brightrosefox: (Default)
Holy random acts of kindness, Batman.
After getting my flu vaccine, I went to look at the cane rack, because they have this beautiful blue and silver one that looks like dragon scales, and I have been waiting for discounts and coupons so I could get it. The price is under twenty dollars, but still.
A middle-aged man who looked so much like Idris Elba that I did a second take, also reached for the blue silver cane. Our eyes met, I smiled briefly. He said, "You know, I bet this would make an awesome magic staff for cosplay."
I grinned and said, "Good plan! I should at least join a game just so I can brag. Or just be my paganish elf self and cosplay every day." Which was blurted out because my filter is so thin.
The Idris Elba lookalike chuckled. "I adore that idea. I just pray to all mighty Atheismo that we aren't going too deep. Like that Tom Hanks movie."
My jaw dropped. "Duuude," I said. "Futurama reference plus obscure D&D rip-off movie nee book reference? Cripple high five!"
We high fived and missed on purpose, stumbling. "Mild cerebral palsy, spastic hemiplegia" I said. "Mild cerebral palsy, diplegia mixed," he said. "And knee arthritis."
"And sciatica," we said in union, surprising ourselves.
"Fibromyalgia and epilepsy and autism too," I added.
He said, "My twin nieces are autistics! Their world is so awesome. I think they prefer me to my brother when they're in meltdowns, they talk about what's going on in detail."
"Awesome!" I said.
At this point, we had been staring at the canes and I had been avoiding too much eye contact. I was about to ask the Idris Elba lookalike about advocacy. Then I saw a gleam in his eye and sensed a topic shift. "Hey, listen," he said. "I'm a proponent of the pay it forward thing. I know we're strangers, but I do know enough about you that you really want the dragon scale cane."
I tilted my head. "Yeeeaah?"
"So, okay." He pulled some pieces of paper from his pocket. "I've got a buy one get one half off for this brand of canes. I will buy you your cane. What do you think?"
I blinked a few times. I looked at him. He wasn't hitting on me. He wasn't being creepy. He was just a fellow cripple offering help.
"Okay," I said, "thank you! That's really kind."
"Hey, the community needs all the assistance we can get from each other. Cripples helping cripples, you know?"
I smiled. "Totally."
As we walked to a register, he said, "I want you to know that I had no intention of hitting on you. I see your rings, and for all I know they could mean something else. But while I think you're a gorgeous-looking person, I have no plans on being a That Guy. I punch Those Guys on a regular basis."
"Huh?"
"Physical trainer. Not so much punch as pinch in sensitive areas. Men can be scum."
I giggled. "Hashtag Not All Men!"
He laughed. "Anyway, let me pay for everything." He nodded at my basket, which had a few comfort items. I immediately said he shouldn't, since he was getting me the cane.
He then put my basket on the conveyor belt, looked at me until I noticed that his eyes had gold rings, and said, "Then pay it forward. Help another cripple." The corner of his mouth turned up. "Even if it's just donating to help someone get better access."
I nodded. I was going to cry any minute. He paid for everything, put his things in two totes and put my things in two more totes. He saved me almost forty dollars.
He said, "I would offer you a ride, but my friend's picking me up so we can go back to Philly. It's been a great road trip so far."
I nodded. "It's cool. I'm going to take the bus home anyway." I was feeling giddy. "Well, obviously we had this encounter for a reason. So. It was lovely meeting you, clone of Idris Elba."
He threw back his head and laughed. "I get that a lot. Same to you, clone of Mia Sara. Anyway, I'm Laurence."
"Joanna."
We fist-bumped and he helped adjust my cane for my height. We walked outside together, and he stood at the curb to wait for his friend while I walked across the parking lot. I turned and waved. He waved back and kept looking at me. I realized it was to make sure I was safe.
I got to the sidewalk crosswalk and peered back. I saw him get into a green SUV. I realized I would probably never see him again.
I am definitely going to Pay It Forward.

***

Also! Links! For future reference!
http://www.neurodiversity.com/main.html
http://cerebralpalsy.org/about-cerebral-palsy/associative-conditions/
http://www.disabilityscoop.com/2013/10/03/autism-common-cerebral-palsy/18775/

