The Gracious Misanthropist

I feel like I am in a constant state of confliction.

Fighting two ideas and desires in my head.

Part of me wants to be the warm, welcoming, happy, friend who is willing to lend an ear, or a couch.

The other part is extremely misanthropic, wanting nothing more than to be alone, reading, running, or coloring.

I met a friend in support group. At first I thought she was great, she was struggling, but she was nice, caring, etc.

Since she was struggling, and I felt like I was finally starting to make friends up here, I told her she was welcome to come over when she needed.

I felt like her Eating Disorder was on its period. She told me she was losing weight. She saw a picture of my best friend and I, from before treatment and commented on how skinny I was. Feeling so grateful I was in the mindset I was, and was able to mentally step back and try to decipher her intentions behind the comments. It was as if her eating disorder was trying to start something, and I wasn’t going to bite (no pun intended).

At first it wasn’t bad. Texting to let me know she was heading over. Then it became more frequent and with less heads up. It quickly became a knock on the door, or a phone call, “Hey, unlock the door, I’m standing outside.”

After a difficult week with my mother I wanted nothing more than to stay cooped up in my apartment with my dog, a good book and alternating between fresh pressed coffee and fresh brewed tea.

Then my phone began to ring. I ignored it.

I got in the shower. My phone rang again.

Headed to go run errands. Text message.

Got home. Phone rang.

Sitting on the couch reading. Knock at the door.

I figured it was only a matter of time. I opened the door and said, “Well, I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

I told her I was about to head out, and was actually going to go to my grandmother’s house (which, I had already decided earlier that day, I wasn’t up for it.) She stayed for what seemed like forever, lying that I was about to run to Barnes and Nobles, and she attempted to invite herself along.


Monday I talked to my new therapist, K, about it. She was trying to get me to put up some boundaries, and try to put some distance there. I don’t want to upset her, or rock the boat, but she is starting to remind me of my old roommate, and it is just making me question if this is a healthy relationship to be in right now. K agreed, and also wondered about my friend’s comments.

So, I got home. Exhausted from work, and from my session with K. My upstairs neighbor was standing on the stairs, checking her mail. I stood there and listened to her talk and complain about various things- the new neighbor, her job, whatever I would listen to. She then asked if she could pet Ella before she left.

There goes the internal conflicting dialogue.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!?! I’m not even IN my apartment yet, I’m still holding my shit. Fuck no, leave me alone.”

“Ok, just for a minute. Maybe it will make her day, no harm in it, plus don’t want to piss off my neighbor.”

So, my neighbor was now standing in my living room petting my dog, while I am trying to hang up my keys and purse, put my lunch dishes in the sink, and take my shoes off. She is still standing there, telling me for the umpteenth time about her bitch of a coworker, and how the neighbors keep banging stuff, and how expensive the rent is. The only thing I am thinking is how badly I want to get out of my jeans.

Literally at this point I have tried the, “Oh, ok Jo, well, I mean, I was going to take Ella on a walk and change.” She kept on talking, this time about some movie about a dog she had just told me about last week.

At this point I am so mentally exhausted. Part of me wants to immediately hop on my phone and email K:

“So not only is my friend randomly stopping by, but now my fucking neighbor has been standing in my living room for the past twenty minutes!!”

I couldn’t fucking believe it!

Practically giving up, I headed to my room where I flung off my nice button-up shirt from work and threw on a tank top. Announcing audibly, “the next thing to go is my pants, regardless if my apartment door is open or not.” 

She gave another “Ok, well, I won’t hold you up any longer.”

I had been hearing that for the past 8 minutes and 26 seconds…..



Christmas of 2014


I threw up a mouthful of coffee and raspberries, the RC caught me leaving the bathroom.

I refused to drink an Ensure and after everyone left for their pass home, I headed to the group room for yoga, just me.

After yoga was snack, the RC informed me that I had to call T before snack- shit! The phone rang and rang and I was so nervous.

