The fuck. Honestly.

So I was eating well today, I was out all day and taken to lunch and dinner, had salads for both and one piece of bread I ate slow as balls. Then I got home and developed a shrieking headache, and I always weirdly get paranoid having headaches that are unbalanced, asymmetrical, because a little part of my brain (never the part that is partially debilitated due to pain) insists it's cancer and then I stress and the headache gets worse. And then I started eating because when I'm stressed and in pain, another very tiny part of my brain, another incredibly stupid tiny part of my brain, thinks food will make it better. Now, the reason for the headache is stress. And there is stressed caused by this headache, which causes binging which causes stress. It's all a fantastic merry-go-round of I'm an idiot who can't handle simple issues.

BUT let's get to the issue. So, last night there was a beautiful storm. Where I live, we never get summer rain storms. But we did and it was lovely. But I couldn't sleep. So I stayed up reading, with the window open because it was hot as Satan's coffee or something I don't know. When it is this hot, I do not sleep in pajamas, because I do not have a death wish as far as I know. Yar that's right I sleep nekkid. It's hot, give me a break. It was so hot we even had the curtain open and a fan on the windowsill. Our window points directly to our backyard, with nice high fences. Ah, she's making a point of the backyard, and window, and being nude, you might be thinking. Hold on it get's better. So while I'm reading, by very dim light, enjoying the storm, there is this bright flash of light from outside. Good gods, what could that be? I ask myself. I wait, and soon enough I hear the telltale sound of thunder. But still, I couldn't help but notice that there was about 40 seconds (I always count when there's a storm) between that flash and the thunder and I find myself wondering how I could see the lightning so brightly when the source was obviously far away. I push it to the back of my mind, I'm enjoying this book. There are more flashes, and I don't bother spending the energy to see if they match up with the thunder since I'm beginning to get sleepy. Then I sleep. I wake up from some hellish bug bite about 2 hours later, and at once I run to the bathroom to check out the incredibly painful and itchy bite in the mirror. Being exhausted, I soon decide I had better look up my symptoms on WebMD, because in my so very tired mind, I may well have been bitten by something poisonous and that thing must have been in our bed and if it is poisonous, I had better wake up boyfriend fiance to at least shake out the bedclothes if not rush me to the hospital. I was very tired, please don't judge. So I'm looking up my symptoms and trying to work through the fog of sleep and panic and pain to navigate the symptoms page and find out how to select skin instead of arm when I notice that flash again. But this time there is no rain. There is no storm, there is no thunder. It is the exact same flash as before, but this time, accompanied by that universally recognizable click of a camera.

What the fuck.

I close the curtains, lie in bed under thelevel of the window, and peer through, carefully covered, hoping to catch a glimpse of what seems to the telltale flash of flash photography. At this point I was hoping to affirm my confused suspicions and perhaps find a source, and perhaps see that it is pointing somewhere other then my BEDROOM WINDOW. No more flashes. Back to sleep, busy day of wearing clothes at all times.

Now, I do not know what to think. The first time I noticed the flash, I was not tired. It was not imagined, it was not a trick of the mind, and upon some contemplation, couldn't have been lightning. I do not know for sure if it was a camera. All I know is I heard a sound I was NOT listening for that explained the odd flash I hadn't been thinking about. I also do not know if, had it been a camera, it had been taking pictures of me. All I know is mysterious unexplained flashes and the one time it was quiet enough to hear, the sound of a camera, and all this when I not wearing clothes, the curtains were open and I was within view of the window. I'm trying not to flatter myself by thinking someone could have been taking pictures of me, that surely something interesting must have been happening wherever the flash originated. But I heard no talking, and I know no one who goes out late at night to take pictures in their backyard unless something phenomenal was going on, and apart from the storm, which is hard to capture by camera especially at night, there was nothing. Gods I wish I knew what to do. Other then to get thicker and wider curtains. I'm sure this isn't enough to approach the police about, but I feel so uncomfortable. I wish I knew what to do.

