide my worthiness based on how much I have accomplished. This accomplishment, of course is relative because ultimately I’m my own worst critic and don’t recognize what I have truly accomplished. Something about the change in weather, and the promise of fall brings this out of me. When I started to reflect this time, I actually felt good about where I am. In the past year I’ve graduated from college, I’ve gotten a promotion, I’ve lived in one place for more than one year, I’ve bought a car that I saved for all by myself. While all of these are tangible and very important, my more important accomplishments lie within my soul. I think what’s most important is that I’ve made a conscious effort to stop dwelling in the muck of what I think I should be. It’s not easy, and it’s certainly not something that comes naturally. But I am trying.

Things We Buy, To Cover Up What's Inside

On Friday I went to the doctor because I've had this strange sensation at what seemed to be the part where my throat meets my stomach. It wasn't heartburn or indigestion or anything painful. It was kind of a tight feeling and it affected my appetite my throat. It had started the Tuesday prior with no reprieve all week. My doctor thinks I'm having esophageal spasms. She told me right away that it happens to a lot of people, but when I asked her if it could be from the purging, she said higher instances occur in those who are bulimic.

I have to take a series of three medications several times throughout the day. If this doesn't work in one week, my doctor is going to send me to have an esophageal scope. I may have to have my esophagus dialated. Apparently it's a quick procudure and cures the problem indefinitely.

I feel like a complete asshole. Not only because this mostly happens to people over the age of 60, but because I feel like I'm being an irresponsible citizen. I would consider myself to be in recovery - it's been nearly two months since I've purged and I've really started to be aware of my actions and thoughts as they pertain to myself. But because of what I have inflicted on myself, I may have to have minor surgery. People die of things that they have no control over; cancer, heart attacks, blood diseases, and too many others to name. Here I am with my head over the toilet several times a week because I can't get ahold of myself. It pisses me off that I've let it go this far.

I don't want to hate on myself too much for this, because I don't want it to lead to self-destruction. However, I don't feel like this is one of those touchy-feely things I should just 'be ok' with. I'm praying that the meds will work and I can just put the rest of the unpleasantness behind me. I'm also praying that it's not something worse than esophageal spasms. I wish I could go back to myself when all of this started and just reason with that little girl who thought she could just take it all on and not bother anybody. I wish I would have told her to speak up.

I've Got My Reasons, Got My Seasons

Today marks six weeks of no purging. Actually six weeks of no purging and not purposely overeating. What makes this even more significant is that I hadn't even counted the six weeks. Usually I'm like an abacus, counting every millisecond that I haven't purged. It feels good to have not noticed the time passing so quickly. This leads me to analyze what has been different about the last month-and-a-half that has allowed me to stop searching for reasons to binge.

• I did an insane amount of traveling - especially during the weekends when I tend to isolate and fall into the binge/purge cycle
• I really threw myself into work. It's been an especially stressful time for my department and I worked really hard to make changes that I hope will have a lasting impact on my team.
• I've been careful about journaling whenever that negative anti-Emily voice kicks in. I'm working to respond to all the misconceptions I have about myself.
• I've been praying a lot. I don't like to get all Jesus-y here, but I do notice that my life is a bit more peaceful during the times when I am meditative and prayerful. I'll leave it at that.

That being said, I'm a bit worried about starting to purge again. Based on my past history, I usually don't last much longer than this before I freak out and fall into old habits. All I can say is that this time I feel like my arsenal of defense tools is stronger than before. I don't want to be overy-analytical here. I'm just excited about my success and tomorrow will be a new day.

I've been dancing and singing all day long. I actually used to sing all the time. During my first stint in college, I studied under the tutelage of Eugenia Yau. She was this amazing petite little Asian woman with the voice of an Operatic Goddess. She worked diligently with me to convince me that I could in fact, perform at a couple showcases the music department sponsored. My voice was a lot more pure then - before cigarettes, and shouting, and throwing-up turned me a bit rusty. All of this is to say that I miss singing and I want to get back into it. Part of me wants to find a church with a choir, even though I'm happy where I am now. We'll see. For now, the shower and my car will have to do.

