Living me Softly

I realized today, that as I was traipsing down the office hallway for the 72nd time, I was making this odd sigh/motorboat sound with my lips. And I thought to myself, "what the hell are you doing?" And I really had no answer.

I watched a movie this weekend with a fat, red-headed woman, who portrayed an overbearing and slightly psychotic mess of a boss to the movie's main character. She wore a lot of polka dots, ate jelly donuts, and carried on office banter in a shrill, earsplitting tone. The movie actually opened with an office celebration of her birthday party, and her little beady eyes glistened as she cut herself a Texas-sized piece of cake.

Really? Seriously? Is this material still funny and cool and trendy? Is the overbearing, overeating, overweighted, shrew of a woman still a necessary cinematic staple? Are we really still buying the mentality of the fat person's agony? Hiding sugary snacks, over-compensating for a bullied adolescence, wearing tentlike fabrics to hide abdominal fat? Really? I was annoyed before the plot was ever introduced.

Fat acceptance is something I struggle with, mostly because I can't seem to accept myself. At any size. It's been almost six months since I've had a bulimic episode, and I can't say that I feel any sense of accomplishment for it. I guess I just thought that if I stopped all of that behavior, I would just start losing weight. I thought the 'next step' would be so natural, that I wouldn't even realize it was happening.

What I seem to forget everytime is that this is not going to be an easy fix. In the past, when I wanted to lose weight, I would stop eating for days, weeks, or even months at a time. In the past, I could drop weight by starving myself and then having one big binge and purge session to work out my hunger. But my reality today is that those things have stopped working for me, emotionally and physically. Forcing my body to react to my actions just doesn't fulfill me any more.

That said, I have realized the only thing I can do at this point is be gentle with myself. Restricting, obsessing, forcing, overhauling; all these do is send me into a crash that takes me longer and longer to retreat from each time it happens. I want serenity. I want peace. I want to know that I am ok no matter what the tag on my pants says. And even as I read those words, I still can't quite convince myself that it's true.

Elbow Room

I'm tired.

I've tried to write here several times over the past few weeks and nothing is really happening for me each time I belly up to my desk. Part of it has to do with another creative endeavor I am attempting, but the rest of it has no real cause, destination, or plot. I'm just tired.

I'm feeling that oppressive, crushing, dark feeling again. My heart feels heavy in my chest. My limbs seem to be moving solely of their own volition. Brain set to autopilot. I'm reacting. Responding. Smiling when it's appropriate. Forcing myself to accept outing invitations from friends. Convincing myself to stay awake just one more hour. Then laying in bed for two.

I looked at the calendar today and realized it's been nearly six months. And while I want so badly to be happy for myself, I'm having trouble mustering anything beyond cautious nervousness. What next? Who am I without being the Eating Disorder Girl? What if I still can't get it right?

Part of me wonders if all of this therapy and self-exploration has turned me into someone very selfish. That maybe in the process of trying to find myself, I really just lost the girl I was meant to be all along.

I talked to absolutely no one
Couldn't keep to myself enough
And the things bottled inside had finally begun
To create so much pressure that I'd soon blow up

And I heard the reverberating footsteps
Syncing up to the beating of my heart
And I was positive that unless
I got myself together I would watch me fall apart