***

Also!
PMS is vicious. Although with oral contraceptives, it's technically withdrawal bleeding rather than menstruation. Besides, I haven't truly bled in over a year. Being on the highest dose of birth control for over fourteen years will do that to some women.
PMS is vicious. A veliciraptor chewing through my pelvis. There's a photo out there of a plastic female human skeleton, with a toy raptor stuck head-first through the pelvic bone.
And the bloating and bizarre fluctuations on the bathroom scale.
Having slid back to psychiatric anorexia after failing to control neurochemical anorexia, I know damn well I should not stand on that scale especially during this time. I know damn well that numbers don't mean as much as how my clothing fits. But paranoia bred from life-long anxiety over disordered eating patterns is paranoia. And then there was the entire food=growth=death connection when I was little. And then there was being under a hundred pounds until my mid-twenties. And then there was the anorexia voices insisting that I needed to get back to that, being under five feet tall. I was never overweight. I used to weigh something around the high "set point" - but I have no idea where I've constructed this memory of being convinced to lose twenty pounds. Unfortunately, my illness has burrowed deep enough into my subconscious that my thoughts have turned to the classic hallmarks of anorexia: "I absolutely must be below X number or I will never feel right". The unwillingness to stop. The belief that everything is wrong. I know where I am. I know what's happening. I've been able to compartmentalize and separate enough so that I smack myself when those thoughts occur, so that I at least eat an apple or two, or cheese, yogurt, celery, even cheesecake or dark chocolate. My friends are with me.
Sag Harbor will happen next week, with Thanksgiving. Part of me is in a total blind mute panic. That part doesn't want to eat anything. That part wants to Be Good, Be Perfect. It doesn't matter that I'm over thirty, says the panic. It only matters that I am extremely small and I must keep being extremely small.
To bring everything around again: PMS is not helping. PMS is several numbers upward on the scale because of fluid retention, bloating... losing that fight to not overeat. PMS is barely fitting into the purple dyed jeans yesterday and having them slightly loose today. It isn't helping anything.

But I look at that blue and silver dragon scale cane, bought for me by a total stranger with the same disability as me, and I think the best way I can Pay It Forward is to make sure someone I care for stays as mentally healthy as possible...
brightrosefox: (Default)
Well, yeah.
My body is starting to do that thing where it refuses to acknowledge food in the stomach regardless of how much food and what kind of food. This morning saw me unhappily using half a roll of toilet tissue and doing that steady breathing where you calm nausea. So I keep getting vicious hunger feelings even after I have eaten. While at CVS picking up prescriptions, I bought a pack of dark chocolate Ensure Plus, because fuck you body. I've been steadily keeping fluids in me, but for some reason it's like, "Nope, there's no food in here. Put food in here!" "Body, I just put a huge bowl of cereal in you not half an hour ago." "No you didn't. There is no food in me."

And I do need to finally acknowledge this. A few days ago, husband came home very late after over twelve hours of work, and I knew he was overly exhausted, frustrated, and irritated in general when he stomped in and yelled at me for having the air on, even though I'd only had it on for less than an hour. And then he asked what I had done for dinner, and when I said, "Nothing yet..." while I was getting ready to get some leftover pasta - and that was when he channeled his mother's extreme guilt trip worst case scenario powers and said, "You know, I'm tired of you starving yourself. You wonder why you keep having seizures and paralysis when you're not eating. And then when you fall apart, I'll make sure to put you in the nicest nursing home I can since I won't be able to stay home to care for you." And I stood there, calmly feeding the fish, and I said, "I am going to pretend you did not say that." And then I said, "Well, I am going to microwave this bowl of pasta, and I am going to take it upstairs, because obviously talking to you is not a thing I can do right now." Later, he acknowledged his extreme dickish behavior and he apologized, but the hurt was still hurting. I can't blame him for guilt tripping me if he forgets he isn't clairvoyant and assumes I haven't been eating. Because I used to do that. And it hurt him and I knew it. We both know how to cut each other deeply because we've known and loved each other since before Y2K. When you love that intensely, you hurt that intensely. But that's okay, because sometimes it really needs to happen especially when you love each other enough to fear such a loss.
Adam often voices his fears as worst case scenarios, in order to make the reality easier to work with. I'm so used to that I often startle myself when I get emotional. I mean, he's Libby's son. My husband's mother is a true master of absolute martyrdom with such extreme guilt tripping that Fox could turn her into a reality show star, and most likely has bipolar disorder. And he's Bernie's son. My husband's father is an extreme genius who once worked for Lyndon B. Johnson's administration doing civilian military top secret engineer jobs that helped change the face of war, defense, food, space travel, and security forever, even if nobody will ever know (selling patents to the Pentagon means never seeing your name mentioned) - and Bernie may have undiagnosed Asperger's.. So Adam is a damaged extreme genius with extreme ADHD, mild precognition, mild clairvoyance, strong clairsentience, and the ability to change the world and get inside people's heads in the most subtle of ways. And I, being my parents' daughter, am a damaged genius in denial with the ability to become a massive force of nature if I must, exploding, destroying, and damaging on emotional and psychic levels that I normally would never reach without effort. My ability to strike below the belt is kind of ninja style, and people often assume that I hate them when I am mildly frustrated and irritated. Together, Adam and I can literally turn the universe upside down for brief moments that nobody will ever know about.
So, indeed, while those words made me bleed like hell, they needed to be said.

