Updates: Media (lyrics) has a new layout. I could never figure out how to lay it out, but it's easier to navigate now. I'm still working on a better duplicate Mamblog mod. I'm trying to make submittions easier but the poetry form died for some reason. Quizzes are also on their way from the old site. Joomla content isn't very code friendly so I'm having to rewrite old code. You can still click on News > AH v21 > Screen if you wish to use the quizzes.
I have, admittedly, be reading Wasted during my 2 hour crusade to exercise off all unnecessary fat that continues to hang around. I was reading the five Harry Potter and the [add magical person, place or thing here] series over and over, each in rapid succession but I've come to memorize lines in scenes left out of the movies and decided I'd better find something else to read. I've read through Math History, Art History, and Medical History books and found none of them to hold my attention to make two grueling hours feel like nothing. So, on to Wasted I went, this time in a fresh clean book without the marks of hospital anger and thin pride. I've made new marks, marks to understand, marks made in agreement, in understanding, and of course in envy. This time around, however, I know me, I know my illness, and I know that as little or as much as I want the things in that book, I won't get there any quicker by reading about it. It won't make me any healthier any quicker by putting the book aside because everything that's in my head after I read it was already there. In the end, when I read it, it makes me feel more like I can't relate to her and less about getting "ideas." The book is more about becoming bulimic than becoming anorexic. I binged but I was never bold enough to purge. I was never loud, quite the opposite. I was as quite as I could be. I've always wanted to disappear. I didn't want to disappear for the power of it, to gain a sense of worth, I wanted and still want to disappear for the sake of disappearing. Of not existing in the first place. I see no honor in disappearing, there's no pride. It's only fair i guess, I've always taken up so much space, more than anyone should be allowed in a lifetime. I don't believe in a soul, in reincarnation, or the like. It's not about coming back as something or someone different. It's just about not being. Forgetting. Letting go. My parents never fought, they yelled at my sister and I, and then my mother at me. I never yelled at them, rarely cried in their presence or anyone else's, never talked back. I hid at school and at riding lessons, in a corner or in a book. All anyone ever heard was how bad I didn't want to go home. How strange it is over the past few years how I've been so afraid to leave it. When I was 5 I used to take sugar from the pantry, in the palm of my hand, and if I got to my room I'd eat it. I started packing brown sugar in a bowl when no one was home and keeping it in a drawer by my bed, eating it when I lonely or afraid, after being yelled at for one thing or another I probably hadn't done. I took Jell-O packets and baking chocolate, blueberry muffin batter, and anything else I could get my hands on. Always in secret, always saved for later. I left for college, stopped eating. I left a year later, defeated, and gave up on my quest for greatness, for existence. It's never come back. In three and a half years it hasn't come back. My quest to disappear however, has swelled. My ways of going about it have changed, not having a horse or school (with 1500 other students) to hide at. It's difficult to hide at work with 35 prying eyes, my exercise at home must appear awkward at best. Anyhow, sorry for my rambling. I'm always trying to justify that it's not only my right, but my duty to disappear, quietly. It's futile, but at least I sometimes understand my need for it. Sometimes. Time is such a waste.
I've given up reading The Anorexia Diaries because I found it neither helpful, inspirational, or terribly heartfelt. Though I'm sure it's intention is to make me feel one of those things, my family isn't like that. I felt and continue to feel nothing but blinding rage toward my mother, and the girl in the book actually went to her mother when she started cutting (?) to say she was ready or something to go into the hospital. I was dragged kicking and screaming into therapy the first few times. "Family Therapy" during the first time I went into the hospital a year later, while forbidding my parents from visiting, was just my mother and I in my therapist's office one night accomplishing nothing and turning out a bit counter-productive. My parents are in complete denial that I couldn't just be cured overnight, they think that my food views are nothing less than ridiculous, and I should be greatful for all they've given me (material possessions-no meaning). My father meanwhile has hardly said a word about the whole thing and comes home weekends a casual observer, like he's watching a tv show my mother made him watch but never told him he had to actually pay attention and that he would have a test on it later. Like sitting in an English class where attendance alone gives you a passing grade. I hide in my room and lie that I'm doing things other than sleeping and exercising and avoiding the kitchen. Whether they believe me or not I don't really care. I'm on a mission. I intend this to be the year everyone finally sees my life for what it is via our annual Christmas Eve reunion. If, after the night's over, they wish to go on believing that I'm a happy, healthy, well provided for 22 year-old then that's their choice. And it will be my choice to not be burdened with the opinionated, uneducated freaks I'm related to. I'm sick of the flat out denial of problems in my family. If they're going to deny who I've been for most of my life then it's their loss. I'm not playing along anymore. I took two trazadone and two sonata last night and although I did stay in bed all today and yesterday except for all the exercising I did, I'm happy for the lack of thoughts running through my head. I had to go out and run errands and it was like no one was standing in line with me, there weren't other people in the isles at the grocery, there was just noisy air, not unlike the usual noise in my head that's there even when I actually am alone. My only real thoughts were about how frizzy my hair was getting in the rain. It wasn't too bad. No matter how hard I press my fingers together I can always see light between them, quite a large sliver of light actually. I'm a little scared that the food I ate today is going to turn straight into fat but the week is always easier and I haven't done my exercises yet tonight. I am far from being desperate enough to take laxies so I'll just have to sit with it, exercise, distract myself, and maybe I'll get through this okay. No cutting!!!! (she says to herself) It never really helps anyway and there are people to answer to if I do. It's really much more hassle than it's worth. Ever since the cat was ripped out from the bag it's harder to cut and get away with it.
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