She answered, my heart dropped, she said she heard I had a rough breakfast, I said not really, and told my side. “I ate, went upstairs to change for yoga and the RC saw me come out of the bathroom.”  “Well, what happened in the bathroom?” “Some raspberries came up.” “And you refused an Ensure?….”  “I didn’t refuse, I just didn’t let her get that far.

T continued, I told her I didn’t think my stomach was handling the coffee well, so gave up coffee…

T also mentioned how we might have to sit down and revisit if this is the level of care for me. Of course that freaked me out….


                I had breakfast, watched Water for Elephants, snack time, did a puzzle.
                Showered, lunch time, took a nap, went outside and kicked around my soccer ball.
                Painted my nails, snack time, watched Frozen, watched Muppets.
I hate having “special treatment” no dishes because I may involuntarily hurl in the sink, tally stairs so I’m not exercising. This not moving thing is killing me! ERGH!
                I get so annoyed I’ve also been put on cleaning restriction too b/c I’m the only one who can manage to clean and take the damn trash out.


We got a new person today, she is 33 and just came from the hospital. I’m discouraged and conflicted. I still believe I’m not sick enough to be here. I want to go outside, run, feel the sun on my back, breeze in my face.

Am I too young to be here?

                                                                                Am I too young for recovery?

Part of me wants to throw in the towel say fuck it, pack up and go home. Go back to treatment after I’ve hit rock bottom, when I’m actually sick.

T is probably so sick and tired of me. I hate feeling like a lost cause and I’m just waiting for her to say screw it about me as well and give up.

Honestly, I think I just want to pack and leave before I end up disappointing all of Tapestry.

Well, I fucked up, again. I’m not sure why I’m even here. I got so upset and stressed about snack and I threw up, and got caught.

I know in order to quit involuntarily puking, I definitely need to keep my fingers out of my throat.

What the Fuck is my problem?!?!

I don’t want to be here anymore, I want to go home, but I am so tired of throwing up.


While sitting outside on top of a shed T came out. She stood on the ground looking up at me and asked what I wanted to do, I told her, “cry”. “Well, that would have been better than purging.”  I began to cry and told her what would make someone want to throw up cashews and cherries??!!

I told her I knew it was a bad idea, and how discouraged I am.

T asked me to come down off the roof, I tossed my journal and watched it fall, then climbed down.

T handed me my journal and I followed her to her office.



I was up tossing and turning at 2:30. The conversation between T and I played over and over again in my head.

“If you aren’t ready to recover for you, do it for your sister.”

“Crying would have been better than purging.”

My leash around here is just getting shorter and shorter, now on top of no running, no showers at night, sit down after every meal, no climbing the stairs, no coffee, but I don’t want all of this to be for nothing.



I was being artsy fartsy last night, after snack. The RC came in and saw my glass    full of throw up on the table….

So, this morning was weigh in. I hid my Nalgene and Mason jar, full of water, in my room. So at 6:30, before the RC came in to wake us up, I sat on my bed and chugged the Mason jar. Sat with it, then started on the Nalgene.

I feel so conflicted about it. I don’t want my weight to go up, but it can’t stay the same, I hate being so stationary. Maybe if my weight goes up, I won’t have to sit after every meal, but I hate lying and being dishonest.

Dinner, well, I didn’t eat it. Unfortunately, I had an Ensure, but figured it was the safer bet.

T again mentioned that she wasn’t sure if I could stay. I feel so conflicted. I have had so much taken away and all of my Christmas break, I don’t want it to be for nothing. I’d go back home, run and starve.

When will I put my foot down and find that spark I need?

I almost came clean to T.

                The guilt is too much.

She said there was a positive change in my weight.

After threatening to see if I would be able to stay and her saying, “Your weight is the only ace I have right now.”

What was I supposed to say?

“Oh, that’s great, I mean I only chugged an enormous amount of water this morning to water load.”