Like Indecision to Call You

I am in a really weird place right now. Nothing is going right and I am sad and scared and feeling general malaise. I suppose the little thread I am hanging on is that I am actually feeling my emotions right now. It has been so long since I have cried so freely and felt ok with just being sad about something. It was scary at first to not try and just numb myself into oblivion, but I did it. I am letting myself experience life and not back away from my feelings. And that’s ok.

I’ve decided that I have to sit down and talk to my mom about the things that I can’t take on for her. I am not saying that I’m going to create some approved list of topics we discuss, but I have to let her know my limits. Mostly I can not listen to her blame my father for everything that’s wrong with them financially. I know for a fact that she’s had a hand in this as well, and it’s not fair of her to put her frustrations on me. That is what therapy is for.

It is a strange thing to realize what I have carried on my shoulders for too long. I remember watching this episode of Oprah when I was in college. There was a woman about my age (now) who lost something like 175 pounds in something like seven months. She said that the seven months was the last part of her therapy; she had spent years prior in recovery from disordered eating. It was not until she was able to let go of all of the extra baggage that did not belong to her, that she was able to lose her own physical baggage. I am not even to the point of thinking about weight loss, mostly out of the fear of slipping into old habits. I am however, working to get rid of this extra emotional baggage.

My father is a very simplistic in his craft. He likes clean lines, open spaces, and room to create. I used to watch him at his drafting table when he would draw-up plans for new houses. He always started with a lot of extras; crown molding, abbreviated lofts, bay windows, cabinetry, etc. His final drafts were always sophisticated without being overly intricate. I loved to imagine what it be like to live in his houses, with their airy high ceilings and long stretches of hardwood floors. I could fill the space up any way I liked, and I kind of imagine that I’m doing the same thing with my life. I’m clearing out of the extra stuff I don’t need so I can make space for who I truly want to be.

Because you can just give it back

It's my vacation from my vacation day and I can't help feeling this impending sense of doom for what the rest of this year will be like. Maybe it's a vacation postpartum, but I'm a little depressed and angsty.

Let's start at the beginning. I went to Michigan for a few days to see family and relax and generally connect with people I'm related to by chance. I love my family, in fact sometimes the love I feel for my family is so deep and so encompassing that I'm not sure what I would do if I didn't have them. Other times I just wish I could start over and be independent of their influence on me. About four years ago, my dad went into business for himself and unbeknownst to me, apparently his business is fledgling. My mom went into great detail about their finances while I was home. Apparently they've drained their retirement funds and are living on my mom's salary right now. They're mortgaged beyond their resources and now they're spending what should be their pre-retirement time working like dogs to have some income. Just income. Not retirement or spending money or entertainment change. Income. I'm so angry and sad and anxious and worried for them. I'm mad at my mom for blaming the situation on my dad. I'm mad at them for continually pissing their money and their lives away. I'm mad at them for passing along their insecurities and bad habits to their kids. But I'm mostly just sad because there isn't a damn thing I can do to help them. My parents are undoubtedly best friends, but in someways I think they just feed into one another's weaknesses. I want so badly to not take on their stuff; to just give it back and be ok with that. I don't know that I'll get there, but I know that I need to.

I went to my first group therapy today. I met amazing, wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, and completely charming women. I was the youngest of the group, but somehow my voice resonated within these women. I'm starting realize how much disordered eating affects women in general. It's not just the underweight and overweight. There is a therapist and a personal trainer in my group. There's a new mom and a lady with grandchildren in my group. There are women with more education than me and less education than me in my group. As heart wrenching as it was to hear their stories, to hear the years that they had been tortured by their own thoughts, to hear the passion in their voices when they talked about recovery, it was even more overwhelming to feel so connected so immediately with strangers. Every time someone spoke, every head in the room nodded in unison. They got me. They understood what it was like to turn to food to cope with life and not even realize you're doing it. They knew what it meant to just try to numb yourself enough to not have to think about how fat or skinny you are. But they also knew what it was like to want to feel free from all that. To just live and appreciate how blessed our lives are. To appreciate people and scenery and activity and love. To just be.