I wish I had people to talk to.

Getting better

The past few days have been really good, often keeping under 500, never over 700. Except yesterday, maybe. My boyfriend fiance(!) took me out, we never go out! I hadn't had anything to eat all day, but we saw two movies and during each I had about 2 cups of popcorn, without extra butter, which after looking up just now when I remembered I could, is actually a total of 190 cal. Not sure if that's right, seems so low...but if so, fantastic. I was thinking maybe 100 a cup. Good good ^-^ I'm a happy Sugar Bones.

It's also been good in that I've been getting out, (not just of the bedroom, of the house!) and I had people over today, one I never met before, and I was fine. I felt only a little weird, mostly pretty confident. I baked and only barely tasted the batter, when I tasted the finished product I just put some on my tongue and then spit it back out when I had an idea. Sounds weird but made me feel better. Anyhow I'm at 400 today, and I spent the day with people instead of hiding under the covers even though it was raining and perfect for hiding away. I took care of work issues this week, each day doing as much as I could do, so I don't stress about it. Looks like I'll only be getting 6 hours a week, but still, it's work in the same field as my chosen career, with experience that would help me get a job at any university I attend. And considering my boyfriend's job takes care of the bills, this will all be able to go into savings to pay for college when we transfer. The more I think about it, the more I love this job. Just paranoid that I'll somehow ruin this opportunity.

But last night we went grocery shopping, and my boyfriend wanted me to get myself a snack for home. I almost cried. He noticed, and I couldn't tell him. There was a point a few months ago when I would have been very tempted to tell him what was wrong, that I knew if I ate any of that food, even an apple, I would hate myself, I would bury myself in self loathing and who knows, maybe even cut again because I can't bring the food back up and it would be killing me just letting that food seep into me and I would need the endorphins to calm down. But no matter how upset I was at the moment, I had no desire to tell him. This disturbs me.

But I WANT to weigh myself, I know I've been goodgoodgood and I'm not afraid of the numbers. I'm a little afraid I guess, I always am, that I will be wrong. But I know my hipbones stand out more then a week ago, and the hill of my belly in between the bones is a little more shallow. I hate that I somehow have a belly even though my hipbones stand out, I feel like I have the weird lumpy body of a Skeksi from The Dark Crystal.

And on a happier note again, I love chai tea and I've been working on chai tea muffins for about a year and I think I've perfected the ratio of spices. I'm always tempted to put in too much cardamom, because it is of my HUMBLE opinion that a chai tea made of solely of cinnamon is NOT proper chai, even though chai really just means tea so I suppose you technically could call any tea chai. But I digress, I really need a ratio of about 2:1 cinnamon to cardamom and add less then a 1/2 of the measurement used for cardamom for any other spices I feel like, ginger or clove or black pepper. I also always forget vanilla, which I feel makes it taste more creamy, which is very important. Now I need to use all this on my super low cal muffins, so I can actually eat them and my boyfriend fiance will stop worrying. I only really eat around him but still, he says he's noticed I don't eat much. Need to work on that.

I've always had a silly relationship with death. A few semesters ago in one of my lit classes, we all read Walt Whitman's When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd. I often seemed to be the only one arguing one side, and it happened again with this poem. My professor stated that this particular part of the poem, addressing the death of Abraham Lincoln, showed a very dark period for the speaker, because he allowed himself to be so close to death. He treated it as a friend and that is bad. I'm simplifying her words here. To be more specific I'd probably misquote.

Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,  And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,  And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,  I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not,  Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,   To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.

I found it odd that she was so quick to label that as bad and dangerous. I remembered back to one of my most favorite parts of of the His Dark Materials books, one world visited briefly has people and their death living side by side all their life, getting closer and closer until they die. The elderly play chess, maybe drink tea and reminisce with their deaths. I thought this was lovely. They wouldn't fear death, it would be, by the time they die, an old friend. Dying would be like picking up an old dog-eared book read time and time again, sitting in an old leather chair that's grown softer and more comfortable over the years.