Yeah, that totally wouldn’t get me kicked out.



Around 12:30 this morning I got really hot and nauseous. I headed to the bathroom where I projectile vomited on my hand and the toilet. I woke up the RC to tell her, she got me some water, I swore up one way and down the other it was the bean burger I ate for dinner.

Everyone went grocery shopping after lunch today except me, because I thought I had a therapist appointment.    She came and got me…then we headed to T’s office. I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, a “come to Jesus” meeting perhaps?

They both sat down and faced me and asked why I thought they wanted to talk to me. Oh shit, I thought and a stomach sinking feeling came over me. “We are thinking about discharge.” Oh fuck, what?! I began to cry. They went on and explained they were trying to have me referred to UNC. I just bawled harder.

“I won’t go.” I thought, I can’t! I have school, it was hard enough to get my ass here. I was still crying when I explained I felt like a failure, and explained how I had gotten physically sick.

The two of them didn’t really sound like it was an option. I was stuck between getting on my knees and begging and throwing my hands up and saying fuck it as I walked out the door.

“You can always come back here after Chapel Hill.”

“I don’t want to ‘come back’. This isn’t a vacation, I don’t want to come back, ‘Oh hey guys, missed you all.’” I mocked between sobs.

They told me this wasn’t a failure, I just needed a higher level of care. That scares the shit out of me. I was still crying, T began to cry.

I just began to get mad.

“KW goes to the hospital, she gets to stay. M refuses to eat, she gets to stay. C practically gives you the finger…”

“You have made amazing strides and progress…..”

“…not good enough apparently.” I cut her off

T was still choking back tears when she looked me in the eyes and said,

“you don’t have to do this anymore, you don’t have to purge anymore.”           I just looked at her and asked, “Why?”

T went outside to get the head honcho director, (can we call her Madame Shit Storm? I think that’s appropriate).

Madame Shit Storm and T came in, I was still bawling. They explained the medical benefits and capability UNC has that would be helpful to me if I was referred.

I admitted I got sick last night and that I’m still sruggling with the stairs but I’ve been honest. They mentioned I needed to be behavior free for so long, I was still crying when I explained that I would have gone 4 days if it wasn’t for physically getting sick.

*Caution Slippery Slope Ahead*

I have received so many inspirational comments, encouraging words, reassurance.

I’ve seen comments such as, “You’re brave and curious.” “I don’t know you but I am proud of you because in my own journey you give me hope and inspiration.”, “You are showing such strength and determination.”, “Wish I was as strong as you are with your decision to recover.”, “Gives me hope :)”,  and one of my favorites:         “I saw a comment you left on someone else’s post and I found my way to your blog and before I knew it, I had read your entire archive. I’m so inspired by your story. Thank you for being so honest, for baring your soul to the internet – I feel like I can relate to a lot of what you said.”

These words, your words, your encouragement, has meant so much to me. I have to be honest though, I don’t want to come across as “Oh, I left treatment, everything is rainbows, sparkles and sunshine.”  I never want to come across phony and fake.

Honestly? I am struggling, but I don’t want to admit it to myself let alone anybody else. I don’t have an outpatient team, I keep putting it off and considering it “not important”. School is the most important thing to me… ok, and attempting to stick to my meal plan.

But here I am again, acting on urges and thoughts…THOUGHTS. Feelings, emotions, guilt, FOOD AND ED.

Over Easter break, my friends and I took the boat out, went out to an island on the lake and had a cook out. It was terrific, I hadn’t hung out with them in forever. It was so much fun. We ran around the island, played around on the beach, climbed trees, watched the guys be guys, laughed, started a fire. It was terrific. Then came dinner time. I helped cut stuff, and start the grill, played with fire.

After the burgers and hot dogs were done being cooked we all gathered around to eat, talk, and laugh. I attempted to make a plate and be “normal”. Ok, I’ll have a bun for starch… oh God, no, no bun… nevermind… but I’ll have cheese for fat…. ok… and lettuce and tomato.. and pickle… ok.