After my time in Michigan I headed to San Francisco with my dear friend. It was completely wonderful and I can still smell the salty air and feel the cool breeze against my face. My nose is peeling from a sunburn, my legs are sore from hauling up hills, and my heart is laying somewhere in Union Square. But it was beautiful and I guess that without the bitter, the sweet just ain't as sweet.

Take me back to the start

I've been trying to fall back to sleep for the last hour, but my mind is kind of racing right now. I'm feeling better, perhaps in part to the Prozac, but also because I'm just thinking clearly. I had a really great session with Dr. Gray this week, and I feel energized and inspired. It's easy for me to make that list of things I'm not doing - working out, eating 'healthy,' journaling, meditating, etc etc. But today it's about what I am doing. I'm eating, and not just for the purpose of purging. I'm not letting myself binge. I'm intervening with that voice that says I can't do it. I'm intervening even more with the voice that says I'm going to fail.

Last weekend I had a chance to spend some time with one of my oldest and dearest friends. She's a musician who recently experienced some sort of tendonitis. It's a problem she's had for almost two years, but it gets so bad sometimes that she can't even use her right arm. I won't get into the specifics of the story, but basically she realized she had put her life on hold while she coped with this issue she had. Something about that resonated with me so deeply. I have this ideal in my head that as soon as I'm thin, I'll be able to do whatever I want. I hold back in pretty much every aspect of my life because I think I don't deserve to participate with the rest of the human race. I'm finally starting to see that I've sold myself short for as long as I can remember. No longer my friends. No longer.

Hanging on this Wire

I’m not really sure where I am right now. I’ve been binging and purging pretty much daily, and I’m completely exhausted from it. I’m completely amazed at the 180 I’ve done since last month. Every night I go to bed with every intention of getting up early to workout. I feel disgusting – fat, tired, moody, and sore. It still blows my mind how much purging affects my body. When I was younger, it didn’t used to take such a toll on me – I could still find energy to work and purge and even workout. Now I’m sleeping late and passing out on the couch before 8PM. But for as bad as I feel, I can’t seem to kick this little phase. The good news is that I have a session with Dr. Gray tonight, so hopefully I can work through some of these things.

Last weekend I visiting my friend Maria in Charlotte. It had been quite awhile since we’d seen each other, and it was really good to just hang out with someone I can be completely comfortable around. Not that some major breakthrough occurred, but it was nice to see her and talk about our lives and the things we struggle with. I don’t have many friends that I can talk to frankly about my issues, but Maria is one of those people who I can pick-up with right where I left off.

Work is pissing me off. There’s this idiot in my department who makes my skin crawl. He wears some sort of strange cologne/body musk and he stands entirely too close to me when he talks. Aside from his personal creepiness, he also sucks at his job. I’m talking administrative paper-pushing 101 and this guy can’t get it together enough to move on to any other tasks. Because I’m still technically deferring to my supervisor, we continue to give him chances. I think we’re finally going to let him go in a couple weeks if he doesn’t straighten up, but I have to deal with the brunt of his moronic existence.

I don’t know, I’m having one of those days/weeks/months. I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin and I just want to sleep at the same time. I’m going on yet another weekend getaway in a few days, and then next week Andres comes. I need to decompress in a major way, but beyond the few hours I have in the evening, I’m not sure when that will happen. I wish I had a life coach whispering in my ear that I can, in fact, do this.

And I ain't in the best shape that I've Ever Been In

I am at work right now, but definitely not in work mode. I’m sort of spinning from the weekend and from the things that are to come. I’m nervous about the rest of the summer. I have a couple trips planned in the coming weeks to see friends who I haven’t seen in a long time. Andres is coming down in a couple weeks, and then I have one long vacation I’m splitting between Michigan and San Francisco. That said, I am not sure what to make of the rest of this summer. Shrink and I talked about routine during my last session and that’s really resonated with me. I don’t do well unless I have a routine. I need consistency, and that’s something I require in nearly every facet of my life – my friends, my family, my workout, my eating habits etc. Routine is something that I sometimes neglect because I think I will be able to get by without it, but I’m realizing that maybe that’s not the case.

