Sorry (I ain’t sorry)…

WordPress informs me that it’s been over 2 years since my last post.  WordPress also saved my password for all this time.  Good thing, since I have no idea what it is.

Meanwhile, every other site is asking me to change/update/redo my password into some asdf145!*sQz bullshit.

Anyway, 2 years since my last post. Life got hectic.  Actually work got hectic.  Promotions and the addition of new responsibilities to the laundry list of things that I can/will/must do on a daily basis.  Life revolved around work.  Going to bed around the 7pm mark became the norm.  The dark closed in and the anxiety flew through the roof.  I don’t think words can accurately express how low I was.  How miserable.  Although, maybe words can, and I’m just so out of blogging/writing practice that the correct words escape me.

It’s been bad.  Really, really bad.  More and more meds added to the cocktail. Tried and failed attempts at talk therapy.

So I quit.  My job, that is.  I’m fortunate that my dad set up a (non-retirement) fund for me when I was BabyMer, and it’s just been sitting around, waiting.  To be used.  My guess is probably for a house, or for kids, ideally.  But that shit ain’t happening.  Not in this town, and not at my age, anyway.

I budgeted it out, and I’ve got several months before I HAVE to go back to work.  By that time, hopefully I’m fixed (as much as one can be fixed), and out of the hole. Right now I’m just trying to learn how to be Meredith again.  Not MeredithTheEmployee, but just me.  I don’t have hobbies, so I’m trying some out – coloring, reading, going for walks.  I kinda enjoy cooking, so I may work on that a bit.  And, of course, writing.

I have no idea who I am.  So I’m taking time to figure it out, I guess.  Or maybe I’m just going to be a lump on the couch, and get addicted to Days of our Lives.  I hope that’s not the case.  But I’m only 3 weeks into my life as an unemployed chick, so I’m trying not to put too much pressure on myself.  I don’t need to figure it out today.

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You’ll never know when it starts, until there’s fog inside the glass around your summer heart…

Today has been a day.  I’ve felt guilty and beaty-uppy-on-myself.  I’ve spent most of the day feeling terrible about myself.  Not that that’s such a departure from the norm.  I’m trying to combat these thoughts.  I’m a good wife, a good employee, a good friend (sometimes).  But yet, it’s as if none of it matters because I look in the mirror and I’m obsessed with how absolutely obese I am.  I can’t get out of this mindset that I seriously need to get on a diet.  I can stand to lose at least 50, if not more pounds.  I feel wretched.  Ugly.  Worthless.

Absolutely worthless.

Had a mini binge/graze session tonight.  Goddamn it.  So I tried to shut that down as best as I could.  I did some needlepoint.  I updated my playlists on my iphone and ipod.  Now I’m blogging.  I can’t stop this feeling of worthlessness.  I’m trying to put the thoughts on little clouds and make them float away (one of the “skills” I’m working on in therapy), but it’s not easy.

I just want to escape this feeling.  I want to feel like I matter.

I want more quiet time. I want more lazy nights in.  I want to sleep better.  I want to be able to say NO and not feel so damn obligated to do everything.  I want to be able to relax.

I want to finish one thing before I start 6000 others.  Like this blog post.


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I am not your friend, I’m not your lover, I’m not your family

I don’t like being told what to do, when it comes to ME.  I am my own person.  I know what’s right for me, and I know what I do and don’t want to change about myself.

I do not like when people try and be sly or slick.  I’m not dumb or naive.  I’m a fucking adult, for God’s sake.

I’m so fucking pissed off right now.

I’ll get over it.  The benefits outweigh the annoyances.

Focus on the task/issue at hand. Everything else is fucking irrelevant.


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I did it again.  I tried on jeans that are sitting in my drawer.  And of COURSE they don’t fit, of course I’m getting fatter.  I’m going absolutely batshit crazy over this.

I had a mini-binge.  I tried to implement some of the tactics that I’ve learned in therapy.  In the end, I binged on a smaller amount, and not on what I wanted.  I probably saved myself quite a bit of bloat (not to mention calories).

I also took a xanax.

I know that progress doesn’t happen over night.  I know that I shouldn’t judge my progress by the way my pants fit.  But goddamn it, I’ve been so entrenched in “diet mentality” for 30+ years.  I feel like a failure. I feel like I’m never going to get better, I’m never going to be thin and beautiful.  I’m just going to be this fat, moon-faced, hideous monster forever.

I feel so worthless. So ugly.  Nothing matters if I’m not pretty. Pretty = thin.

I can’t even articulate how I feel.  I just know that I disgust myself.

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I choose defeat; I walk away – and leave this place the same today…


Go figure.

Last post I made was lamenting about my weight, self-loathing, etc.

Several months later, here I am, embarking on my 3rd week of treatment.  I’m in intensive outpatient therapy for my eating disorder.  Binge Eating Disorder (BED).  Compulsive/Emotional Overeating.  Whatever you want to call it.  I have it. And I have for 30 years.  With some Anorexic and Bulimic tendencies.

Having BED is embarrassing and shameful to admit, because, honestly, in my fucked up head, there’s something “beautiful” about Anorexia and Bulimia.  Give me a moment to explain.  I’d sure as hell rather have the ED that would make me small, waif-like, and delicate.  Because of BED, I’m now the heaviest I’ve ever been in my life.  I don’t know what normal physical hunger is.  I only know famished to the point of being weak and lightheaded, or (and this is the majority of how I feel) stuffed to the gills, unbearably uncomfortable.