“What? Got something against buns?” One of my friends teased. “Hah, oh yeah, I do, I just have bun envy so I refuse to give in.” I joked back.

Then, as they passed around homemade chocolate chip cookies I reluctantly took one. “You didn’t have a starch or your second fat, so this is acceptable.”  I took a cookie, ripped it into pieces, and got about 3/4 of the way done with it when the familiar face of guilt and regret came back full force.

“You don’t know how much fat was in that. You have no idea what was even in that patty you ate. Oh God, you can just taste those calories. What did you do?”

Unfortunately, my glance went all around the circle. Everyone else was laughing, still enjoying the food. I was mentally body checking. Perfectly aware of my pudgy stomach, my touching thighs. Yet, as I looked around, I was the smallest one out of our group. You would think that would be comfort that it was okay to eat. Oh nooo. ED took what I saw and ran with it. “You saw what they ate… HOW they ate. You are going to look like that. You are going to be bigger than them.”  It had nothing to do with my friends. I love them all and they are terrific, but I am so insecure and so paranoid and irrational.

I snuck away, took a walk around the island. There I stood, my toes in the freezing water line in the sand. I looked out at the lake…. and stuck  my fingers down my throat.  My fingers were sappy and bitter from climbing the trees earlier. I got done, wiped away the running mascara, snot-faced self, on my sleeve, and stuck my vomit-covered hand into the sub-zero temperature of the mountainous lake.

“How embarrassing” I thought… not this again….

I enjoyed the rest of the day, returned to the group, snacked on a piece of pineapple for dessert and tried to laugh with the rest of my friends.

Yesterday, I needed to study, I went to Starbucks to get coffee. I was feeling ballsy and decided to try something new. I’m not into the foo-foo girly sugary drinks, and ordered something that sounded up my alley, but different. I got in the car and headed home. I took a sip of my drink and wasn’t sure- I was immediately taken back by how sweet it was, but decided to try one more sip of the $5 drink.

It was awful. It wasn’t what I expected or wanted.  I got so worked up, convinced I could taste each calorie. On the way home I was freaking out, going from a 0 to 10.5 mentally. Not sure what to do, how to handle it. I got so flustered and worked up that I gave myself the hiccups. Which led to me involuntarily throwing up in my Starbucks cup as I’m driving in my car on the way home.

So, now here I am, headed home, with a Starbucks cup full of some God-awful sugary substance drink and vomit. Awesome…. *sarcasm* -_-

So, now what do I do? I thought. There is no way I can get this drink inside and dump it out without my best friend seeing. Shit Shit Shit.  Oh, the shit ED drives us to do…. In my mind, the logical way out of this was to roll down the window and throw my cup out of it.

Okay guys, hear me out. I swear, I have never done something like that before. The worse thing I ever threw out of my car was an apple core.  I knew it was an awful idea, but in my mind what was I supposed to do. I didn’t want to get caught coming in the house with a cup full of vomit… I couldn’t just put it in our outside trash can, someone would see.

So anyway. It’s been a slippery slope and I am struggling. ED is just currently raging, which sucks.

Trust the Process


There Goes My Week.

As I sit here, I think, “Fucking Monday.”

Cup of tea fastened tightly in the gap of my thighs,

flickering candle in my peripherals,

Evolutionary Biology staring at me from the floor needing to be read,

Organic Chemistry screaming for attention that it needs, yet doesn’t deserve,

Cell and Molecular “Exam 3 Study Guide” patiently waiting, peering out from the textbook pages.

Instead. I’m throwing “Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies- Baked Snack Crackers” at my dog, who is lazily enjoying the raining cracker snacks and seems undisturbed by the rhythmic pattern of my fingers along the keys.