What I do know is that I have trouble dealing with curve balls – even if the curve ball is occurring in the future. It’s like I have to have a period of consistency in order to feel like I can accomplish…anything really. So right now I’m focusing on the day-to-day. I know that’s Recovery 101, but sometimes I get so caught up in the I-need-to-lose-weight-immediately machine, that I forget about just today.

I’m sort of sending this question out into the universe, but maybe some of the people who read this (all two of you) know what I’m talking about. I feel like recovery is such a whiny process, and I hate being a whiny girl. Sometimes I look back on the things I’m thinking and feeling about myself and my life, and it just seems like a really long episode of Oprah. Part of the reason I don’t think I dealt with these emotions and I found other ways to cope, is because I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t want to be that girl with the eating disorder who is sad and lonely and blames everything bad that happens on her problems with food.

Something that the visit from mom helped me to realize what that I don’t have to carry the issues mom has. I think I tried for a long time to sort of house that guilt and depression she had. It’s a bit refreshing to know that you can just hand that stuff back to whoever gave it to you. You don’t have to take up everybody else’s cross when your own cross is heavy enough.

'Course numb is an old hat/Old as my Oldest Memories

William tells me that I need to write in this thing more often, so here I am. I’m feeling very overwhelmed with emotion lately. My mom is coming into town today for a visit, and I always have this strange sadness when she visits. I don’t think it’s that I’m homesick – usually I can’t stand a visit to the motherland for more than five days. After that, I’m not sure what it is. The last few times the family has come down I’ve been an emotional basket case afterwards. Claire and I were talking today, and she suggested that maybe there is a release that comes when you’re around those that truly know you and you feel comfortable with. I suppose that’s logical, but the feeling I get is a bit more desperate. But I digress.

I’m trying to formally dig myself out of this hole of angst I’ve found myself in. Last night I had a bunch of junk food and promptly fell asleep. I woke up a couple hours later feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. A while back I read an article written by a man who was recovering from compulsive overeating. Prior to his problems with food, he had been a drug addict. In the article he contended that breaking his addiction from food was actually more difficult than breaking his addiction to drugs. He talks about the availability of food, the cheapness of food, and the euphoria felt when you eat certain types of food. Sometimes I completely understand what he’s talking about. I’ve never been addicted to drugs, but I do know that the prevalence of food itself makes it incredibly accessible – more so than drugs. I’m not really sure where I’m going with all this, but sometimes I think I’m really hard on myself about a habit that is truly an addiction. I ended up purging last night, but it was a difficult purge because I felt so exhausted and out-of-it. I hate feeling this way. I’m tired and nauseous all day long, and then by evening I’m hungry again so I overeat. Then the whole thing starts again the next day. I just don’t understand how I can go from feeling so in-control and energized to feeling so completely dissonant and fatigued. I want to change that about myself.

I’m thinking about getting a trainer. I emailed my advisor from the gym I attend, and she is one of my favorite people at the gym. Apparently she’s not training yet, so I’m not sure who there is to pick from. I know that it really just comes down to me kicking my own ass and getting back into a routine. I’m very much lacking in routine right now, and shrink made an observation that I thrive off of a routine. At first I was a bit offended, because I visualize myself as very go-with-the-flow. I’m starting to realize that she’s right, and that having a routine doesn’t mean that I’ve turned into some mechanized machine of a woman. And I certainly know that I feel happier with a routine.

Getting to Know You...Like Julie Andrews

I had a very emotional session with the shrink today. I actually feel like I may be getting somewhere with therapy. I came to the realization today that I have been living my life for what I want to be. I have this fantasy person I've created in my mind and she's beautiful and thin and only receives positive feedback on her appearance. As I was telling Kendra about this person, I realized that my current self got lost in the process. I left my session feeling really afraid of what I might find if I delve into who I really am.