Who wants that?

But, I know that those of us with EDs are in the same (or at least very similar) struggle.  The mindset.  The obsessing.

So, who wants any of it, really?

I spend a lot of time alone.  I feel guilty for being a burden upon my friends.  And besides, how often can one stand to hear the same sob stories all the time?  I’m depressed, I’m sad, I don’t know why, I hate myself…blahblahblah.  I want to punch myself in the face just thinking about it.  Sadness, anxiety, panic; all of those things have been, for years, at least somewhat alleviated for me by food.

I can polish off an entire box of cereal in less than an hour.  Mounds of pasta in mere minutes.  Enough sushi to feed at least 3 people.  People will let you down; a loaf of bread and butter won’t.

It is my comfort…until I am physically uncomfortable.  Then the shame and guilt, about what I’ve consumed, consumes me.

I don’t want to be obsessed with calories or points or fat grams or how ugly/fat/worthless I am anymore.  I’m sick of it.  I don’t want to daydream about my next meal.  I don’t want to be more concerned about food than I am about family or friends.  It was getting to that point, and that’s kinda fucked up.

Only a handful of people know that I’m doing this.  Some don’t get it and some think I’m fine the way I am.  A few people have been so above and beyond awesome and understanding about it.  I’m grateful for those folks.

So, I’m trying to get at the bottom of what’s eating me, before I keep eating everything in sight, basically.

To be continued, I suppose…

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Grumble, grumble, chomp, chomp.

I’m sleeping more these days.  Not when I should (nighttime), but naps. I’d rather flop down on the couch and nap than face the world.  I’m gaining weight so rapidly.  I can’t really be bothered to do my hair.  I’m behind on getting my nails, eyebrows, etc., done.  I’m letting myself go, and part of me just doesn’t give a fuck.

I told my mom the other day on the phone how much I hate myself.  How I look in the mirror every day and want to cry.  When I’m walking past the windows of my office complex and see my reflection, my stomach literally lurches and I need to hold the bile back from spewing out my mouth.  I can’t stick to a damn diet anymore to save myself.

I need better/more meds.  Or a miracle.

The other day, I obsessed for 3 hours while at work, trying to make a decision – should I go to the gym after work?  Should I go to happy hour?  Should I just get Thai takeout?  I was nearly in tears trying to make a damn decision.

I’m lucky when I can get some sleep (naps or otherwise).  My brain doesn’t like to shut off.  Thoughts and lists, on and on and on.  Then I fall asleep and dream crazy, vivid dreams.  I never rest, until I’m just too worn out to do much else.

This past Saturday, I ran a 5k that I had signed up for.  It was blistering hot and humid, and I was sweating bullets before I even started.  Fun-runs are always hard, because there are points where people slow down (to get smothered in bubbles, or pelted with colored cornstarch, etc.).  Also, they never seem to be actually 5k.  Close, but not quite.  Saturday’s run was more like about 4.1k.  Which I did in about 40 minutes.  I averaged about 15-16 minutes/mile.  Not great by any stretch.  My best is around 12-13 minutes.  But.  In the heat and conditions that we had…I’ll take it.  I never stopped and never gave up.  At the end of the run, I was bright red – flushed and sunburned.  I felt like I was going to puke.  I was shaking and crying.  My body HURT.  But I did it.

That should be worth something, and in some ways it is.  I’m trying to keep positive.  This is the third 5k I’ve done this year.  I’m jogging, when a few years ago, I could barely walk 2 miles without cramping up.  I’m cooking more, incorporating more veggies and healthy things.  That should be worth something.

But dammit, I have 1 pair of pants that fit right now.

The skinniest I ever was, as an adult, was an 8-10.  Which is not “skinny” by any stretch.  And I did by over-exercising, restricting/fasting, and puking and abusing laxatives.  THAT worked better for me than Weight Watchers, Atkins, or any app on my fucking iPhone.

I’m so fucking frustrated.  I’m so fucking sad.  I’m no good to anyone right now.

I bitch and bitch and whine about my goddamn weight, but can’t manage to do a fucking thing about it.

I’m a miserable sad sack of a person to be around, and that makes me feel even WORSE, and MORE GUILTY.  And then I hate myself even more.

Well, yay.

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I will come back to life, but only for you…

I’ve been sick for, like, 2 weeks. I have no voice, my throat is swollen shut, I have an earache and I’m generally miserable.

So I got some Tofu Pad Thai, and fried tofu (which I barely ate, so yay for leftovers), and I’ve been sitting on the couch watching news and downloading music ever since.

Lady Gaga’s new song is catchy.  It pains me to say that, because I think she’s played out as hell and seem to be a pretentious fuck.  Love the new Panic! At The Disco stuff that’s emerged so far.  Digging a couple of Big Sean tracks right now too.  He’s made cameos on so many songs lately, I figured I’d give his stuff a try.  Of course, downloaded some country as well.  The Civil Wars, damn.  Some good, melodramatic folk-country. Listening to their cover of “Disarm” by Smashing Pumpkins. Whoa.

I’m bored.  I have nothing to say. My throat hurts to much to talk, anyway. Hmph.

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