I've been counting calories again. I mean, I should. After all, I'm a lard ass who lacks control and then sits back and feels sorry for herself when she steps on the scale.
I hate that I yearn for an imaciated body. I hate that I always have. The first time I saw a "diagnosed" hospitalized anorexic, I didn't feel bad. I felt jealous. What the fuck? I was across the hall lying to my therapist because I wanted so bad to get out of that psych ward. I often felt like I was on the wrong side. Part of me wants to go to grad school for art therapy so I can work in an eating disorders ward, but I don't think it's entirely for the right reasons. I feel like I would help them as best as I could while I trigger myself into ultimate starvation myself.
I have to admit. I've been feeling pretty powerful. I've been starving and filling myself up with diet coke and cigarettes and the occasional glass of wine. I've been tasting new wines as a result of my new job at a popular alcoholic beverage store. They specialize in wines and in to work harder for my promotion [ though I just started] I figured I'd test most of the product so I can recommend more and develop better sales.
I've thought about drinking only wine and diet coke and water and smoking cigarettes. I just need to make sure I don't drink the wine before I go to work or before I go hang out with my friends from "the program".
Another issue regarding "triggers" is I've been having these massive cocaine cravings. Like no body's business. I haven't been going to therapy for the last 2 weeks and sure that's probably not good. but I feel better not going cuz I'm not talking about all the bull shit and I can get though a week without thinking about my fucked up family. I guess I'll regret it sooner or later, but for the time being I've been enjoying the clear mind and empty stomach. Who can blame me?
I don't really know what's going on right now.
Who the fuck cares.
-LR
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
The Artist...
They call you talented and you nod your head and only say thank you because it is the proper thing to say and because your therapist told you to. You're not little anymore. They don't have to lie to you.
Why is it that people always feel the need to make someone feel better even if it means lying to them. It gets our hopes up and we are shot back down.
She disgusting. She's fat. She's gross. She's a dreamer. She's locked up inside and can only dream of the things she wishes would appear. The dreams of being tiny and wakes up huge. She dreams of flying and wakes up grounded. She dreams of passion and wakes up with... She doesn't know what to feel anymore. She feels in her head but not outside. She can see images but can't reproduce them. She is a dreamer but can't make the dream. She is an artist but can't reproduce the images she imagines with her brain.
She can't draw. Nor can she paint. She doesn't have a fancy camera. She knows how to make sculpture but isn't fluid.
She lacks ...
so much. She drowns in her thoughts all the time. Wishing the past never existed because she wishes the past was still the future. She has lost a hold on the time.
She longs for a frail body so she'll become invisible. Maybe she needs to be a lone. No, she can't handle being alone. Being alone is too dangerous. She no longer seeks therapy. She's her own therapist now. She is her own. Soon she will be nothing but just that.
No friends; no lover; no money; no job; no hope; just her...
and soon her life will fade away and she will accomplish nothing. She will sit and stare into her world. "She's always in her own world." " She has her own style."
She was just living... to die. She tried dying... but she lived.
So did I.
Sometimes, I wish it had resulted otherwise.
-LR
Why is it that people always feel the need to make someone feel better even if it means lying to them. It gets our hopes up and we are shot back down.
She disgusting. She's fat. She's gross. She's a dreamer. She's locked up inside and can only dream of the things she wishes would appear. The dreams of being tiny and wakes up huge. She dreams of flying and wakes up grounded. She dreams of passion and wakes up with... She doesn't know what to feel anymore. She feels in her head but not outside. She can see images but can't reproduce them. She is a dreamer but can't make the dream. She is an artist but can't reproduce the images she imagines with her brain.
She can't draw. Nor can she paint. She doesn't have a fancy camera. She knows how to make sculpture but isn't fluid.
She lacks ...
so much. She drowns in her thoughts all the time. Wishing the past never existed because she wishes the past was still the future. She has lost a hold on the time.
She longs for a frail body so she'll become invisible. Maybe she needs to be a lone. No, she can't handle being alone. Being alone is too dangerous. She no longer seeks therapy. She's her own therapist now. She is her own. Soon she will be nothing but just that.
No friends; no lover; no money; no job; no hope; just her...
and soon her life will fade away and she will accomplish nothing. She will sit and stare into her world. "She's always in her own world." " She has her own style."
She was just living... to die. She tried dying... but she lived.
So did I.
Sometimes, I wish it had resulted otherwise.
-LR
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