“Annie’s Homegrown Cheddar Bunnies.” Like anyone gives a flying fuck…homegrown… hah

“Fucking Monday” I think again, as another orange-tinted silhouette bunny leaves my fingers.

S told me Wednesday that on campus they have a dietitian, health center, etc. She told me “Monday at 9.”  A little encryptic I thought. All weekend I was consumed with those words… Does that mean I have an appointment? Was that just a suggestion? Was that when the dietitian was there? What the fuck do I do? I, as usual, was up by 5:30. Pondering, wondering what to do.

My doctor had made me the appointment with S, the therapist. She knew that otherwise I wouldn’t go. So, in my mind, it also made logical sense that S or my Dr, had just gone ahead and made me an appointment with the dietitian as well….knowing I’m a pansy ass. I figured, in all honesty, that is was more of a suggestion than an actual appointment, I mean the clinic on campus was walk in-right? S wouldn’t make me an appointment and just leave it with, yeah, “Monday at 9.” Would she?  After much internal turmoil I relied back on the same logic I had when first going to see S.

“If S had enough concern or initiative to make me an appointment, then I should at least have the respect to show up.” Plus, if I really did have a set appointment I didn’t want to be THAT bitch that just doesn’t show up.

So, I started this morning with a nice long run in freezing temperatures. I was unsure if my rapid heartbeat was directly correlated to the run, or was also anxious about the clinic. At around 8:48 I made the long trudge to the Health Clinic and up the set of stairs. I apologized for being ignorant and that I wasn’t actually sure if I had an appointment or not, just that I was told “Monday at 9.”

The lady, peering at me with a mixed expression of polite patience and annoyance, told me that there was nothing so far today. I explained it was for a dietitian and another lady looked up and said my name in a more questioning tone. I nodded and said, “Yes ma’am.”

“Oh… here it is…. your appointment isn’t until 10.” said the patiently annoyed lady- maybe I should have offered her my coffee.

So, I sat around campus and waited. At about 9:40 my phone rang and I answered it… long story short I was supposed to have a Dr. appointment at the clinic at 9, and dietitian appointment following at 10. What the fuck people, really. She asked me if I had forgotten or what. I explained I had stopped by and was told 10… so that was fun.

I made it back to the clinic, signed my life away, and got called back to meet my dietitian. She towered over me and had an intimidating, yet empathetic smile. Neither the doctor nor S had sent over any of my papers. So the dietitian told me that it was up to me to explain everything to her. (This will probably be a separate post). Talking about everything from brain receptors to greek yogurt to my running…


After the talk that seemed to last eternity, she wanted to have me set up with a therapist there, and wanted to see me back again this week. I explained I was waiting for an “Oh shit” moment to really need help, when she told me that I was very close to having to go into inpatient.

So, my week so far:

Monday: Dietitian

Wednesday: S and Dr on campus

Thursday: Dietitian


Look out for flying orange bunnies.

Heart-to-Heart Coming Inside the Bubble

It is very difficult to watch other people care so much and be so concerned when I am so extremely apathetic. “Why?” she asked, coffee in hand, walking a trail that led around the park. “I don’t know. I wish I cared, I wish I gave a damn. It is so frustrating to see others be concerned, but yet just not care. You can only care about me for so long until you say, ‘Well, screw it, you don’t even care’.”

We stopped at the park for a bit, every now and then I would pipe up with a sarcastic comment to try and lighten the tone of such a dreary topic. “Well if I were in your shoes,” she began, “…your feet would be a lot warmer right now.” I interjected. “This time last year you were eating Clif bars, eggs, bananas.” I reflected on the truth behind what she was saying.

Throughout our walk/talk/coffee sipping, my walls slowly began to come down. Starting off with snarky comments: “You keep deflecting my question.” “Well, what is it? Just go for the throat, my doctor already told me my complexion looks so shitty from the anorexia and starving myself, so it can’t be more brutal than that.”