However, I really really am not starving myself. It's happening when I don't want it. And I am doing my best to stop it. It's mostly the fibromyalgia and anorexia teaming up. Fucking body, am I right? I don't have IBS, thank fucking gods. But I do have moments. Sometimes I have days. And sometimes it gets bad enough to warrant a nutrition shake every few hours just to keep from losing nutrients. And then it stops. It gets completely better all on its own. I haven't been hospitalized for anything since 2008. I consider myself extremely lucky. But still I am always vigilant...
brightrosefox: (Default)
"I think this is a broader cultural thing surrounding the commodification of people, especially women. People are seen nowadays as little interchangeable cogs... which causes some nasty shocks when the System's values bump against our more organic passed-down cultural values. Most times we do the cognitive dissonance dance and rinse and repeat.
This time, though, the kids involved posted up tweets so raw that it was a mirror reflecting the beast itself. These kids know that the greater world doesn't give a damn about them, or about anything, really, so why should they give a damn about anything or anyone that wasn't of use to them? The victim was just a passed-out piece of meat for them to use as they saw fit: another commodity to be used and disposed of.
...just like they see the football stars they emulate get used up and spit out by the NFL, useless in their mid-thirties due to repetitive injuries. Just like they see their working folks get laid off and replaced by cheaper overseas labor. Just like you get a car, use it up, and when it breaks down and you can't fix it, you throw it away and get a new one.
This is what the greater context of society teaches us. It's the subtext in everything we do. We're all whores now... and appallingly disposable."
-from a Facebook friend, in a discussion over rape culture and how teenagers are affected

And also I am in a ridiculous battle with my biochemistry and neurochemistry. Hi, I'm Joanna and I'm a recovering anorexic. I refuse to shift the blame to just my brain signals and hormones, but that is about ninety-nine percent of what is happening.
I love eating. I want to keep eating. Food is awesome. Food is the best thing ever.
There are actual signals and nerves running between my stomach and my brain saying "NOPE." If I have an inkling of "I don't want to be fat" thoughts, I can still feel them pushed very, very far back. They are there, which is that percent I will take blame for. Because that is sickness. And it has left scars before. And those scars can be ripped open easily. And it is now my job to make sure none of that happens.
So this has become actually less psychiatric and more neurological: Fuck you, brain, I'm going to eat whether you want to or not. Fuck you, digestive system, you are waking up and taking solids in whether you want to or not.
For me this isn't about anorexia for the sake of fat/thin, this is about a "nervous loss of appetite caused by possible signal problems involving the ventromedial hypothalamus, which is responsible for feeling satiated and full." Because if something goes wrong, the leptin hormone literally stimulates anorectic nerve cells, which in turn inhibit orexigenic nerve cells, which means that the actual desire to eat is stopped. Which is just a way of saying Hunger And Appetite, You're Doing It Wrong.
Also, please, no "I'm so sorry, I know how you feel"s. It is hollow (ha) and too quiet. Give me your experiences, your anecdotes, the healthful foods you love best and the junk foods you resort to. Braid it into stories that can make me giggle and sniffle and want to hug you.

I don't want to be so raw and sad, but the world is really pissing me off lately.

It has been raining wildly all day, and the cats have been climbing all over me, and I've been in pain and fatigue, so Doing Things has been mildly difficult. They are getting done slowly.

Also, "Just drop me off at that asteroid over there" is the meme companion to "I don't want to live on this planet anymore" - both said by Professor Farnsworth on 'Futurama' after he realizes how stupid and awful people can be.

Human brains. Fantastic, fucked up things.
brightrosefox: (Default)
So, as my Facebook friends have learned, I am dealing with a literal "nervous loss of appetite" - literal in that my biochemistry and brain chemistry is so fucked up that my hormones and neurotransmitters don't remember what actual hunger and appetite feel like (hunger and appetite are not the same, also).

See, when I had anorexia nervosa as a disease, it was always, "I don't want to eat"- and "I don't want to be fat" was an afterthought. The same thing is happening. Now the afterthought is "Well, I wouldn't mind losing ten pounds, it couldn't hurt, right?" And oh, dear ones, that is not a good thing.

