Saturday, September 24, 2005

I don't feel so good right now.

Let's see if writing this will be the nice cathartic even it should be.

Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and feel like vomiting. I see thin, pretty girls walk down the street and watch people watch them. I see beautiful women with a few, or significantly more than a few, extra pounds, and think they're fucking gorgeous. Why can't I think about myself that way? Why do I weigh myself frantically every morning, before shower, after brushing teeth, before drinking or eating, after going to the bathroom, before putting on deodorant but after brushing my hair? Why do I need to lose every ounce of peripheral weight before I can look at the numbers? Why did I PUNCH THE WALL IN MY BATHROOM five minutes ago because the scale said more than I think it should? (hand's fine...wall's fine, just so you know.)

Why do I eat something sweet or otherwise slightly off of nutritious and feel like a beached whale in my mind? Why did I drive most of the way home almost, or totally in tears because I can't stop thinking about that half a muffin I ate, or the two regular cokes I drank? Intellectually, I know I'm attractive...unless everyone's been lying to me. But that same wonderful intellect of mine partitions my body. I don't see my fantastic...

Jesus. I can tell I'm depressed when I can't think of a single body part I like. My eyes. I like my eyes. And that's good because they're not gonna get any thinner. I've got tears running down my face while I type this. It's times like this I'm so glad I'm not a famous blogger, because I'm so fragile right now I wouldn't hear any nice comments left. I'd just read the hate mail, and dehydrate myself so that the water weight doesn't show.

Sometimes when I'm in a good mood (that sounds so trite, but it's the best I can come up with right now), I'll look at myself and think I'm totally amazingly gorgeous. I've been "up" like that for the last few weeks, telling Dave that he's got a smokin' hot girlfriend. Right now, I don't even feel like a lukewarm girlfriend.

I'm trying to decide between several options right now. Sometimes (not for a long time now) when I'm feeling horrible inside, I hurt myself outside...nothing serious like sharp objects anymore (yay, five years now? Something like that), but I don't want to do that to myself any more because it makes me feel worse. Besides, I think punching the wall qualifies me for that and uses my quota up for a week, at least.

I could get very very drunk off of what I have in my liquor cabinet. Bad idea...when I'm depressed, the first thing I want to do is have a drink. Very bad precedent to set. Luckily, the anti-fat part of my brain reminds me of all the empty calories in alcohol.

So, I guess that leaves taking a very hot shower, hoping the steam will clear out my sinuses, crying a bit more because I'm naked and feeling very gross about my body and going to bed and hoping that it's sunny tomorrow because if it's rainy, I don't know how well I'll deal with it.

So to recap. I'm a whiny little drama queen who doesn't have anything to complain about, so I make a bunch of stuff out of nothing, and cry about it to the tiny corner of the internet who reads my blatherings. Sweet.

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