So, obviously I'm struggling with depression right now. This information is like the opposite of a surprise or secret. There are some good things about being depressed that I don't think a lot of people realize. For one, I'm so anti-social and isolated and fucking lazy that I have lots of time to sit around and read shit on the internet and watch TV. Another thing that's great about being depressed is my lack of appetite. It's a beautiful thing, really, to put your jeans on and realize you need a belt to hold them up. I mean they are my big jeans, but still it's a nice little bonus. I'm going to guess - 5 pounds. Maybe. I realize it feels a little too good, and possibly the reason for my little upsurge in mood the past day or two. It's the teaser. It's like my subconscious (or not so subconscious) mind is saying, "Get super skinny again. And your depression will disappear." And it would, too.
It would be so easy to resort to my old coping patterns. Maladaptive as they were, they fucking worked. Anorexia is a strange little miracle worker that way. Also, a seductor. I punched him in his stupid mouth this morning by ordering a donut with my coffee. And I ate it, too. So, yeah, He's a little pissed at me for spurning him. But I don't give a shit. I mean that asshole tried to fucking kill me and now what? I'm supposed to take him back with all his dysfunctional mind games?
I hate that I don't hate it, though - the idea of going back to the abuser in my brain. I am baffled by the fact that I've kept my double zero jeans in my closet, my child size clothes. Sometimes I take them out and marvel at how small I used to be. I miss the way it felt to take up so little space in the world. Every time I hear talk of my "carbon footprint" or how we are all destroying the earth with our greed and consumption, I have the overwhelming urge to STOP consuming immediately. I get the impression that what they are really saying is that my very existence is impeding the survival of our planet, or something. Everywhere I turn, on my TV, in magazines, in conversations, there is just one big guilt trip after another.
It's difficult to find that balance and make sense of all the mixed messages coming from without and within. Everybody's always trying to lose more of themselves, like there's some magic in it. As if being smaller or fitting some mold equates to more happiness somehow. People love it when you lose weight. It's like suddenly you are this big star with a special secret. "You look great! How did you do it?" I see people on diets everywhere - people that don't even appear to have a weight problem. That has to mean something, right? There has to be some value in dieting for everyone to take to it in a religious fervor. But a diet is like a drug for me and I know that it is a dangerous endeavor for me to take on right now. Or maybe that's just the way I justify being and staying a glutton. Who can tell? I'm so confused. Maybe a fast would be a good thing for me right now. Restart my brain, purge myself of toxins. I'm kind of exhausted from trying to crawl out of my skin.
Oh, anorexia, you sneaky little bastard. Well played, my old friend, well played.
2 hours ago