So, the goal now is to teach my brain and my body to accept solid foods in the mornings, without my brain screaming about how weird it feels and without my stomach wanting to make it go away. And here is the thing: I have not lost much weight. According to my special scale, I lost maybe two to three pounds and my body fat percentage dipped a couple of numbers. Not a big deal, right? Right? Ha ha, silly, nope.
My doctors have been informed. They have been guiding me, nutritionally. I have several friends who are actively studying nutritional science and they have been guiding me.
If I can eat only half the sandwich, I will eat only half the sandwich, and I will save the other half for a couple of hours later. In the mornings, instead of taking my medications with coffee with cream and milk, I will actively make cereal, oatmeal, a nut butter/fruit preserve sandwich, eat as much as I can, and then take my pills. Yogurt is not really considered solid food, although my brain totally thinks it is. My body adores dairy and doesn't give a fuck what anyone thinks. Cheese, whole milk, full fat yogurt, bring it on. Also fruit. My fruit cravings have been wild. Now, I've been told to watch out for sugar, because "it is possible that all those cravings are for the sugar in the foods and not the actual foods" - on which I quickly called bullshit. My sweet tooth hasn't been very active. Certain fruits and naturally sugary foods taste much too sweet. I can barely handle ice cream these days, filling as it is - although frozen yogurt with fruit is tolerable. Of course, there is a chance they are right - everything is possible, probable, and plausible. But at this point, I just need to eat something. And if there is a slice of cheesecake available, I will take a few bites just to start the whole "hey, time to wake up the digestive process" thing.

So, I welcome anecdotes and experiences and even suggestions. But I don't wanna be policed, if you know what I mean. Like if a morbidly obese celebrity or a very very skinny celebrity gets targeted by a gossip community and everyone says, "Well, I'm just *concerned about her health*" and then nobody produces their medical degrees or doctorates, is what I'm saying.

I love food. I am sad. I want food in my belly and I don't want my body hormones and brain chemicals getting in the way. And above all I don't wanna start thinking that I'm going to be fat, because that means The Worm will come back, and The Worm is evil and will rip open all those scars like paper.

So, I love you guys, and if you want to say anything, go for it. Just try not to be The Health Police. I mean, unless you actually have a degree in science, medicine, health, nutrition, etc. - or you are at least studying
that sort of thing. If so, by all means, instruct me! <3
brightrosefox: (Default)
Dear everyone:
I'm in the middle of okay and not okay. Just so you know. No need to worry, but since I am still in the post ictal state (after seizure), I may type randomly weird things that are randomly weirder than usual.

And now, random things that are random!

***
You know what is awesome? Brand new boots that generally cost over one hundred dollars, bought for a whopping twenty dollars each with coupons. Mainly because the Ariat Fat Baby Copper Gator Print boots are no longer being made. The Ariat Fatbaby Cognac Ostrich Print boots are insanely cheap, too. Yay, Ariat. Yay, sales and coupons!


Ariat Fatbaby Cognac Ostrich Print

***
So, I use this as toothpaste. I mean, obviously it is a shampoo and a skin cleanser, but it makes a good toothpaste as well. I embrace my weirdness quite happily.
http://livesuperfoods.com/morrocco-method-sea-essence-shampoo.html
Also, this makes an awesome tooth cleanser and face toner.
https://www.swansonvitamins.com/natures-answer-periowash-16-fl-oz-liquid

***
Aww, look, it's my wedding ring which began as my promise ring, minus the snake details!
Technically, this.
http://www.amazon.com/Triquetra-Trinity-Eternity-Sterling-Silver/dp/B00303IH3G/


***
Stupid sore throat. Stupid fibromyalgia attack. Stupid depression attack. Stupid anxiety attack. Stupid after seizure effects. Stupid me. Also I am feeling insanely insecure, and I know I have gained muscle and tone but I still want to slice out any excess fat with daggers. Such is society's cultural pressure on women and also anorexia scars and anorexia worms that push me into wanting to emaciate myself which would be a horrid hideous thing. I am a fighter. Fuck all of that. I am at war with so many things right now, and the scars are just part of it. I don't even know why I'm talking about that, it's so private. Oh well. Pain is pain. I am in pain. I am anxious and depressed and bleeding inside and I am exhausted and I am still fighting.
I shall raise my spears and scream until I am sore. Again.
I shall meditate while grasping my heart love duck figurine. Maybe I will feel better.


Migraine is still pounding. Off to shower and bed with pills now...

Okay...

Nov. 12th, 2012 08:02 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Adam just came home from work. We're having stir-fry, with string beans, mushrooms, and bacon. I certainly feel good about that. Next step: Learn to stir fry on my own.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be afraid. Not if it's only been a few days. My appetite has been odd lately. It doesn't mean anything threatening. I will fall back naturally. I will push myself up. I will be all right.