To the more truthful: “I just hate myself. I hate my body. I don’t think I am sick enough. I’m not in the hospital, passing out, etc.”

When finally the walls came down: “I wish I saw myself how others do, I just see fat. Thighs, a gut, muffin tops. I hate my body. I like being able to see ribs, collar bones, it excites me.”

She sat there and listened. Trying to talk me into eating. She began to cry, “I don’t want to go to your funeral. I love you and care about you.”  “My heart and everything is fine, it’s not going to happen.” “And that is the attitude that is going to kill you.”

I began to pace a little as we talked, she tried more to not cry, I attempted to deflect some more. We even briefly hit on the lax I have been taking, she pleaded for me to stop taking those.  I was on a bench walking around and around a table, circling the table to avoid eye contact. She talked about trying to eat and keep one thing down a day. I opened up a little more about my dysmorphia, “I just don’t see it! I look in the mirror and hate it.” “Sweetie! You are a twig! You are tiny!”

During one of my laps around the table I stopped and looked at her. She reached toward me, I backed away and was ready to start lap number 2,864 (bit of an exaggeration) around the table on the bench. “Come back here.” “No, you are gonna get in my damn bubble.” “Yeah, I am, deal with it, I’m barely going to touch you.” I took a step forward. With her hands she grabbed my right thigh, her thumbs and middle fingers met together with ease. I flinched. She let go of my leg and returned her fingers to where they had just been, only without my leg in the middle. Showing me the circumference that was made, waiting for some reaction. “You moved your fingers.” “Honey, no I didn’t. We will remeasure if you want.” “No.”

We continued talking about covering my mirror, she asked if I had any clothes that still fit, told me about the people at work who had made comments about how much weight I had lost. After lap 3,071 I had a seat on the table I had been pacing and circling like a shark waiting for its prey. She had a seat next to me and grabbed my leg again, this time my calf. I pulled away again. She talked about tactics like going on a drive, going on a walk, something to do after I eat to try and not fixate on what I had done. She motioned to my large sweatshirt I had on and gestured to my mid section and hips, “You try and cover all of this, but there is nothing there.” I looked at her and pinched my side where my muffin tops were cozily nestled on top of my leggings. She too grabbed it, “This?! This is skin! There is nothing there. You work out so much that you need to give yourself a break, because whatever you eat, you are going to burn right off.”

The Weight of Being Weighed

You probably won’t believe it. What happened today. As if the haunting thought of being weighed isn’t scary enough, being almost carried to the scale just about did me in.

As I sit here, I am in so much pain from eating.

A whopping half of a tomato and part of a cucumber sit with some feta cheese, and the three of them are planning on how to kill my innards.

So, today. Let me just say, I live in a very small town. It is probably frowned upon to call someone with the title “Dr.” in front of their name an asshole, but it happened, and I will probably continue to do it.  Back to the part where I live in a small town. I have known him since I was quite little, he is a family friend. So anyway, today the nutritionist came in. We were talking, she took some vitals and said, “Ok, we need to update your chart. I have to fill in the weight section.” “Um, hell no you’re not going to get me on the scale.” “But I have to put some number in.” “Tough, then put some random number in. Dr. Guy, she is not getting my ass on the scale.”

Dr. Guy: “You are getting tinier and tinier every time I see you.”

—–It continued on like this for about ten minutes. ——

“I’m going to put xxx, even though I know you’re under that.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Then let me weigh you.”


At this point, the nutritionist comes over and attempts to pick me up. I shit you not guys! I was enjoying my coffee, she wanted an estimate, and she came over to where I was sitting. I latch my leg under the table, and with the hand that isn’t holding onto my coffee, I cling to the table for dear life.

What the hell is wrong with people. I do not want to be weighed, you are not getting my ass on there. I seriously doubt I am under xxx. This was such a pain in the ass. It should not be such a huge ordeal to weigh me, but it is. I don’t want to know because I will just feel like a fat lard.