Ah I have to go. People nearby. Finish this later.

----

Back. BoyfriendFiance(!) wanted to go to bed early, and as I have a laptop and like to curl up in blankets and pretend I'm a bird in a nest of happy fluffy comfort because I'm often cold, I tend to use the bed as my desk. So had to run, lest he happen upon my problems in the brain pan all put down in clear type.

Anyhow. These deaths were not always seen as a friend, though always kindly they often try to stay out of the way  to not make their person uncomfortable. But I remember a few scenes described of the deaths and their humans interacting like lifelong friends. And I found those scenes incredibly sweet. It sounded so healthy, such a happy way to live, to not fear your death at all. The image of enjoying the presence of your death stuck with me, and ever since, I've tried to portray it somehow, in sketches and little poems that could never quite catch what was in my head. Life can be difficult, and death can be an escape, the beginning of a new adventure, leaving this plane and entering another.

I'm obviously a fan of the whole Death with Dignity, and I find it absurd that suicide is illegal. What is more personal then your own life? If you can't choose to do with your own life, well...then what?

The only exception I can see is how your own life affects others. If I were to end my own life, it would be my obligation to the people in my life to consider the impact on them. This is what has kept me living, this and fear of what comes after death. Hamlet's whole "To be" speech really strikes a chord with me. I've never had a religion, though I have nothing against those that do and am in fact, generally jealous of those that have religion. I would love to be able to believe in something more, to be able to accept the possibility that after death there may be more then nothing. I'm kind of obsessed with ghost stories, hoping I can experience something like that to give me some proof of...anything.

In the quote from Whitman, I like to see the section as a man who has come to terms with death, not a man living in despair with his mind on suicide. To accept death you don't need to be thinking of nothing but death.

I'm not sure if any of this makes sense. I lost my nice clear train of thought since last night, so I'm afraid I'm missing some points, or something to tie it all together. This is the gist of it all though, I hope it isn't just nonsense. I also really hope no one takes this the wrong way. These are just my thoughts, not to be taken as justification for doing something that could hurt the people they love.

Music, for you.

Some of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands. It's easy to feel like you can float away when listening to these. Or feel like you can easily survive off of diet coke and gum all day. My most favorite song by them I haven't put up, because it really isn't thinspo but all of these are thinspo, to me anyhow. If you like these guys and want to check out more, look up their song Video Kid. It's my most favorite. I have beautiful memories to The Birthday Massacre's music, one day maybe I'll be brave enough to share them with you.

Disappoint! But success?

Yesterday and today I've stuck to the plan. Today was nice and mellow, I sewed some lace onto this cute but plain apron my boyfriend fiance(!) bought me in this Japanese discount store, roommates shared barbeque with us and made some tofu just for me, it was very sweet of them. I was 100 cal below my limit when, at just before 11, boyfriend fiance(!) got a craving for ice-cream and so we drove to get some. Once we got in the store he kept insisting I get something, I hated refusing but I just had to. Everything looked so good, too, there were pastries with raspberries, perfect little sweet-tart magic fairy fruits...
He got two ice-cream sandwiches and when we got home, kept trying to feed me some. I had to keep making excuses until finally he just gave me a piece and said I should eat it...and I had to make it disappear...down the bathroom sink.
Not happy with that.
But strong, even though my max calories per day is high, it's a good beginning (re-beginning? restart) and I'm sticking to it. Tomorrow I'm going to a festival with my family, there will be lots of food and I can't imagine being able to get away long enough I can convince anyone I ate elsewhere, so I don't know how I'll manage. We'll see.
I hate lying. It was easier for me, in the midst of it all last year. But since I've gotten better/worse, it's gotten difficult to lie again, difficult to throw away food, difficult to refuse that voice that says I need at least 1200 calories. I gain weight at 1200 calories, I do not need that much. So I remind myself constantly.
I don't know what I am, am I sick? I don't even know what I look like, mirrors and my head aren't compatible . I don't know how much I weigh even, the scales don't make sense. Maybe it's my eyes? Or maybe I'm made of clay, or some weird substance that has no constant shape.