My head is constantly assessing this checklist I've created. Have I drank enough water, exercised enough, eaten just enough calories, and gotten the perfect amount of sleep? I somehow fail the day if the checklist isn't complete. It's a sign of whether or not I've had a good day - if any boxes are left unchecked, the day was a waste. So how do I get to the point where I exercise because it feels good and because it makes me strong and keeps my heart healthy? How can I separate this desperate and anxious feeling from my own intuitive feelings that tell me when I'm taking care of myself for good reasons? That feeling is so unnatural for me - so forced.

So I'm trying to decompress now, trying to absorb the revelation I had today. I'm torn between feeling like a complete head case and feeling like I am on the brink of changing my idea of beautiful. I'm just afraid that this is as far as I will get.

Imagine all the People, Living for Today

It's been a really surreal week and I'm ending it just feeling tired and kind of out of it. I had the flu for half the week, and the other half I just felt out of sorts. Things between Andres and me are less-than-ideal and I can't get an answer out of him that points in any direction. Every conversation I try to have with him either ends with his making jokes or just acting like he's ready to sleep. Everytime I build up the courage to call him and say that I just need to move on, he does something mildly charming and I regain hope that something might come out of this. We are a disaster. I can't even say that I'm bent out of shape about it being my fault anymore. Now it just feels sloppy and out of control and for some reason I'm afraid or just too lazy to pull in the reigns. I used to think it was because I loved him, but now I'm not so sure. I mean, I know there is love in my heart for him, but I'm not sure if it's the kind of love that can save us from this wreckage. I was thinking today about what he meant to me and how I used to feel for him, and I'm starting to think that maybe my feelings have changed. Or maybe I'm just so exhausted with waiting for my life to begin that I can't keep doing whatever it is we're doing.

I heard a quote this week, and I don't remember it was in a book I read, or in a movie I watched. It had something to do with not being able to move ahead to the future when your arms are full of the past. Hello. This is your life. How long have I done that very thing? How long have I clung to what used to be that I didn't realize what was right now? It all sounds very profound and literary, but I'm not trying to be trite. I just want my heart to catch up to my brain and get this show called My Life on the road. That's all.

Skeleton Crew

I used to watch my mother hang clothes she had just washed on the clothesline to dry. I would lay in the grass a few feet away from her and look at the sky while our sheets, shirts, and skirts billowed in the wind. I would try to lay very still until everything was dry because there was this sense of accomplishment I felt when the clothes would lose their heaviness and stop dragging the line. Blankets that once nearly grazed the grass would float higher and higher and become more affected by the breeze. It was like they had let go of something.

My sophomore year of high school I lost about 30 pounds. I had played softball since I was in pigtails, but it was becoming more and more evident that if I wanted to win the favor of my coach, I would need to slim down. I was a size 10 at the time, and had already reached my tallest height of 5'6. I dropped to a size 2 and found myself starting our varsity games. When we would run laps around the track during practice, I imagined myself like the laundry my mom would put out to dry. Everytime I ran another lap I envisioned another layer of fat evaporating from my body. I became faster, and lighter, and eventually I reasoned that I might be able to float away.

I still see this vision when I exercise - it's something that I have trouble erasing. I still contemplate just how much I have let go of each time I exercise. I still squeeze my hips and my wrists in an attempt to figure out how close I am to being light and little. My reasonable self wishes for a time will exercise will just be exercise, and laundry will just be clean. My disenchanted self just wants to float. For now, my present self is stuck in the middle, just trying to keep her head above water.

Midnight Malaise

When I started this blog, it was to talk about my recovery from bulimia. I wrote a few posts and ignored them for a few months. I realized that they sounded whiny and since I don't have any immediate plans to appear on the Montel Williams show, I'm going back to my original plan.

