It just so happen's that I'm listening to 36 Chambers right now. Hardcore, man. Harcore in my Nudie jeans, newly-highlighted blonde hair & pandora bracelet I think not, but ya know.
Back from the dreaded Chaddy. God I love the place but it's really, really, really dangerous for someone like me. Thank god for a) my mother and b) the Commonwealth Netbank website being too complicated for me to work out how to increase my credit limit online. Hahaha. Shops I got stuff from: Gorman, Metallicus (x 3), Gap. Awesome. And lunch & coffee & some chocolates which I'm told are for my grandfather. Oh, and when I arrived home there's a note in the letterbox telling me to collect my postal delivery after 4pm. So my Polyester cds have arrived. Yay!!! Self-gifting galore, but whatevz, mother & I could only get certain things at Chadstone, and the last few years this is what my mother & I have done; go shopping the week before/of Christmas & buy me stuff which equates to my Christmas present. I feel quite guilty as we spent a fair bit of money; I made Mum decide whether we buy something because 'well you have to like it cos' you're paying for it' but it was Dad's money. Christmas day is generally boring but shopping is fun! I guess Mother & I haven't been shopping together literally all year & so I can sort of justify spending so much money on that point...enough guilt talking. I bought practical things I will wear (like dark brown clogs/heels because I have no summer heels that I can wear for day/sitting in bars/drive in, and a black cardigan).
I finished work placement, I have been to the gym once this week (good) and I'm under the illusion that I'll get back into exercise, listen to all my cds & read my pile of 25ish books & watch all my Dvds. Still don't know about New Years but not fussed.
New Years resolutions (perhaps a bit premature, but I'm in the mood)
- Learn how to turn left into a car-park
- Don't binge eat...no more than once a week
- Put things away in the cupboard after I wear them; avoid adding to the floordrobe
- Go to the gym for weight-resistance exercise (not cardio) at least twice a week. This can be Body Pump or Yoga or some sort of stretching class. i.e, build strength
- Spend a lot less time on facebook
- Don't hoard as many books & dvds.
- Be more sociable. Don't bail on events because I cbf to drive/too hard to organise.
On that front, I've binged once in five days (I tried on my black jeans, they fitted me on Halloween but not now. I'm sure if tried them on in the morning they'd be fine, AND I'm pre-menustral but still). I've finished 2 books since I last posted here (Her Fearful Symmetry and A Tiny Bit Marvellous) (but there's new books coming out by Markus Zurac or whatever his name is and such so I'll end up buying more at a rate much faster than I read, again, oh well), dvds I'm getting through & well...I don't think I can resist buying the new PJ Harvey the day it comes out. I've let myself off exercise for today because I did walk around Chaddy for 3 hours non-stop, but I am walking down to the shops to pick up my parcel because I absolutely cannot be fucked finding a carpark in this school-holidays Christmas rush. Nobody gives way to a green p-plater with blonde highlights in a black Audi. Still need to attach PBS sticker to car; will do this after when Dad takes car to factory for service, otherwise he'll rip off the sticker. All in all, not too bad this week.
and more soon!!! holidays = boredom = more posts! Yay get excited!!!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
this is why i have too many microsoft word documents on my computer
I'm embarassed to say I relate to this, but...it's one of my favourite pieces of writing on the whole eating-disorder topic. Please note I have no idea where it's originally from, the ed_ucate community of livejournal tells me it was originally posted in a blog or a recovery website anonymously. So I'm guessing the person who wrote it never wanted to be acknowledged (which we all know, isnt uncommon on the internet). So, without further ado:
"I have an eating disorder. Not Bulimia or Anorexia but EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). This means that I alternate between puking and starving. I also have rules. Bread has to be eaten in even numbers. Cake is evil. Carbohydrates are secretly plotting against me. Diet Coke is the elixir of youth and beauty.
My EDNOS is 19 years old. It started with Anorexia when I was fifteen. Then I progressed to Bulimia, otherwise known to some as a failed anorexic. You do the maths. I’m too ashamed to get my calculator out.
My weight fluctuates between slightly overweight, slightly underweight and somewhere in between. Which proves that my methods of losing weight aren’t that efficient, but this is not about logic. This is not about doing the right things like eating less or exercising more. This is not about being sensible or healthy or a shining example of mental health. This is not Jamie Oliver and his organic pig testicles.
This is not about looking good on the beach or wanting to be a supermodel. This is not about wanting the cute guy in the coffee shop to beg for your telephone number. This is not about sliding a pair of skinny jeans over your hipbones and laughing all the way to the checkout till.
This is not about wanting attention until complete strangers force feed you Black Forest Gateau and siphon double cream into your skinny latte. It is not about deliberately pissing off the nurses by hiding your peas under your fork and stashing butter in the bed pans. It is not about starving for all the children in Africa. It is not about reading the magazines and pining for the Body Mass Index of Paris Hilton’s pet Chihuahua. This is not a conspiracy created by the Patriarchal system to oppress women.