Even though I've kept below my max calories, I'm still disappointed with myself. Just so many things to be unhappy with myself with. I haven't made an actual meal for boyfriend fiance(!) in maybe a month, and with no current job (not until school starts again, my new job is in the educational field and subject to summer break) I'm basically a housewife while he works. And a failing housewife at that. There are forms I need to fill out and appointments  need to make for my new job, and I haven't been getting very far with any of them. I've been withdrawing from my friends, feeling bitter about the stupidest things, feeling overwhelmed by nothing, feeling shy and stupid about, again, nothing. My anti-depressant was recently changed to the generic, and I think I'm feeling it. It used to be that I could actually feel it kicking in in the morning. Things seemed softer and it was so much easier to be pleasant. Now I'm a bitch to everyone I care about, getting backaches from tension and being more scared of normal everyday things then any adult has a right to be. I hate being over 20. I feel like I don't deserve any help with my problems, and that all my problems are childish and stupid. And that having these problems, allowing them to exist, is the most childish thing yet. But if I knew how to deal with them I would. If I had the money for a therapist, I would go. That is, assuming I would be able to pick up the phone to make an appointment. no guarantees there I guess, based on past experience.

I think I need to re-read my posts, see what I've told and should follow up on. I try to be vague, being a paranoid person, based on that incredibly slim off-chance that someone I know finds this and recognizes me and makes a fuss. But now I don't care so much. Or maybe I want to be found out. Stupid brain.

Anyhow, to end this all on a pleasant dreamy note, or as my keyboard, who seems to be fighting with my 'e' key would have me say,  on a dramy not, I've discovered this new band called the Yoshida Brothers, here's my favorite song so far, for the listening pleasure of anyone who stumbles on this jumble of rambling self-indulgent nonesense:

New Plan

Let's hope I can stick to this. Writing it down should help.
I snack on peanut butter all the time, maybe two tablespoons worth a day. It has been that each hour I snack on peanut butter, I add 100 cal to my total. But now, I'm going to keep a stricter total and not count the peanut butter. I've decided, upon inspiration from another blog, that I can keep one vice, that being peanut butter, as long as my max calories is very strict and I never cross it unless forced by someone I love (mom or boyfriend fiance[!] demand I eat something and watch me do it.) Max is 700. No more. Hopefully that will lower soon.
Side note, I dyed my hair purple. I got a haircut and was told it looked like normal person's hair. I suppose the average person would either ignore that or be a little offended at the implication that they look dull. I had a mild panic attack and tried to Kool-Aid dye it (would not recommend, had my head coated in Kool-Aid and wrapped in cellophane all night and the only result was an incredibly itchy scalp, and hair that still smells like grape/cherry flavour) then finally bought some Manic Panic (actual dye that hurt my head less then Kool-Aid, major thumbs up there). I had purple hair in high school, I loveloveloved it. So I'm back, pretending not to notice that now I have a job and fiance that I am backsliding into things that make me feel like a safe, protected child. Because I am NORMAL ADULT and NORMAL ADULT can handle things like job having and responsibility for another human being. If it makes a difference, it's a very dark purple, looks plain black in mot lights.

NORMAL ADULT SMASH, NORMAL ADULT PAY TAXES!

I am a weirdo.

I'm probably completely bat-shit but...

Is it bad that someone of my age still imagines? In my mind, the backyard has an old crumbling castle, not a wooden jungle gym infested with spiders from decades ago when stranger's children lived here. The cats living in the rose bushes are soft hearted demons swarming a giant rose tree. The orange trees are a forest of trees that weep heady sap that fills the air with sticky-warm mist, and the trees only bear rotten, thick skinned fruit but their blossoms are made of sugar. I hope/think today I might actually leave the house and explore the backyard. Calories so far this week:
Sunday-unmentionable
Monday-700
Tuesday-750