Today was difficult. It was the first truly difficult day I've had in a long time. I am so scared that I'm going to start another chain reaction within myself. I had lunch with Claire today and I couldn't decide what I wanted. I ended up getting a mediocre meat and veggie plate that cost me almost twenty bucks. I'm not to the place yet where I can feel ok with eating something that isn't necessarily the most healthiest choice. So I struggle with being obsessive about not overeating, instead of obsessing and then overeating.

Tonight I just feel restless and lonely. I just got back from a date, the second date I've had with this certain boy who I'm starting to take interest in. I don't want to act like I'm this existential, moody, mess of a woman. But I am lonely. Even when I'm not alone. I get this restless feeling that just takes me over and I can't focus on the people I'm with. All I can feel is my own anxiousness. It spirals around me and I get lost in it. And I'm fighting my way out, but today my fight was weak.

I'm making strides in my workout. I feel good. I feel good while I'm doing it, after I do it, and I feel good when I think about doing it. The scale just isn't moving fast enough for me. It is so difficult to know that I could resort to my old tendencies and drop 20 lbs in 20 days, but I know it's not worth it. Or at least I want to know it's not worth it.

I'm just meandering a bit before bed. My eyes are tired, but my mind is on fire.

Save the Drama...for Drama Class

My favorite hobby is something I like to call Dwelling in the Past. It's a fairly straightforward activity and it mostly just involves me reliving crappy experiences and getting mad about them all over again. Or instead of getting mad, I just suffocate the pain with television or food. Or both, preferably at the same time.Brent Smith was a boy I met in eighth grade. My parents had relocated my family to another neighborhood in Michigan, and although I was only minutes away from our old neighborhood, I was in a completely different school district. I won't pretend that I wasn't teased at the old school, but most people were so familiar with me that the novelty of calling me fatso had worn off. Moving to a new school meant that a whole new set of assholes could finds ways to make me feel like I was worthless because of my weight.But back to Brent Smith. I met Brent Smith in drama class, and our meeting was much to my utter and complete dismay. I had signed up for drama class thinking that I would be with my own kind; other fun, creative, and open-minded individuals. I quickly learned that drama class was the meeting place for every delinquent and pothead in my school. The class was taught by Mrs. Duffy, who was as flighty and disconnected as junior high teachers come. I honestly remember marveling in the fact that she made it to work everyday, fully clothed, and able to form complete sentences.Brent Smith took an interest in me from what seemed like the first minute of class. It started out as pretty ambiguous - he would stare me down at the beginning of class and kind of snicker and raise his eyebrows. By the time the bell would ring to signal the start of class, he'd be on his side of the room, content with something else. Later he turned more sinister, the peak of which was a day that is still burned into my memory. I had just walked into class and he was standing at the back of the room with a group of girls of which I was not very fond. I tried to scoot past him, but he had sniffed my fear like a Labrador to beef jerky. He turned, punched me in the stomach, and then pulled his hand back and marveled aloud that he didn't get his hand stuck in the flesh of my stomach.Imagine that! Punching someone and not actually being sucked into that person's subcutaneous abdominal fat. It's almost a feat of nature if you try to really wrap your mind around it. I fucking hated that kid for a really long time, and I probably still harbor some hatred for him today. The icing on the cake came later in high school though. I forget the exact circumstance of our meeting, but we ended up having a jokey conversation about some required assembly we had to attend. At the end of the conversation, he asked my name. All I could do was stare in awe at this kid.I don't need to go into some rant about how low and horrible I felt at that moment. I really think that I was more affected by my interaction with Brent Smith in high school than I had been with the Brent Smith I knew in junior high. I had spent probably three years avoiding this person because I was afraid of what he might inflict on me - physical or otherwise. For him to not even remember me was beyond any hurt I could imagined at the time.So how does a person move on after something like that? How is it that 10 and 15 years later I am still furious and completely embarrassed by the memory of some junior high punk? Will my heart or my ego ever allow me to forgive him? Will I be stuck in my junior high memory with no wherewithal to pull myself out of my anguish? How do I move on?