I'm so sorry. I am thinking of something cheerful and fantastic to post now; it breaks my heart when I vent things like this. But this is my journal; I must document.

No...

Nov. 12th, 2012 07:22 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh, I don't want this to be bad. Please, Higher Brain, don't let this be bad.
All day yesterday I had trouble eating, and by the time I went to sleep my stomach was sending "starving" signals to my brain. I was in pain, dehydrated, desperate. I got up and had a few sips of liquid kefir to calm my stomach. When I woke up this morning, I was horrified to realize that for the first time in seven years, I felt anorexic. I managed to eat just enough to keep myself well, and now I need dinner and can't even think. Eggs, most likely. Gods, this is not good. I don't want to feel this way. I need to make it stop. I don't want this.

Apologies if I have triggered anyone, but... I don't know how to finish that; my brain just blanked out. I do need food. Right now. I don't want to worry myself. Not yet. But I need to have an eating schedule. I need to eat...
brightrosefox: (Default)
I know it's not a good idea to post about food and health issues here, so I shall start by begging you to not feel jealous or mutter "I wish I had that problem" because you don't want it, you really really don't, because it's creepy and awful and disastrous and it makes me cry.
I'm 33. Who knows what will happen if I can't control this?

I eat, and I exercise, just not enough. My appetite stimulating ghrelin hormone has been chained in a basement, and my appetite is so poor that I can only finish half of anything.

And I am concerned and Adam is concerned and once I see my doctors they will be concerned and I just want to Eat All The Foods but it's like sand in my throat, and my stomach is so full and I want to cry.
Adam believes I am skirting the borderline anorexia edge, and I say hell no. I don't even think about fat or weight or appearance. I haven't lost or gained weight or inches or anything...yet.
But that may be the beginning stage of backsliding and I don't wanna! It scares me! I just want to eat normally again! I want to exercise enough so it makes me hungry!

Start me on bananas and asparagus and yogurt superfruit smoothies, I don't care, I just want to eat!

Okay, I'm finished.

Please return to your lives as scheduled.

Also, I'm sorry.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Well, fuck.
Sorry to post these here, guys. But I am having one of those weird creepy mental moments, this time regarding body dysmorphic disorder. Logically and rationally, I know I am not full of bad excess fatness and ugliness and stupidness. Logically and rationally, I know I am a pretty girl and a beautiful woman and I am wonderful and amazing in many ways. But you know mental interestingness. It is always interesting. In that way that makes you want to beat it with a sledgehammer.
No teasing, please. No mocking, no creative harmless insults, no poor humor. Not even out of love. Not right now. Maybe later when I am feeling better; we shall laugh and share whiskey and watch science fiction and cartoons.
But you know what? I know I am not alone. I know I have comfort out there. I know things will be all right. I know people understand so deeply that it goes beyond the soul. You know who you are, and I love you. <3
brightrosefox: (Default)
Cut for currently uncharacteristic whining and grumping about menstrual weight gain, bloating, body measurements, and numbers. Because damn it, I need to let this out somehow.
Read more... )
Body health and muscle health doesn't happen overnight. I'm over 30; my body is changing. And I am not helping myself by mentally snarling at people who whine about their perceived imperfect weight issues when they have absolutely none. I am also not helping myself by imagining my mother telling me that I was becoming overweight because I weighed more than 110. She essentially wants me to be as thin as I can because for her, thin means healthy. I love her so so much, but I really do think she has a mild eating disorder of some kind.
I am fine. My health is fine. My doctors say I'm fine. I eat small portions of healthy food daily with occasional small portions of junk food. Nobody can force me to eat or exercise a certain way.
And that's what I tell myself during my mental bitchslaps to myself.
I'm fine. I'll be fine. I'm also stressing too much about next week's hearing.
Dear Joanna: BREATHE. FUCKING RELAX ALREADY, GODS ABOVE AND AROUND, JUST BREATHE.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Earlier today, I was clicking through photos on a celebrity site, and I saw a tiny actress in a bikini with a crazily tiny waist whose body looked almost exactly like mine back when I was anorexic and sick. At first I was like "Wow, I want that body back..." and then I was like "Girl, seriously? What's wrong with you? Don't do that!" and then I was like "...yeah, okay, not like that" and then I was like "I love myself yay! Exercise is awesome! All bodies are beautiful! Also I'm not in Hollywood yay!"
LOL at me.