I texted my best friend about this because it was a very triggering morning, “Yeah xxx is probably an over estimate, I’d say more like xxx-10..tops.”

“You aren’t helping. Thanks a heap.”

Teary Eyed and Dr. A

Here I sit in a coffee shop on campus, staring blankly at my chemistry lab report that I have barely began to touch.

Reflecting on yesterday morning when Dr. A nearly brought me to tears, and sitting here literally dreading lunch. Dr. A was the one I had lunch with about two weeks ago (you can probably already see what direction this is headed in), she saw me sitting in the lobby of one of the building yesterday morning. She came and sat down next to me at the same table and pretty bluntly just asked if I had been eating. I began to smile and nod, which quickly turned into me just shaking my head with a half attempt at a smile. This feels almost embarrassing to openly admit to somebody that no, I haven’t eaten. She offered up another lunch date and I thanked her for the offer, but I couldn’t Thursday, but possibly Friday might be an option. She made a comment that, “I’ll have to take you somewhere and have you load up on donuts.” I politely laughed at her attempt at a joke.

I gestured to my coffee and said “I have coffee.”  “I don’t think that counts. Is there cream init?” “No. If it is good coffee I’ll drink it black.” “Then no, it doesn’t count.” She began to walk away to face the day head on with her sweet personality, smile, and motherly affection.

Then, she turned around and came back. I had already began writing notes from a powerpoint for a quiz. “You know what, my husband and I made an awesome dinner last night and I brought it for lunch; grilled veggies with some ground up turkey. It was really good, and I will even give it to you if you will eat it.”  My defensive sassy side was starting to bubble up, quickly I shoved it aside and lying through my teeth I said, “Thank you so much, that is so sweet, but I’m ok, I’ll eat something on the way to work.”  “Ok, well eat something healthy today.”

I wasn’t sure if I should be pissed as hell because what I eat is none of anyone’s business, or be appreciative-ish, that she cared.  I guess when I open up to people, I shouldn’t be surprised when they have something to say. I got all teary eyed when she was walking away. That was so sweet of her, she was going to offer me her own lunch because she wanted me to eat. I have such a mental block over that. She is stuck at school, she was going to give me her lunch for the day, because she was concerned I wasn’t going to eat.

So anyway, I got home last night, and my best friend/roommate/sister-ish came in my room and we began to talk. She said, “I saw Dr. A at school, she mentioned getting lunch with you tomorrow.”  Well, shit. I guess I should have emailed her hours ago. So guess her and I are getting lunch today.

I don’t want to. I am not hungry, I feel sick. I want nothing to do with food. Lunch is going to be miserable. This wont be enjoyable, it is going to be a chore. She is a sweet heart though, and I am grateful for the people in my life.

Accident Prone Lately.