This is about having the self-esteem of a gnat’s arse. This is the polite way of committing suicide. This is about having no life because it’s impossible to order a bowl of dry cereal in a restaurant and ask them to hold the raisins. This is about weighing pasta, cereal, raisins and anything that passes your lips, including toothpaste. This is about secrets and lies and shame. This is about not wanting to admit that you need to eat. That you deserve to live.
This is about being scared. This is about being terrified. Of everything.
This is about control. This is about sex. This is about putting relationships on hold until your thighs don’t meet in the middle and by then you have no libido anyway. This is about hiding under layers of clothing that are mostly black. This is about “Please don’t look at me and cover all the mirrors with black crepe.” This is about avoiding the camera, even at your sister’s wedding. This is about intense self hatred.
This is about needing so much that you can’t stand it. This is about having emotions that bubble up and spill out all over the carpet and stink up the whole house. This is about having too many choices and too much pressure and isn’t it easier just to keep it simple and obsess about the amount of calories in a small cantaloupe? Instead of making big scary choices that might crush you to a pulp?
This is about wanting to be safe. This is about wanting to curl up in a nutshell like Thumbelina and ignore the big bad world that’s too noisy and dangerous and can’t be trusted. This is about not trusting anyone and relying on food (or lack of) to give you an all enveloping comfort blanket when the medication bloats you up like a corpse in a river.
This is about really crappy coping methods. This is about making a choice that will quite possibly kill you. This is about failed relationships, waiting lists, devastated families, waiting lists, becoming vegetarian, becoming vegan, becoming lactose intolerant, developing a wheat allergy and more waiting lists. This is about infertility, rotten teeth, and hollow bones. This is about cardiac arrest in a shopping centre. This is about being sick. This is about not being sick enough. This is about finally being sick enough for a bed in a unit until you drop down dead and you get a mention in the local paper for being such a model student.
This is not about food."
"I have an eating disorder. Not Bulimia or Anorexia but EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). This means that I alternate between puking and starving. I also have rules. Bread has to be eaten in even numbers. Cake is evil. Carbohydrates are secretly plotting against me. Diet Coke is the elixir of youth and beauty.
My EDNOS is 19 years old. It started with Anorexia when I was fifteen. Then I progressed to Bulimia, otherwise known to some as a failed anorexic. You do the maths. I’m too ashamed to get my calculator out.
My weight fluctuates between slightly overweight, slightly underweight and somewhere in between. Which proves that my methods of losing weight aren’t that efficient, but this is not about logic. This is not about doing the right things like eating less or exercising more. This is not about being sensible or healthy or a shining example of mental health. This is not Jamie Oliver and his organic pig testicles.
This is not about looking good on the beach or wanting to be a supermodel. This is not about wanting the cute guy in the coffee shop to beg for your telephone number. This is not about sliding a pair of skinny jeans over your hipbones and laughing all the way to the checkout till.
This is not about wanting attention until complete strangers force feed you Black Forest Gateau and siphon double cream into your skinny latte. It is not about deliberately pissing off the nurses by hiding your peas under your fork and stashing butter in the bed pans. It is not about starving for all the children in Africa. It is not about reading the magazines and pining for the Body Mass Index of Paris Hilton’s pet Chihuahua. This is not a conspiracy created by the Patriarchal system to oppress women.
This is about having the self-esteem of a gnat’s arse. This is the polite way of committing suicide. This is about having no life because it’s impossible to order a bowl of dry cereal in a restaurant and ask them to hold the raisins. This is about weighing pasta, cereal, raisins and anything that passes your lips, including toothpaste. This is about secrets and lies and shame. This is about not wanting to admit that you need to eat. That you deserve to live.
This is about being scared. This is about being terrified. Of everything.
This is about control. This is about sex. This is about putting relationships on hold until your thighs don’t meet in the middle and by then you have no libido anyway. This is about hiding under layers of clothing that are mostly black. This is about “Please don’t look at me and cover all the mirrors with black crepe.” This is about avoiding the camera, even at your sister’s wedding. This is about intense self hatred.
This is about needing so much that you can’t stand it. This is about having emotions that bubble up and spill out all over the carpet and stink up the whole house. This is about having too many choices and too much pressure and isn’t it easier just to keep it simple and obsess about the amount of calories in a small cantaloupe? Instead of making big scary choices that might crush you to a pulp?
This is about wanting to be safe. This is about wanting to curl up in a nutshell like Thumbelina and ignore the big bad world that’s too noisy and dangerous and can’t be trusted. This is about not trusting anyone and relying on food (or lack of) to give you an all enveloping comfort blanket when the medication bloats you up like a corpse in a river.
This is about really crappy coping methods. This is about making a choice that will quite possibly kill you. This is about failed relationships, waiting lists, devastated families, waiting lists, becoming vegetarian, becoming vegan, becoming lactose intolerant, developing a wheat allergy and more waiting lists. This is about infertility, rotten teeth, and hollow bones. This is about cardiac arrest in a shopping centre. This is about being sick. This is about not being sick enough. This is about finally being sick enough for a bed in a unit until you drop down dead and you get a mention in the local paper for being such a model student.
This is not about food."
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