I may want to lose twenty pounds, but that wouldn't really get me anywhere except slightly above one hundred pounds. That would be fine for someone of my height, but it's not about numbers on scales. They say you never truly escape an eating disorder. Vigilance is key. Healthy is good. I refuse to lose weight and inches just to fit into smaller clothes and nothing else, because then I would feel shallow and superficial. There is always more to it. Feeling happy about my body is number one. No whining just because I'm not as skinny as I used to be, especially for a four-ten woman with Sicilian genetics. I mean, really; I have hips and ass that aren't going away. I have learned to embrace them. Heh heh, embrace.

I just want to feel good for myself. When I was sick, I was delusional about feeling good, because I thought I was in control. After I began to recover and gain weight, I actually felt good for real, and that was a different sensation, more pure and sweet. I can't compare my body to anyone else's, especially not people who work in industries where part of the job includes planned hardcore exercise, planned hardcore nutrition, looking good for cameras, and piling on cosmetics so that the real naked face underneath is almost a different person. (redness! pimples! blackheads! wrinkles! dryness! puffiness! undereye circles! wrinkles! scars! more wrinkles! age spots! shattered fan dreams! nooo! how dare celebrities look like actual people! why god why!) /sarcasm detector exploding/

So I'm not as skinny as I want to be. I'll probably get there in time. I know what to do. Also, I admit it, I love chocolate junk food. But moderation, moderation, fucking moderation.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Earlier today, I was clicking through photos on a celebrity site, and I saw a tiny actress in a bikini with a crazily tiny waist whose body looked almost exactly like mine back when I was anorexic and sick. At first I was like "Wow, I want that body back..." and then I was like "Girl, seriously? What's wrong with you? Don't do that!" and then I was like "...yeah, okay, not like that" and then I was like "I love myself yay! Exercise is awesome! All bodies are beautiful! Also I'm not in Hollywood yay!"
LOL at me.

I may want to lose twenty pounds, but that wouldn't really get me anywhere except slightly above one hundred pounds. That would be fine for someone of my height, but it's not about numbers on scales. They say you never truly escape an eating disorder. Vigilance is key. Healthy is good. I refuse to lose weight and inches just to fit into smaller clothes and nothing else, because then I would feel shallow and superficial. There is always more to it. Feeling happy about my body is number one. No whining just because I'm not as skinny as I used to be, especially for a four-ten woman with Sicilian genetics. I mean, really; I have hips and ass that aren't going away. I have learned to embrace them. Heh heh, embrace.

I just want to feel good for myself. When I was sick, I was delusional about feeling good, because I thought I was in control. After I began to recover and gain weight, I actually felt good for real, and that was a different sensation, more pure and sweet. I can't compare my body to anyone else's, especially not people who work in industries where part of the job includes planned hardcore exercise, planned hardcore nutrition, looking good for cameras, and piling on cosmetics so that the real naked face underneath is almost a different person. (redness! pimples! blackheads! wrinkles! dryness! puffiness! undereye circles! wrinkles! scars! more wrinkles! age spots! shattered fan dreams! nooo! how dare celebrities look like actual people! why god why!) /sarcasm detector exploding/

So I'm not as skinny as I want to be. I'll probably get there in time. I know what to do. Also, I admit it, I love chocolate junk food. But moderation, moderation, fucking moderation.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Earlier today, I was clicking through photos on a celebrity site, and I saw a tiny actress in a bikini with a crazily tiny waist whose body looked almost exactly like mine back when I was anorexic and sick. At first I was like "Wow, I want that body back..." and then I was like "Girl, seriously? What's wrong with you? Don't do that!" and then I was like "...yeah, okay, not like that" and then I was like "I love myself yay! Exercise is awesome! All bodies are beautiful! Also I'm not in Hollywood yay!"
LOL at me.

I may want to lose twenty pounds, but that wouldn't really get me anywhere except slightly above one hundred pounds. That would be fine for someone of my height, but it's not about numbers on scales. They say you never truly escape an eating disorder. Vigilance is key. Healthy is good. I refuse to lose weight and inches just to fit into smaller clothes and nothing else, because then I would feel shallow and superficial. There is always more to it. Feeling happy about my body is number one. No whining just because I'm not as skinny as I used to be, especially for a four-ten woman with Sicilian genetics. I mean, really; I have hips and ass that aren't going away. I have learned to embrace them. Heh heh, embrace.