Lately I feel like a lot has happened. There has been one job, school, my other job, looking into treatments, etc. 
I found out Sunday that C is no longer going to be working with the place I had been going for outpatient. I wish nothing but the best of luck for her, and I am so grateful that she called me and told me herself. It is odd. I am thankful she made a point to say it was nothing I did/said, and gave me a few options. I struggle so bad with a fear of rejection and upsetting people that it meant so much to me that she called me herself and told me.
I had told C a couple of days ago about my horrible leg cramps and that my foot had locked up. It was like a charley horse, but 100x worse, I couldn't just stretch it or rub it out, and it lasted for what seemed like eternity. C expressed concern during our short talk Sunday. She said that one of her nutritionist friends explained it could be a precusor to something in the future and the next time it happened I needed to go to the doctor ASAP. 
One of my jobs has been so busy, and the other one is at a school with kids.
I think I am getting sick, mainly the whole kids back in school, everyone shares germs, kinda sick. 
I haven't been eating at all again, Last night my "dinner" consisted of a cup of hot tea and a handful of laxatives. Day before that? I consumed grapes. I'm not eating, I don't want to eat, and I wish my body wasn't so damn resilient.
I have also become extremely accident prone recently though. I'm not sure if it is just related to the foggy brain and light headed-ness, just being so tired, lethargic, or malnourished. It has been awful though. Bruises, clumsy-ness, falling, running into stuff. This has become daily, and painful. 
Yesterday I was carrying something at work and ran right into a pole with my hip. Holy crap that hurt so bad, I have a huge bruise.
Today, I was covering a Moomba boat after I had driven it from the dock onto the trailer. I was covering the front part and was under the cover putting the poles in there. I turned my head and bashed it right on the windshield. As if my head wasn't hurting bad enough from lack of food and water. Then, I was inside a ski nautique, driving that on the trailer, I fell back and landed right on my tail bone, *CRUNCH*. I saw stars and got that nauseating feeling in my stomach. Walking/sitting/ pretty much anything right now hurts so bad. Blacked out at work today, I was so sure I was about to just pass out. I got very dizzy, weak, my vision began to go; I sat down (the best I could with my ass hurting) and sipped some ice coffee my boyfriend-ish, had brought me for lunch. I am pretty pissed that I hurt myself so bad that I won't be able to run for a couple days because the impact and jarring from walking hurts my lower back and butt so much.... damn tailbone... 

Ode to Bony Keys

My hands run along the pieces.
Wishing to be frail and delicate.
A painter with a brush slowly exploring the canvas.
Like a pianist on his instrument.
My fingers count the keys, slowly moving up in sync with my breaths.image
These keys, neither black nor white, nothing in life ever is.
As the pianist’s fingers move up the keys the sound becomes more beautiful.
With each protruding rib my excitement grows, hoping to become such beauty.
My fingers latch onto my collarbone like I’m rock climbing.
Using my own collarbone like a bar I’m pulling myself onto.
Something, anything to help support the weight.
The weight of my dinner as it sticks to my sides.
The weight of the guilt as my little sister consumes more than I do.
The weight of my stomach filling mainly with water.

Getting Ready for a Date

Well, today started the comments again… my boss was helping me at work yesterday and asked what I had eaten. She knew the answer, so I looked at her and said, “Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?” She then returned with some shortbread cookies which reeked of fake vanilla flavoring and looked even less appealing. I took one to humor her.

then one of my guy friends pulled up and him and I began to talk. About an hour later he returned with lunch for me, (which I didn’t ask for, or want.) Him and my boss both stood there as I held whatever boxed food he had just brought me. I began to get sassy since they were both just staring at me.
“I am not a stray dog who needs to be fed! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”
She responded with “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
He chimed in, “You have to eat something, you are skin and bones.”
Which is total bull shit. I am not skin and bones, I desperately wish that I was, but I am not, and I am so damn tired of people trying to feed me. People need to quit trying to fucking feed me. GRRRRRRRR
Well, today that same guy showed up, brought me lunch, and asked me to a date. I hesitantly said yes.
My boss, decided to come “help” again, and was there for the round 2 of yesterday’s show.
She piped in and said, “Well yesterday I couldn’t get her to eat anything until you showed up, so you must be someone special for her to eat for you.” The word spread around my work quickly about my date.
As I was leaving my other boss, we will call him “fucking Bob”. Well, even he had something to say, “He seems like a nice guy, he even got you to eat something, I’m impressed.”…. fucking Bob -_-
So, when I got home the anxiety and stress began to fill up. I got in the shower, and laid on my bed, in my towel, for a good half hour, dreading having to get dressed. Tried on two dresses. They were ok… One was iffy, the other I really liked, I just didn’t want to be cold. I tried on jeans. Holy shit that sent me into panic mode. So after trying and trying I decided on leggings with a shirt and scarf. Oh well…. Clothes suck anyway. Wish I was normal, able to get dressed, go on dates, etc without freaking out. Wish, just once, I could get dressed and not see a huge fat heifer staring back at me. I want coffee.