I don't even know why I have a blog. Nobody reads this thing.
Husband has agreed that we can afford to buy me a new lap top! This excites me. I only have an Iphone which is very hard to write on. I miss writing I use to do it everyday. There's something therapeutic for me in it. I think it'll help my anxiety, and become a healthy way for me to control it.
I've been so terribly disappointed in myself recently. I haven't been able to say "NO!" Fried shrimp, chocolate chip cookies. I feel disgusted. I've finally bought Wasted, the book all you lovely girls recommend reading. I feel such a heart ache reading that book. I know I'll never get that bad, but the other side of me is saying, "Yes you could!" I feel so naive, in that, "It can't happen to me." state of mind. I read everyone elses stats, and I'll admit I'm jealous. I'm 5'6 pushing, as of this morning, 116. I read about a girl an inch shorter than me who weighs 100, and I panic. I know it's stupid. I know this isn't healthy. I just can't seem to shut that part of my brain up. I can't stop stepping on the scale everytime I enter the bathroom. I can't stop panicking after 3 days of not having a bowel movement, and reach with sweaty hands for the laxatives. The numbers drive me insane. I don't know if I'd consider myself anorexic or bulemic, after reading some blogs. I have the tendencies. I recognize that. I just can't, and a part of me has not even the desire to, stop.
Stop.
That's exactly what i've been doing.
I've stopped:
writing.
Hanging out with my girl friends.
Pursuing my career agressively.
Singing.
Taking walks.
And now... EATING.
What else do I have to give up to realize, sonethings wrong.
I just don't have the energy to figure out what, nevermind correcting it.
I have the number to a psychiatrist. My control, or admitting a lack there of, keeps me from calling. Conveinantly forgetting.
Just as I have with eating today, and tomorrow... And...