I just want to feel good for myself. When I was sick, I was delusional about feeling good, because I thought I was in control. After I began to recover and gain weight, I actually felt good for real, and that was a different sensation, more pure and sweet. I can't compare my body to anyone else's, especially not people who work in industries where part of the job includes planned hardcore exercise, planned hardcore nutrition, looking good for cameras, and piling on cosmetics so that the real naked face underneath is almost a different person. (redness! pimples! blackheads! wrinkles! dryness! puffiness! undereye circles! wrinkles! scars! more wrinkles! age spots! shattered fan dreams! nooo! how dare celebrities look like actual people! why god why!) /sarcasm detector exploding/

So I'm not as skinny as I want to be. I'll probably get there in time. I know what to do. Also, I admit it, I love chocolate junk food. But moderation, moderation, fucking moderation.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Earlier today, I was clicking through photos on a celebrity site, and I saw a tiny actress in a bikini with a crazily tiny waist whose body looked almost exactly like mine back when I was anorexic and sick. At first I was like "Wow, I want that body back..." and then I was like "Girl, seriously? What's wrong with you? Don't do that!" and then I was like "...yeah, okay, not like that" and then I was like "I love myself yay! Exercise is awesome! All bodies are beautiful! Also I'm not in Hollywood yay!"
LOL at me.

I may want to lose twenty pounds, but that wouldn't really get me anywhere except slightly above one hundred pounds. That would be fine for someone of my height, but it's not about numbers on scales. They say you never truly escape an eating disorder. Vigilance is key. Healthy is good. I refuse to lose weight and inches just to fit into smaller clothes and nothing else, because then I would feel shallow and superficial. There is always more to it. Feeling happy about my body is number one. No whining just because I'm not as skinny as I used to be, especially for a four-ten woman with Sicilian genetics. I mean, really; I have hips and ass that aren't going away. I have learned to embrace them. Heh heh, embrace.

I just want to feel good for myself. When I was sick, I was delusional about feeling good, because I thought I was in control. After I began to recover and gain weight, I actually felt good for real, and that was a different sensation, more pure and sweet. I can't compare my body to anyone else's, especially not people who work in industries where part of the job includes planned hardcore exercise, planned hardcore nutrition, looking good for cameras, and piling on cosmetics so that the real naked face underneath is almost a different person. (redness! pimples! blackheads! wrinkles! dryness! puffiness! undereye circles! wrinkles! scars! more wrinkles! age spots! shattered fan dreams! nooo! how dare celebrities look like actual people! why god why!) /sarcasm detector exploding/

So I'm not as skinny as I want to be. I'll probably get there in time. I know what to do. Also, I admit it, I love chocolate junk food. But moderation, moderation, fucking moderation.

Silly body.

Jan. 7th, 2012 02:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh. It's PMS. This would explain the random eight-pound weight fluctuations, the bloating, the feelings of rage against everything, the dead feelings, the hopelessness, the seizure auras, the cramping, the loss of appetite, the increased tactile allodynia. Time for more drugs, yay!

Jupiter is on the couch next to me, his front paws on my thigh, his purring loud as thunder but soothing. He nibbles my arm every now and then so I will be reminded to pet and scratch him.

Adam is at work, so my plan is to exercise lightly to at least one episode of "Farscape" (thank you, Netflix). I should eat more than a large banana and a small bowl of cereal, but I'm just not motivated to eat.

I can feel the Anorexia Worm sliding into the spaces between my deep thoughts, whispering, changing my mind in the back, telling me in my own voice that I'm too fat right now and I should severely restrict my eating until the sensation of hunger begins to feel more sweetly powerful and seductive than the need to eat my proper daily intake. Stupid worm. I feel you, this time. I know you. You are made of evil. But fighting is what I do, so it's on.

I think I'll have more cereal. That almond dark chocolate granola is calling.

Silly body.

Jan. 7th, 2012 02:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh. It's PMS. This would explain the random eight-pound weight fluctuations, the bloating, the feelings of rage against everything, the dead feelings, the hopelessness, the seizure auras, the cramping, the loss of appetite, the increased tactile allodynia. Time for more drugs, yay!

Jupiter is on the couch next to me, his front paws on my thigh, his purring loud as thunder but soothing. He nibbles my arm every now and then so I will be reminded to pet and scratch him.

Adam is at work, so my plan is to exercise lightly to at least one episode of "Farscape" (thank you, Netflix). I should eat more than a large banana and a small bowl of cereal, but I'm just not motivated to eat.

I can feel the Anorexia Worm sliding into the spaces between my deep thoughts, whispering, changing my mind in the back, telling me in my own voice that I'm too fat right now and I should severely restrict my eating until the sensation of hunger begins to feel more sweetly powerful and seductive than the need to eat my proper daily intake. Stupid worm. I feel you, this time. I know you. You are made of evil. But fighting is what I do, so it's on.

I think I'll have more cereal. That almond dark chocolate granola is calling.

Silly body.

Jan. 7th, 2012 02:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh. It's PMS. This would explain the random eight-pound weight fluctuations, the bloating, the feelings of rage against everything, the dead feelings, the hopelessness, the seizure auras, the cramping, the loss of appetite, the increased tactile allodynia. Time for more drugs, yay!

Jupiter is on the couch next to me, his front paws on my thigh, his purring loud as thunder but soothing. He nibbles my arm every now and then so I will be reminded to pet and scratch him.

Adam is at work, so my plan is to exercise lightly to at least one episode of "Farscape" (thank you, Netflix). I should eat more than a large banana and a small bowl of cereal, but I'm just not motivated to eat.

I can feel the Anorexia Worm sliding into the spaces between my deep thoughts, whispering, changing my mind in the back, telling me in my own voice that I'm too fat right now and I should severely restrict my eating until the sensation of hunger begins to feel more sweetly powerful and seductive than the need to eat my proper daily intake. Stupid worm. I feel you, this time. I know you. You are made of evil. But fighting is what I do, so it's on.

I think I'll have more cereal. That almond dark chocolate granola is calling.

Silly body.

Jan. 7th, 2012 02:14 pm
brightrosefox: (Default)
Oh. It's PMS. This would explain the random eight-pound weight fluctuations, the bloating, the feelings of rage against everything, the dead feelings, the hopelessness, the seizure auras, the cramping, the loss of appetite, the increased tactile allodynia. Time for more drugs, yay!

Jupiter is on the couch next to me, his front paws on my thigh, his purring loud as thunder but soothing. He nibbles my arm every now and then so I will be reminded to pet and scratch him.

Adam is at work, so my plan is to exercise lightly to at least one episode of "Farscape" (thank you, Netflix). I should eat more than a large banana and a small bowl of cereal, but I'm just not motivated to eat.

I can feel the Anorexia Worm sliding into the spaces between my deep thoughts, whispering, changing my mind in the back, telling me in my own voice that I'm too fat right now and I should severely restrict my eating until the sensation of hunger begins to feel more sweetly powerful and seductive than the need to eat my proper daily intake. Stupid worm. I feel you, this time. I know you. You are made of evil. But fighting is what I do, so it's on.

I think I'll have more cereal. That almond dark chocolate granola is calling.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Upon seeing photos of a Victoria's Secret model who stood at five-nine and had a 23-inch waist, I had several thoughts:

1.Are her internal organs very small?
2. You know, I once had a 23-inch waist, not too long ago.
3. She looks unhealthily skinny, not naturally skinny. I hope she's okay.
4. I want to be 95 pounds again because I'm 4'10" and small-framed.
5. Wait, there's no fat on her body at all in that nude photo. Shouldn't there be?
6. The only reasons I want to weigh 95 lbs again are because my mother praised me when I was skinny and frowned at me when I was bigger, and because I didn't weigh above 100 lbs until I was 26 and I still feel like that's how I should be.
7. Well, if I toned up and exercised more regularly, I would feel better about whatever amount of fat I do have.
9. Weighing 118 at 4'10" with Greek and Sicilian and Romanian and Hungarian genes isn't bad. I am supposed to have wide hips, and besides, my waist is 25 inches, and if it were smaller I would look strange. I could weigh 95, but I would look like death. In fact, I did look like death. It was not fun.
10. And I am staring at photos of Victoria's Secret models and comparing their bodies to mine why again? They're Victoria's Secret models, for Gaia's sake. Snap out of it.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Upon seeing photos of a Victoria's Secret model who stood at five-nine and had a 23-inch waist, I had several thoughts:

1.Are her internal organs very small?
2. You know, I once had a 23-inch waist, not too long ago.
3. She looks unhealthily skinny, not naturally skinny. I hope she's okay.
4. I want to be 95 pounds again because I'm 4'10" and small-framed.
5. Wait, there's no fat on her body at all in that nude photo. Shouldn't there be?
6. The only reasons I want to weigh 95 lbs again are because my mother praised me when I was skinny and frowned at me when I was bigger, and because I didn't weigh above 100 lbs until I was 26 and I still feel like that's how I should be.
7. Well, if I toned up and exercised more regularly, I would feel better about whatever amount of fat I do have.
9. Weighing 118 at 4'10" with Greek and Sicilian and Romanian and Hungarian genes isn't bad. I am supposed to have wide hips, and besides, my waist is 25 inches, and if it were smaller I would look strange. I could weigh 95, but I would look like death. In fact, I did look like death. It was not fun.
10. And I am staring at photos of Victoria's Secret models and comparing their bodies to mine why again? They're Victoria's Secret models, for Gaia's sake. Snap out of it.

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